How To Mend a Broken Soul

Day Eight: If beds could speak...

"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked his mother upon entering the kitchen, coming back in from the garden where he had been doing his homework - there was nothing like waiting the last day to worry about it. Then he realized his mother was not in the kitchen, and went upstairs. Harry had told him he was going to fetch his book (feeling miserable at the Dursleys had let him plenty of time to take care of his homework), but that had been half an hour ago and he still hadn't returned.

Ron went straight to his own room, figuring if Harry was anywhere, it would be there. He knocked on the door and peered inside. The shutters were closed but the window was open, letting in both the summer breeze and the screams and laughter of his siblings (Ginny was playing under the garden sprinkler - Mr Weasley had loved that Muggle expedient, and immediately adopted it - and the twins were probably doing the same thing, only pretending they weren't). Harry was curled up on Ron's bed, back to the wall, his body graded with the warm streaks of sunlight coming through the shutters. Ron's gaze was tender as he leaned against the doorframe, watching his sleeping lover: the way his side gently heaved with each breath, the way his hands were curled into light fists around the sheets, and the way his nose was pressed down into Ron's pillow.

It reminded Ron of the naps he was forced to take when he was little, which at the time had been an endless fight to be permitted to stay up and not waste away the best hours of the summer days, but now only brought back very fond memories. He wondered if Harry had ever known those sweet summer-detentions, figured he hadn't, and grew only fonder of his own childhood.

Closing the door behind him, Ron carefully tiptoed to his bed and gingerly climbed onto it, scrambling over Harry's body to lie down behind him. He gently wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and pressed the boy back into him, nuzzling the back of Harry's head and breathing in the mossy scent of his grass-strewn hair.

Harry stirred and sighed, then breathed Ron's name.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," Ron whispered.

"I wasn't sleeping," Harry whispered back, his voice slightly gloomy.

Ron pulled his nose away from Harry's tickling hair, very close to sneezing, and gently caressed it with his hand, gamely trying to tidy it up a bit. "Is something wrong? You sound a bit...put out. Are you sure I didn't wake you up?"

"No, I told you," Harry replied, far more sternly than he intended to. He continued with the same tone anyway. "And why does there always have to be something wrong with me?"

Ron flinched and his hand went back down to his side. He wanted to point out that Harry's reaction was rather implying that something wasn't right, but thought better of it and kept silent.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"T's okay," Ron said, but his tone was clearly resentful.

"I'm just...I don't want to go back to Hogwarts." Harry sighed. Everything felt oh-so-wrong today; Harry didn't remember ever feeling that helpless.

Ron couldn't help but chuckle. "Is that all? Pre-school depression?" He didn't think there was anyone (apart from Hermione) who did want to go back to school after the summer holidays.

But Harry didn't find his comment amusing. "No, you don't understand. I've never felt this way before! I've always been impatient to go back to Hogwarts, always!"

Ron looked startled, but went back to caressing Harry's hair. "Then what's different this year?" he softly asked.

Harry rolled over in Ron's arms to face him. He looked utterly frustrated. "I don't know." You're lying. "Okay, I do know," he added immediately, looking down at the sheets between them. He felt Ron's fingers grazing his cheek and unconsciously leaned up into the touch. He looked curiously at Ron when he scratched the back of his ear.

"You looked just like Crookshanks right then..."

Harry smiled for the first time, and buried his head between the mattress and Ron's soft cheek. "I think I'm scared," he whispered.

"Scared of what?" Ron's voice was soft, but he didn't manage to hide his incredulity.

"Scared of change," Harry replied gloomily, already regretting his confession. But he didn't want Ron to leave, and he knew that if he didn't speak his mind, then he would end up getting short tempered, and Ron would leave. "I feel safe here, you know? I feel like...like I'm not Harry Potter anymore, like there's no Vol--" He felt Ron tensing and hastily corrected, "You-Know-Who loose outside, like I don't need to care about any of it. And I...I don't want that to stop," he admitted, feeling guilty and hating those people who had deemed that a one-year-old child would forever be their saviour. "At Hogwarts," he continued, "...at Hogwarts I won't be able to pretend everything's okay anymore. There'll be the students and...Cho..." The name was barely more than a whisper, but Harry's stomach lurched at the thought of facing the girl whose boyfriend he had gotten killed. "And I've...Ce...Cedric's dead. How...people won't have forgotten about him. And your mom said nobody believed me, and they'll all think I'm a freak, and--"

"Let them think what they want," Ron interrupted sternly, his hand fisting in Harry's hair. "If they're stupid enough to think that Cedric got killed and you nearly so just by tripping in the maze, then they don't deserve to be worried about."

"Yes, but that won't change anything!" Harry replied crossly, his face still safely hidden from Ron's view; but at least his insides warmed up slightly at Ron's conviction. "And...and there'll be Dumbledore, and I don't know if I'll get to see Sirius again, and..."

Harry's speech faded out and Ron sighed, not knowing what to say. He knew he had to say something though, because Harry was getting more tense in his arms. "I can understand why you're nervous." He hesitated, so sure that Harry would bite him in rage he could almost feel the sting. "But at least, you'll be safe at Hogwarts."

"Safe?" Harry said, sitting up, scorn dripping out of his voice and hurting Ron much more than teeth could have. "Yeah, sure, safe. I think Hogwarts' the easiest place for Voldemort to get to me!"

"But Dumbl--"

"I know," Harry interrupted, "I know that Vold...oh, fine, You-Know-Who fears him, but...it didn't change a thing, did it? I've still come face to face with him three times in the past four years, haven't I? And I was at Hogwarts each and every time!" he exclaimed, his anger at the Headmaster lashing out towards Ron. "There'll be yet another DADA teacher this year, and I don't even know if I'll be able to trust him or not, because of what happened last year." He took a deep breath and added: "I don't want to end up a paranoid freak like Moody..."

"You won't," Ron said, as tenderly as he could after being spoken to so spitefully. "And you've got us." Harry snickered, and Ron hesitated, then shyly said: "You've got me." Harry remained silent, and Ron sighed in relief. "You'll be as safe as can be, I promise you," he concluded, sitting up as well and gingerly resting a hand on Harry's thigh, squeezing it in a supportive way.

"I hope so," Harry grumbled. They stared at each other for a while, then Harry sighed, looking down at Ron's hand. "I'm just...You see...If I have to, if I really am the only one who can do it...then I will do it, I want to do it."

Ron was about to ask what Harry was talking about when understanding dawned on him.

"It's just that..." Harry continued, then let out a miffed grunt. "I just...I didn't expect to have to do it so soon."

"But you don't have to do it anytime soon!" Ron cried out in genuine disbelief.

Harry's eyes shot up to meet Ron's. "Of course I have to!" he countered; but his voice wasn't angry anymore, just determined. "He's...we have to do something now, while he's still weak. We can't just wait for him to get as strong as he was before!"

"It's not up to you to take care of that, Harry," Ron said after a minute of indecision. Before Harry could speak, he added, "That's what the Order is here for. If they thought you were the only one able to defeat You-Know-Who, then you would be a member, don't you think?"

Harry didn't know if he should feel cross that he wasn't in the Order, or thankful about it. His heart was leaning heavily towards Thankful. "But what if it were up to me?" he asked, hating himself for being so proud and so scared at the same time. "I don't know anything. I'm just a student, I don't know how to fight," he whispered with obvious anger. If this anger was directed at himself or at Hogwarts' education system, Ron couldn't tell.

"You won't have to," he said sternly, squeezing Harry's thigh again. "They won't let you fight. Dumbledore wouldn't let this happen, and mom would kill anybody foolish enough to suggest it, probably even after you've turned 17."

Harry tittered, nodding. Ron grinned, relieved.

"Harry, thinking about all this..." he started, gently cupping Harry's chin with his fingers and leaning forward. "We have two more days to spend here, can't you..." He grimaced, let his fingers slide to the back of Harry's neck and brushed his lips against Harry's half opened ones. "You'll have plenty of time to think about all that when we're back at Hogwarts..." he whispered sheepishly. "Can't you try to relax?"

With his lips still brushing against Harry's, his pale blue eyes looked up into Harry's green ones, hopeful.

Harry grunted. "But that's the thing. I can't relax!" he said, frustrated, flinging his hands in the air.

"Then let me help you," Ron whispered, and he answered Harry's interrogative gaze by sliding his hand down to Harry's jeans, gingerly sliding down the zipper. Harry's mouth fell open and his eyes shut as Ron leaned down to kiss him.

Ron's hand slipped inside with the faintest trace of hesitation and gently rested on Harry's boxers, barely applying pressure. And yet it was enough to squish all the air out of Harry's lungs, and invite all his blood to rush down under Ron's hand.

Harry hummed without even realizing it and rested his head on Ron's shoulder, features tense from the sudden, unsettling pleasure.

Ron gasped silently, amazed at the warmth seeping up through his palm. His fingers curled down and he gave a tentative squeeze, nervously licking his lips. Harry let out a short "hmph!" and uselessly tried to scoot closer, knee pressing against Ron's thigh. "Is this good?" Ron whispered, his voice drenched with concern, much like he sounded when he asked for Harry's opinion about his flying skills. Only this was much, much more important.

Harry's brain really wasn't in any condition to process thoughts and turn them into words, so a low moan was all the answer Ron received, which was both to the point and terribly arousing. Encouraged, Ron squeezed again, then withdrew his hand through the gaping zipper, tracing the line of Harry's fly with his fingertips, then back all the way down, slithering between Harry's boxers and the tight jeans. He guessed Harry's "guuh!" was another good sign.

With a small sigh, Ron looked down and slipped his fingers inside Harry's boxers, looking slightly faint. He shivered as his fingers bumped against the hot skin and very gently laid his hand across it, amazed to feel Harry growing harder under his palm. When he kept himself busy, he had never ever let himself time to actually appreciate the changes, intent on seeing white lights as soon as he could (although lately, he was starting to think that making the pleasure last might also be a nice option...not that his body often let him a choice). But here...Ron sighed again and looked sideways at Harry, whose eyes were still closed, mouth opened, guttural sounds coming from the back of his throat every odd second.

"Are you feeling less stressed?" Ron whispered, his face set in amused expectation.

Harry could only whine in answer, shyly pressing his face against Ron's neck, not wanting to be so exposed.

(I'm not sure it's your face you should feel embarrassed about, Potty Potter...)

Ron smiled happily, which Harry didn't see, and moved. Harry's eyes flashed open and he mumbled something that was probably supposed to be "What are you doing?", or maybe "Don't fucking stop!" and then flushed crimson as Ron gently laid him down on the bed, lying down on his side beside him. Ron's cheeks were a bright pink as well, but his voice didn't quiver when he bent down, whispering against Harry's ear, "You'll relax better that way."

His hand crept back down and slithered back in, once again covering the heated skin with soft flesh, yet unsure of how to proceed. He knew what to do, of course, but he didn't know how Harry went about doing it, and maybe what Ron liked, Harry wouldn't. Or maybe he'd be so bad at it that Harry would laugh.

Ron's hand twitched when Harry's fingers brushed against his wrist. He looked down just in time to see Harry undoing the button still holding his pants together, and looked back up to see Harry with his eyes carefully closed, the flush spreading down to his neck. If this wasn't a "Get on with it!" clue, Ron didn't know what was. It was time for action. Ron gulped. Better ask than spoil it, right?

"What do you like?" he whispered against Harry's lips after a few more hesitant touches.

Harry forced his eyes open, brows slightly furrowed. "What d'you...mean?" he breathed.

"Well...You know..." Ron said, gesturing vaguely with the hand that suddenly wasn't touching Harry anymore, much to Harry's displeasure.

He looked down at Harry, eyes hopeful, but Harry obviously didn't know. Ron grimaced in distress and felt the flush in his cheeks coming back with a vengeance.

"Well," he said, "there's...there's this book that mom had bought for Charlie, when he was...when he was our age, and...well it's pretty much passed through everybody's hands, and so..."

Harry, whose brain was starting to function coherently again, chuckled and gently reached up to stroke Ron's boiling cheek. "Ron, stop blushing, or you're going to get severely burned!"

Now Ron didn't only feel embarrassed, he also felt slightly cross. "Yeah and so," he continued, "how it works is...you just have to think about something..." The next words were barely more than a whisper. "...sex-related...and the appropriate chapter appears," he added more loudly. Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly realized what Ron had asked him. Ron didn't see it and went on, gaining assurance now that the two words were out. "You're not scared that somebody's going to stumble upon it and even better, that way mom couldn't highlight passages she thought we should read. And so anyway, it said that...oh god," he whispered, "that guys do...that we don't all like the same things, and so...how d'you like it?" he ended helplessly, wondering why he had felt the urge of telling Harry all that instead of just rephrasing the question.

But if possible, Harry now looked ten times more embarrassed than Ron had.

"...Harry..." Ron ventured after a few seconds. "What..." Then his mouth formed a silent O and he smiled, ignoring his own very recent abashment. "You don't have to be embarrassed by it, y'kno--" But he stopped again, abruptly. The O came back, bigger, and to Harry's utmost mortification, Ron gasped, grinning. "Harry...have you...do you...are you telling me you've never done it?"

Harry blushed furiously. "No, I've done it!" he almost shouted. "...just...just three or four times..." he grumbled. As Ron continued grinning at him, eyes gleaming with childish joy, Harry added, "Hey, it's not like I had much time to myself, with the Tournament and all!"

Ron swiftly sobered up and nodded gravely, but two seconds later his face broke into a new smirk and he burst out laughing.

Harry folded his arms, frowning. Ron could see he was really upset, and did his best to calm down. After two very difficult minutes, composure regained, Ron's hand sneaked back through the fly of Harry's boxers without notice, and gently but firmly wrapped itself around Harry's hardness (which had been feeling quite put out).

"Oh," Harry softly said, features relaxing, and his mouth didn't close back up.

Some seconds of frustration (for both of them) later, Ron's fist slid out of Harry's boxers, matters still in hand, seeking unbound movements.

Harry's eyes grew wider and wider, looking up at Ron's face with as much adoration as there had been anger a mere second before.

In the end, Ron reflected, it didn't feel much different from when he was pleasuring himself. Only he wasn't feeling the touch of his hand and yes, "it" felt weird, even though it was pretty much similar to his own, and Harry's reactions were quickening Ron's pulse just as efficiently as his hand could have done, blood rushing in his veins ten times faster than usual, thick and boiling. And--

"Harry..." Ron said through clenched teeth, wincing.

Harry's eyes shot open, but his vision was clearly blurry. "What?" he moaned more than asked, his legs spreading open.

"My hair..." Ron whimpered, wincing more.

Harry looked puzzled, then his eyes drifted up to the top of Ron's head, where his hand had convulsively gripped what it could find, which happened, quite logically, to be Ron's hair. He released his grip on it and put his (now bathed in crimson threads) fingers on Ron's arm instead, hoping he would be able to squeeze this at leisure. Ron let out a sigh of relief and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, waiting for the throbbing to stop.

His hand had stopped as well, which Harry didn't lose time complaining about, whining like a frustrated child. Ron leaned back up on his forearm and tutted, his lips curled into a sexy smile.

"Aren't you spoiled..." he whispered reprovingly, his fingers lightly drumming against Harry's flesh, which felt far better than Harry could have imagined. He whined again anyway, more insistently; with the soles of his feet pressed together, his legs came down on the mattress to form a diamond, tautening the front of his jeans and implicitly asking Ron to go back to work..

He hissed and immediately pulled them back up with a pained moan. Zippers and tender flesh really didn't mix.

Ron sniggered and covered Harry's pout with his lips, fingertips gliding down to massage the hurt flesh. Harry's whining soon turned to sighs, then to a (very) loud moan. He opened his eyes in surprise and shut his mouth, looking sheepish.

Ron bent down and licked Harry's upper lip, eyes lascivious. "I like that sound," he whispered, feeling power and confidence surging through him again. He had never thought behaving this way with Harry could feel that exhilarating, that he would dare saying such things to his best friend without so much as a blush.

But Harry shook his head, looking helpless. "Twins..." he gasped out.

Ron looked quizzically at him.

"The twins..." Harry gasped again. "What if they...oh...hear me?"

"If Fred and George were in their room, we would hear them first, believe me," Ron said with an amused smile.

Harry let out a gasping chuckle, eyes twinkling. "I...don't think...it'd be the same...kind of noises, though..."

Ron's mouth fell open, then he laughed, the vibration spreading down his arm, through his hand and right into Harry, who groaned. "Oh, I'd rather not know what those two might do at night..."

"What?" Harry gasped, both from surprise and pleasure. "You don't mean that--"

"Harry, I was joking!" Ron exclaimed, grimacing. "You're twisted," he stated shortly after, shaking his head.

Harry blushed and purred, feet pressing into the mattress as Ron's fist started moving. "You're...the one who sai...said it," he managed to point out, hands grasping Ron's arm and his pillow.

"Yeah, but still!" Ron admonished, wincing. "I don't know how the Muggles see it, but incest is definitely not considered as normal here!" he added, fist uncurling, fingers teasing absentmindedly, as if he was playing with a pen while talking on the phone. "I mean...yurk, Fred and George, together, doing...doing stuff?" Ron grimaced again, making part of Harry's brain wonder how it could have ever found this distorted face gorgeous. The rest of Harry's brain organized a slide-show of matching bodies and exploring tongues and Harry moaned again, blushing.

Ron's fingers stopped. "...Harry?"

"Mmwhat?" Harry squeaked, trying to stop the slides, without success.

"...is it just me, or is that thought turning you on?"

Harry moaned again (his bastard brain had just displayed a picture of common showers), then gasped, body turning cold in fear. Had he spoken out loud? Had Ron seen what was currently happening in his brain? Could wizards do that? He panicked, expecting Ron to shout and leave him there and never speak to him again, perhaps even damaging some of his body while he was at it. He squeezed his eyes shut, making a silent prayer to whoever listened, holding his breath in. After two seconds, and seeing as neither blow nor shout fell upon him, Harry caustiously peeked up.

Ron's eyes were wide, but his lips were twitching up convulsively. "Bloody hell," he gasped out, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, then said, lips still twitching: "I think I'm going to be displeased." His fingers left Harry, coming to rest on his thigh.

"Don't be!" Harry cried out, looking genuinely desperate. Ron's shoulders tensed with what Harry thought was anger, and he quickly added, "I'll take you over your twins anytime..."

Ron had to use all of his strength not to laugh. "I sure hope so," he said, managing to keep his tone cool. Harry was still looking up at him, eyes shining with worry, and Ron finally let the laughter out, leaning down to kiss Harry. "You twat," he whispered against Harry's lips, grinning.

Harry blinked, then sighed as Ron's fingers wrapped themselves around him once more. Ron kissed him again, thoroughly amused, then started moving his hand. "So. I think we'd better get back to normal subjects," he declared, sending a mock glare down at Harry, who had his eyes closed again, hips lazily answering the ballet of Ron's fist. "How can you live without...you know...doing it?"

Harry's eyes slowly focused on Ron's face and he frowned groggily for almost a minute, then smiled as understanding sank in. "Well, I manage quite well, thank you," he said cheerfully. It was hard to feel stupid when you were floating up to Cloud Nine. "...why?" he added, licking his dry lips. "Do you...do you do it that often?" He gasped as another slow stroke from Ron's warm palm sent tickling waves up his stomach, but his eyes didn't leave Ron's face. Ron opened his mouth just as Harry added, panting, "Have you done it? Since...since I've been here?"

Ron grinned, his eyes getting a brighter shade of blue. Harry didn't need an answer more explicit. His parted lips opened a bit wider, pink tongue stroking the back of his teeth and unconsciously inviting Ron's own tongue to pay a visit, which it did most happily.

"But where?" Harry asked a while after, his body getting even warmer from the mental picture of Ron's solitary activities.

"Well, the bathroom..."

Harry's eyes grew wide, his gaze intense. "Like...under the shower?" he whispered, moaning from his own assumptions.

Ron's smile turned lascivious. "Yup," he admitted without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"Like...yester..." A soft moan interrupted Harry's speech. "Afternoon?" he ended, before closing his eyes for a second or two, arching up to meet Ron's fist. "Before...the pa...party?" he managed to enquire between gasps.

Ron answered him with a kiss.

"And..." Harry hesitated, finally turning his eyes away from Ron's face and instead looking at his own hand, curled around the top of Ron's pillow. He was feeling so horny that in this instant even this part of his anatomy seemed almost unbearably erotic to him. "What did you..." He faltered, but Ron ended his question for him.

"What did I think about?"

Harry's cheeks, already blazing with lust, tinged with shyness.

"I'll give you a hint," Ron replied with a husky breath. Harry's face turned back to him and he moaned as Ron's hold on him tightened, swallowing useless oxygen directly from Ron's sweet mouth. "Now," Ron whispered.

Harry looked lost for a second or two, before his pupils dilated in a flash of lust. "You did?" he breathed, feeling like the gulps of air he kept desperately taking never made it to his lungs.

"Oh yes," Ron replied, his breathing fanning over Harry's face in a warm caress.

The motions of Harry's hips suddenly turned frantic and Ron's hand flew away to press down on his stomach, forcing his hips to a halt. Harry whimpered, his whole body screaming for release.

"Not too fast," Ron whispered, eyes intense, his fingers slipping back into Harry's pants and forcing their way under the tight fabric to press against the tender flesh of Harry's inner thigh. "Under the shower it was over in less than two minutes. Dead frustrating," he said, his eyes alive with the memories.

Harry felt his whole body tensing, and he was ready to swear under testimony that his heart had just skipped ten beats altogether. Not to mention the hot lava that was flowing out of Ron's mouth right down to his intestines, burning him and scorching him and filling him until he thought he would scream from sheer want.

"Please," he heard himself whisper, neck straining up to reach Ron's sexy smile. "Please."

Ron's tender shushing was far from what Harry had hoped for. He pushed Harry's t-shirt further up, up to his armpits, gazing down at Harry's chest and stomach as if he was looking at a newly finished, and quite satisfying, painting.

He laid both his palms on Harry's torso, one resting on the flat of his stomach, and the other over Harry's drumming heart, drinking in the rhythmic beats seeping through his chest. His index finger absentmindedly dipped in Harry's navel, teasing him the way Harry had done the previous night, and getting a reaction very similar. "You're gorgeous," he whispered, more to himself than to be heard, and with such calm, with so much evident sincerity that for once, Harry let the compliment wrap him in warmth and desire.

Harry was lost in a wonderful world. A world where everything, every colour, every odour, every noise and every touch was Ron. And Ron was lost in the same kind of world, except his was called Harry. He looked for all the world as if he was playing a new, very sensual instrument. His features were set in concentration, but his lips and eyes were betraying his enchantment. He drummed his fingertips flat against Harry's chest, his other hand now tracing slow circles around Harry's navel.

Harry's body was calming down, his skin was deliciously alive under Ron's measured caresses, but his brain was nothing short of fuming. Yeah, sure, he hadn't done it often, but he knew one thing: masturbation was a Very Important Thing with which you should Never Toy, and to hell with the obvious pun! It therefore prompted Harry's mouth to voice its discontentment, and loudly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're really no fun."

Harry growled.

Ron's hand finally left Harry's stomach and he leaned back down on his forearm, his tongue tracing broken paths all over Harry's tense face. Harry's hips immediately started bucking again, so strongly that Ron soon had to stop trying to move his hand and let Harry do the job. He chuckled against Harry's cheek and shook his head, licking the edges of Harry's gaping mouth.

"Greedy..." he whispered, and was rewarded with the loudest moan yet as Harry arched off the bed. His hand flew back to Ron's shoulder and squeezed as his body tensed from toes to ears. His mouth moved, trying to form words Ron didn't need to hear to guess, and then there was warmth on Ron's hand, warmth on Harry's stomach, and a shaking, half naked body shamelessly offered to Ron's appreciative eyes.

They travelled up Harry's body, starting at the toes, then on to the jeans clad legs, the depraved state of his middle, the glistening stomach, the rumpled t-shirt on his chest, the neck heaving with every gulp of air, the open mouth, the closed eyes. He shifted, his own arousal straining painfully under his jeans, but he knew that he couldn't expect to get any satisfaction right then. Harry looked ready to fall asleep, and he still had a good twenty inches of parchment to cover in ink. He shifted again, holding back a pained moan, and smiled as Harry's eyes fluttered open, gaze hazy.

"I just need...a few minutes to come back down..." Harry panted, smiling and closing his eyes again.

"Take your time," Ron said, resting his head on Harry's shoulder and staring at Harry's flushed cheek. "Are you still feeling stressed?" he whispered against Harry's ear, his fingertips sliding back and forth along Harry's stomach.

Harry could only beam, looking the epitome of satisfaction. He felt no fear, no doubt and no shame; he couldn't have cared less about being so exposed in front of Ron's eyes, with his pleasure spread on his stomach and his exhausted self unceremoniously resting out of his fly. He was feeling more elated than he ever had in all his life, and right then he was ready to worship the deity who had made this possible. Namely, the red-haired boy whose chest was currently pressing down on his legs, arm reaching to the floor for the towels they had left piled up there the day before, after their swim.

Ron sat back up and started cleaning the mess away from Harry's body, blushing when he gently tucked Harry back in his pants and zipped them back up, and Harry just watched him through hooded eyes, smiling happily, only wishing the towel wasn't still cold and soggy from the lake. Ron threw the towel to the ground and lied back down, arm resting on Harry's (now t-shirt clad) stomach.

"Thanks," Harry finally said, voice hoarse and tone dreamy. Ron looked down at him with a smile. "It was..." he faltered, then made a vague gesture, unable to find a word good enough to describe his feelings. Ron beamed with joy and even blushed a little, then hurriedly laid his head on Harry's chest. Harry's hand, through an immense effort, came down to stroke Ron's hair, soon settling on the nape of his neck.

Harry's breathing slowly settled back down and he let his brain float away, feeling sleep mercifully falling down on him. Sleep. That would be good. Sleep and Ron's warm body keeping his own from cooling down.

Unfortunately for him...

"I have to go do my homework," Ron whispered, regret showing into his voice.

He tried to unwrap himself from the sweaty embrace but Harry only mewled and pressed himself up against Ron's body, clenching his arms around Ron's back and nesting his head against the other boy's warm neck. "Stay," he said hoarsely, sending shivers down Ron's spine. "Just for a little while," he added before Ron could protest, pressing his lips against his neck in an imploring kiss.

Ron smiled and lowered Harry to the bed again, arms curled around his slim frame, hugging him close. Harry sighed contentedly and spooned up against Ron, slipping one leg between Ron's and wrapping the other one around them, his breathing soon settling down to a slow, regular rhythm. Ron remained practically still, staring at the opposite wall, savouring the feel of Harry so close to him. He pressed his cheek against Harry's flushed one and sighed, wanting very much to close his eyes but knowing he couldn't allow himself to fall asleep. He doubted very much that McGonagall would think relaxing Harry was a good enough reason not to do one's assignments.

He waited about fifteen minutes before he finally, very carefully, unwrapped Harry's arms and legs from around him. He crawled across Harry's sleeping body, trying not to make the mattress move too much. Standing near the bed, he looked back down and smiled, using all his willpower to go through the door before the temptation grew too strong.

*~*~*

He had made his decision.

Determinedly, this wasn't the cleverest attempt, given his past record, and he still wondered why he hadn't brought anyone here with him. Pride, he guessed. Not that he'd ever admit it to himself.

He hadn't planned to try and do it so soon, either. Granted, the utter failure at the Triwizard Tournament was still weighing on his mind, pissing him off, but he usually had more common sense and patience than that. He had waited fourteen years. Surely he could wait a year longer.

Voldemort smiled to himself, leaning under a tree. It still felt a little weird to have a body, a real one; he wasn't used to it yet. After having spent such a long time in ethereal smoke or in a grotesque shape of flesh that couldn't decently be called a body, having legs, and arms, felt both divine and uncomfortable.

The ministry didn't believe any of the rumours concerning his return, he knew that, at least. Therefore, he had had two courses of actions. Number One: attack. Attack right then, while nobody had had time to organize defences, while almost nobody even believed he, The Dark Lord, was back. But he had only a handful of servants with him, more than half of them he didn't trust in the least, and he knew that that old bat Dumbledore was keeping his eyes peeled for any trace of Dark activity. Which brought him to Number Two: wait. Keep in hiding long enough for Dumbledore's warning to be entirely discredited in the ministry's eyes, and in the meanwhile gather new and old followers, strong ones. Trolls and giants and goblins. And place spies in every strategic place.

Wait. Wait until that miserable brat was even more powerful, and let his failure poison the brain of his Death Eaters.

Not a chance.

Voldemort scowled at the stupid house raised precariously some feet in front of him.

Not a chance in the cold depths of Hell.

)°(_)°(

"C'mon..."

"Come on...Harry...please?"

"Don't try your puppy eyes on me, Weasley, it won't work."

"I hate when you call me Weasley. Makes me think of Malfoy."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, you should be. Now you owe me one. C'mon, let's do it!"

"Ron...what if they hear us!"

"They won't! They never hear a thing! They make too much noise for that!"

"Ron...Ron, stop."

"You definitely don't look like you want me to stop..."

"Ron!"

"You know you want it...haha, is that a blush? ...what was that grumbling about?"

"I don't wanna do it above their heads."

"...okay. Okay. Follow me then. After all, it's summer."

"What--Ron? You don't...oh god, he does."

"C'mon!"

)°(_)°(

At times like these, Tom would resurface. Tom with his inflatable pride, and his thirst for revenge and grandeur. Tom that would never leave well enough alone. Of course, Voldemort wouldn't, either. But he was more...composed. Tom was just a fiery teenager who couldn't keep his anger bottled up. Voldemort understood that power only comes with self-control.

But tonight, it was Tom Riddle walking in circles in that little wood, waiting for day to come, although he had no idea what he'd do once it had. He couldn't break into the house. The magic around it was so strong he had felt it instantly. Dumbledore had taken his precautions, as always. So he decided to wait until day, to wait until Harry came out of the house, until he was alone, and then...

To kill him.

If he could, that is. He'd never admit it, not even Tom would, but Voldemort had started to wonder if he could kill that blasted boy. He had already failed four times. It was enough to make one doubt one's capacities.

He didn't want a fair fight anymore, didn't want to make Harry lose his sanity in long hours of torture. He just wanted him to be gone. Like he should always have been. Gone, dead, six feet under, that miserable brat, that insufferable obstacle in front of his domination, that worm who...

Voldemort (or Tom, it didn't matter anymore) stopped dead in his tracks.

It had been so long, he didn't even remember how that might feel.

(He had never done it sitting, as well...)

A slightly demented smile stretched his lips, and he convulsively gripped his wand. It was lame, and he surely would regret it afterwards, but he would never get Harry more vulnerable than he was right now. Swallow your pride and do what you must. Yes. Good-bye, Harry Potter.

)°(_)°(

"Oh god, oh god...oh!..."

"Yes...yes!...oh my...oh Harry..."

"...mph...hard...harder...Ron!...Pl...please..."

Avada...

What? Who said that? Who...Harry? ...HARRY?!? He doesn't move. Cold. Body getting cold. By the second. Dead. You're holding a dead body. You're inside a dead body. Aahhh!! Get it away, get it away from me!!!

Oh fuck. I just threw Harry away. Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's stupid, I thought you were...He's...dead? He can't be dead. It's stupid. He...he can't be! He can't be dead, we were...Somebody. There must be somebody there. Who are you? Oh Merlin, maybe they're...Harry's dead. Look at your body Harry...I didn't think anything could turn blue that quickly. You can't be dead. You're naked and sweaty in the middle of the forest at night, you just can't die like that!! Nobody dies like that!!

Am I in danger?

Maybe I should bring him home, maybe mom could...

Maybe I just need to warm him up. Maybe that'd be enough.

He's dead. That means...You'll never hold me again. Look at me again. Smile at me again. I'll never hear you laugh again. I'll never see you fly again. I'll be alone. All alone. Every day. Every night. You'll never be there again.

Not tomorrow, not the day after, not in years to come. Never. That means I'll live, and I'll die, and still you won't be there.

...

...this can't be true. You can't be dead. I'm dreaming. That's it, I'm dreaming. Time to wake up, Weasley. Wake up. And stop crying, he's not dead, he can't be, you're only dreaming for fuck's sake!

...

Why aren't I waking up?

*~*~*

"Ain't true...ain't true...STOP SAYING THAT!!"

Harry woke up with a start, completely lost. "What?"

Ron was sitting on the bed, drenched in sweat, panting, eyes wide and searching. He blinked a couple of times, then looked down, and before Harry had time to understand what was happening, Ron had launched himself at him.

"Ron," he croaked, feeling like all the air had been pressed out of his chest, which wasn't all that far from the truth.

"No," Ron said, sounding desperate, shaking his head against Harry's chest. His grip didn't falter.

"Ron," Harry repeated, getting worried.

"No!" Ron said again, louder, voice wet with tears.

Harry waited a bit, trying desperately to find something to do to make Ron realize where he was. He was the one who got nightmares. This never seemed to happen to other people. So how in the devil was he supposed to know what to do?

"Ron," he said yet again, shaking Ron's shoulder. "It's...uh, it was just a nightmare." He rolled his eyes, wishing he could sound more considerate. How did Ron do it? "I'm here..." he whispered helplessly. Ron's arms went slack and he sighed shakily, but he didn't move.

Harry's right hand crept into Ron's hair, stroking the nape of his neck in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

A few minutes passed by silently, Harry going through every nice thing he could say in his head and discarding every single one of them, and Ron trying to suppress the tears gathering in his eyes. He wasn't any more successful than Harry, and suddenly sat up, turning towards the wall and trying to cry in silence, if cry he must. But, as expected, trying to repress the sobs only made matters worse, and soon Ron was hiccupping and weeping at the same time, curling up as if it could make him disappear from Harry's sight.

"Hey," Harry said, very much seeing him. He sat up and put both his hands on Ron's shoulders, leaning forward and trying to see his face. Ron tensed and tried to shake Harry's hands away. "Hey," Harry repeated, more firmly. "You don't have to be ashamed," he added.

"It's...nothing..." Ron managed to choke out, wiping his eyes angrily.

"Yeah, right," Harry scoffed, shaking his head. "...what was the nightmare about?" he asked, blunt as ever.

"N...nothing, I t-told you," Ron said, hiding his profile with his folded arm.

"And that's why you're crying," Harry stated.

"Y-yeah," Ron said, and sniffled. He coughed, took a deep breath and finally turned around, cheeks red, eyes puffy, but not crying anymore. Harry scooted away to leave room for Ron's legs, then tentatively reached out to stroke Ron's cheek. Ron brushed his hand away. "I'm okay," he said, pouting.

Harry frowned. "Then why did you wake up screaming?"

"Oh shut up," Ron snapped. "I'm fine. ...and I'm tired," he added as an afterthought, before lying back on his side, facing away from Harry.

Harry opened his mouth, furious, then changed his mind and lied down as well, glaring at Ron's shoulders.

When said shoulders started shaking less than ten minutes later, Harry didn't hesitate. He pressed himself from chest to toes against Ron's back and slipped an arm around his waist, kissing the nape of his neck. "Please, tell me what's wrong," he whispered. He knew that for Ron to cry in front of him, it had to be nasty. Not that he was surprised; with Ron's temper, it was doomed to happen one day or another, and Harry had often seen him with tears in his eyes before, either from anger or embarrassment.

Ron sighed and sniffled pathetically, sitting back up. "Just a nightmare..." he murmured, wiping his cheeks again and obviously ready to leave the room until the urge to cry had passed.

Of course, Harry wasn't a boy to leave well enough alone, much less bad enough alone. "You don't understand, mate," he said, grabbing Ron by his arm and yanking him back down roughly. Ron's features tensed. Harry's behaviour was only making him close up more. But Harry was smiling when he ordered: "You've seen me crying like a fountain at least twice this past week. I demand to watch you make a fool of yourself." Of course, it could quite possibly make Ron angry at him, but he (and especially Malfoy) really didn't feel at ease with "You can tell me everything, I'll always be here for you."

(So you're gay, fine. But it doesn't mean you have to turn into a sap!)

Ron sniffled, chuckled and hit Harry square in the face with the pillow he slipped from under his head. Harry threw the pillow to the floor, before unexpectedly sitting up and pulling Ron in his arms for a hug. Ron tensed, then let go as Harry's hand started stroking his hair, pressing him against his shoulder.

And then Harry realized he knew exactly what to say. "It's okay you know. I know what nightmares feel like. I really don't see why we shouldn't be able to let steam off afterwards," he whispered with a kind and mature voice, the voice of someone who had seen enough to know not to stick to clichés.

His tone was what made Ron suddenly speak, at least he thought so afterwards. "You were dead," he mumbled against the cotton shirt, staring sadly at the bed under them. His arms wound loosely around Harry's waist, hands limply resting on the mattress. It felt like they should cut off one pair of legs, because no matter how many times Harry shifted, they were always getting in the way, but it didn't really matter, because right then Harry gasped and held Ron more tightly against him, hand stilling in his hair. And it was silly but somehow it made Ron feel better. Not being the only one spooked out.

It soon became obvious, however, that Harry didn't care at all about being dead. The one with which he asked "How did it happen?" made it sound much more like a "Shit, did you see it happen?"

Like an "I don't want you to have seen it."

Like an "I care about you."

Like you didn't know that already, Ron thought disdainfully, effectively shutting his outraged brain up for the night. He wasn't going to complain.

"Well..." And he told Harry everything. How weird it had felt to actually know what Voldemort was thinking, and yet still to have been surprised when the curse had hit Harry. The way they had thought it perfectly normal to have loud sex in the middle of a quiet forest in the middle of the night when a simple Silencing charm would have done the trick (it was a dream after all. Why didn't they just bypass the Ministry's rule?). And the way it felt when he understood that Harry was dead.

To be honest, Ron hadn't planned to voice the last part out, but by the time he remembered, he had already said too much. And he was horrified to realize that he was actually bawling now, drenching Harry's shoulder with tears and transparent goo.

"I couldn't...I could-dn't j-just...a-and you we...you we-e-re d-dead an-and I didn't know what to d-do a-and I kept...th-thinking that I'd ne...never see you ag-gain a-and h-h-how was I su...s-supp-p-osed t-to g-get on without...without..."

Harry was vaguely conscious that Ron's hands were painfully clenching his hips, and that his shoulder was wetter than after a dive in the lake, but it was all rather dimmed out by the feeling of Ron's chest shaking so forcefully against his own, raking with sobs, and the words coming out of Ron's mouth in chopped up bits, which strung together spelled things that had always been obvious but never actually phrased, things which felt painful and soothing at the same time. Finally Harry knew he had to stop Ron from saying anything more, because he had said all he needed and saying it again would only make them both feel worse. He patted Ron on the back (Oh, how caring. Go, Potter. You're lucky he's not a girl, he'd slap you.) and awkwardly interrupted his friend's heartfelt confession with an "It's okay..." (Even better. Twat.)

Ron's last word died with a gurgle and he sniffled yet again, nuzzling against Harry's shoulder and not caring that his entire face was now covered in slime. "I can't live without you," he said against the fabric, but it ended up not sounding like speech at all.

Ron felt hands gently pushing his shoulders away and he sat up straight, chest silently hiccupping with aborted sobs. He vaguely saw Harry grimacing through the fog that spread in his eyes and then there was something rubbing against his face. When he opened his eyes again the fog had cleared a bit and Harry's sleeve was going back down to Harry's side. Harry smiled softly, then kissed him, and Ron sighed shakily, lips unresponding. Harry cuddled Ron again, this time resting his head on Ron's shoulder, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Amazingly enough, instead of being grateful that his last words had obviously been turned into undecipherable mush a few seconds before, Ron decided to say them again, now when Harry had a hundred percent chances to make them out.

"I can't live without you." His tone was bitter and almost resenting, but it didn't erase the meaning.

Harry's hands stilled on Ron's back for a nanosecond, before resuming their movements. Ron tensed, waiting, then tensed some more (but for different reasons) as Harry whispered against his neck, "And I can't live without you."

Ron's heart tried to jump on a soap box to do a little happy shout but instead fell flat on its face, leaving its owner dizzy and a little confused. Harry saying this was good, right? Scratch that: it was capital G Good. And at the same time...well...

"You were my first friend," Harry continued, sitting back up and staring into Ron's eyes with a friendly smile. Ron's heart got up from the floor and dusted itself off, feeling better. "And my first kiss..." And suddenly Harry's tongue was sliding along Ron's lips, centre, left, centre, right, down, centre, left, centre, right, in, and Ron's heart tripped and fell all the way down to his groin.

"And by the look of things," Harry continued, voice slightly husky, two minutes later, "you're turning out to be my first a-lot-of-things."

Ron had always known that being the first one to achieve anything, with five older brothers who had already done pretty much everything he could think of, would be delicious; but being first in a subject as important and tough as "Harry" turned out to be a real delicacy. Too bad he couldn't decently brag about it to his mom. "Mom, mom, guess what! I've got top grades in Getting Harry Off! Aren't you proud of me?" Ron winced.

Harry suddenly looked upset, and it took Ron a full minute to realize he must thought the wince was about what he had just said.

"I was picturing mom's reaction to that," he therefore explained.

Harry's face broke out in a relieved smile and he kissed Ron again. "It was just a nightmare," he said calmly, staring into Ron's eyes. Ron nodded. "Just a nightmare. It won't happen," Harry continued, wanting to make sure that the information sank in. He knew how hard it could be to set the world straight again after a particularly nasty dream. Some nights, in Privet Drive, he had been really close to checking if he could fly from the roof without his broom, just from sheer despair, thinking he was the cause of so many people's misery and deaths. When the sun rose again, the previous night always seemed ludicrous, but Harry never fooled himself. Some nightmares were plain dangerous.

Ron nodded again, giving Harry a tentative smile.

"...do you want to go play chess, or...I don't know..."

"It's okay," Ron said, his smile widening. "Sleep...sleep will be fine. I'm still tired."

"Okay," Harry said softly, waiting for Ron to lie down before he joined him, propping himself up on his elbow. "You feeling better?" he whispered after a few quiet minutes, his fingers mapping the freckles on Ron's cheek.

Ron thought it all depended on how you saw things. He was definitely feeling less bad than a few minutes before, but he wouldn't have said he was feeling good, either. He shrugged and leaned up to kiss Harry. "I guess," he said.

Harry sighed, nodding to himself, and scooted down, his cheek pressed just above Ron's stomach, hands resting on Ron's arms. Ron shifted slightly and grinned to himself. Horrible Nightmare of Doom or not, he was still fifteen, and now Harry's torso was placed just the right way against his middle. He had to check himself not to wrap his legs around Harry's back and press him even closer.

Night fell back on them and Ron spent minutes staring at the ceiling, a little afraid to close his eyes and fall into his nightmare again.

"Ron?" Harry asked a while later.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you had that dream."

Ron shifted, slipping his right arm around Harry's back. "It's not your fault," he said simply.

"Yes it is. And I'm sorry."

Ron knew better than to fight with Stubbornness Reincarnate. "Well you couldn't do anything about it anyway," he said instead.

Harry scooted up and looked down at Ron, then at Ron's lips, then didn't look at all.

Five minutes later the bed sheet had fallen to the floor and Ron was grinning, albeit a little breathless.

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"Dudley, I told you before," Harry replied without so much as a twitch.

A few heavy seconds passed by, then Ron said: "I thought we had already talked about Traumatizing Images."

"You only said I shouldn't mention Snape's name."

"Harry!"

"Oops."

Ron glared and Harry batted his eyelashes coyly, before smirking at him. He rolled on his side and rested his head against his arm, looking thoughtful. Then he blushed.

"And so..." he started, carefully avoiding Ron's eyes. "You...uh, you didn't really say..." He blushed more, and Ron frowned, puzzled. Harry's green eyes suddenly bore right into him, determined and burning. Ron would never understand how Harry could go from embarrassment to resolve so quickly. "What exactly did we do, in your dream?"

Ron coughed, taken aback, and his cheeks didn't lose time outdoing Harry's in colour. "Oh," he said, blinking. "Well..." He realized the sheer ridiculousness of it all (You jerked him off this afternoon, mate. Don't think there's much you should feel coy about anymore.) and laughed, before smiling warmly at Harry, eyes twinkling in that particular Weasley way. "Well, see..."

Two minutes later, Harry was sitting (fully clothed) in Ron's lap, Ron's legs crossed under his arse, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

"And see..." Ron mumbled against Harry's skin, his lips concentrated on outlining his collar bone. "That's basically how we were...except we had no clothes, and I was...I'm sure you can make it out by yourself."

Harry feebly nodded, his eyelids drooping, hands trying to hold on Ron's shoulders. They weren't even moving, he wasn't even hard, and yet he felt like moaning his lungs out.

"And there," Ron suddenly said, looking back into Harry's eyes. Harry blinked to make sure he was seeing right. Ron's face was the epitome of innocence, his baby blue eyes reflecting nothing close to lust, hands chastely laid on Harry's waist. Harry already had his mouth open when it hit him. Oh. Right. He nodded to himself and kissed Ron lazily, wrapping his arms around Ron's neck. To be honest, he wasn't sure he would really be up to some heavy petting right after dreaming that his lover had died in front of him. Yeah...definitely not a turn on.

He wasn't too keen on leaving Ron's lap so soon, but resigned himself and awkwardly got away. It didn't escape him that Ron didn't move a single finger to try and keep him there.

Back on their sides, they gazed at each other for some time, their eyes exchanging silent dialogues that their brains couldn't quite make out. Something was building up inside Harry, he could feel it, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. What he did know was that the more he looked into Ron's eyes, the more his tongue itched to say something, something important. It seemed, though, that he didn't know the right word. But he wanted...What did he want, really? To let Ron know it'll be alright. To...to tell him that...To let him know just how much...Harry's heart swelled and his breath caught in his throat. Yes, that's it. To let him know just how much he means to me. Because if he wasn't there, if I wasn't with him...Then I wouldn't feel good. The world wouldn't be as nice, safety wouldn't matter so much. He thought he would choke from the intensity of the emotion swelling inside of him, pushing all the air out until he had to gasp, like a drown man coming back to life.

He thought Ron would ask him what was wrong, but his friend didn't flinch. "I can't find it, either," he said calmly, the words sounding loud in the nightly quiet.

Harry blinked, surprised.

"The right word," Ron added, suddenly shyer.

Harry opened his mouth again, but no word would come out. So he nodded, instead, to let Ron know he wasn't mistaken.

"There should be one though," Ron continued, voice dropping down to a whisper. "You can't just like or love people, there's stuff in the middle!" He smiled, glad to have gotten it out of his system, then bit his lip, waiting for Harry's approval. He didn't like guessing what people thought; he always felt like he'd get everything wrong and would end up looking stupid.

But Harry beamed. "Yes," he whispered fervently. "It's just so annoying. 'Like' sounds pathetic and...well." He blushed slightly, scooting forward, and gently kissed Ron on the lips, fingers barely touching his cheek.

Ron smiled. "I know what you mean." They gazed at each other, feeling giddy and slightly embarrassed at those feelings asking to be let out and their incapacity to oblige them. But Harry was sure he would explode if he didn't find some way to tell Ron just how much he meant to him. It was Ron, his best friend Ron, surely he could tell him that kind of stuff and not be made fun of, right? But what if he said the words (what if he found the words, first), and Ron laughed? Harry didn't think he could ever look him in the eyes again.

And then Ron smiled tentatively, bit his lip and whispered: "I do, though."

Harry thought he'd laugh from the sheer lightness his heart suddenly experienced. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear, because his lips were already aching, but he couldn't cool his features into the sexy smile he wanted to wear. "I do too," he whispered back, his chest heaving from this delighted-but-not-yet-satisfied emotion. Harry felt himself blushing and quickly scooted even closer, hiding his face against Ron's chest. He faked a yawn, and decided to ignore Ron's soft snicker.

"I guess it's good night then?" Ron asked. Harry nodded and Ron gently turned on his back, taking Harry with him. He closed his eyes, feeling almost elated, and let Harry's slow breathing invade his ears. He couldn't believe what they had just said. So okay, there was actually no word in the English dictionary to define what he was feeling, but who cared? Harry felt it too. Harry felt it too. Ron thought this deserved to be said twice.

He felt butterflies in his stomach and sighed happily, grinning. He couldn't believe just thirty minutes before he had been bawling his eyes out over a stupid dream. Like Harry was going to die any time soon!

...okay, You-Know-Who was after him, but it didn't mean he would catch him.

(...and if his heartbeat was getting slightly faster, it was obviously because of their "I do" conversation)

Plus, it had been so obvious such a scenario couldn't be true, and would never happen. If Harry died, he wouldn't die that way.

(...it was too hot in this room, his hands were getting moist)

But it was silly to even think that Harry could die. Of course, he could never be a hundred percent safe, either, but there were a lot of people ready to offer their lives to protect the Boy-Who-Lived. And he, Ron Weasley, was on the front line.

(...Harry was a bit heavy, wasn't he? Ron had to start breathing with his mouth)

He'd do anything to ensure that Harry was out of harm. And even if that failed, Harry would never have to be alone to face...to face him. Of course, that had happened before. Actually, Harry had very nearly been done for just a few months prior, but he had gotten away, hadn't he?

(Ron opened his eyes. All things considered, he didn't feel like sleeping right now)

And this would never happen again, would it? And Harry had Ron. He was with Ron. He wouldn't leave Ron behind, would he? He'd--

"Ron?" Harry's soft voice slithered through Ron's thoughts, tainted with worry.

"What?" Ron whispered, wondering why his voice was sounding so choked up.

Harry moved and looked down at Ron, who wished he didn't just happen to have something stingy in his eyes. He blinked, and cursed the tears that slid down his cheeks. Now he must look like a fine idiot.

Harry looked at him for several thoughtful seconds, then gently moved away, kneeling up.

"What?" Ron asked again, wiping his cheeks and blinking more, trying to get rid of whatever was in his eyes. His heart was still beating too fast, it was annoying.

Harry loomed over Ron's chest, eyes shining with something too akin to sadness for Ron's taste, but still didn't utter a word. He looked down and his fingers flew from one button to the other, soon uncovering the whole of Ron's torso.

"Harry," Ron insisted, looking cross.

For the first time, Harry's lips curled up, and he shook his head slightly. "Sit up," he said. His voice wasn't ordering, but Ron obeyed anyway, looking at Harry suspiciously.

He shivered when Harry slid his shirt off his arms, even though the room seemed almost stifling. "Lie down," Harry said, and Ron did.

(...the knot in his throat was caused by sexual anticipation, surely?)

Still kneeling, Harry leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Ron's cheek and ear, his fingertips dancing on Ron's arms. "I'm not going anywhere, you know that right?" he whispered, and Ron felt his chest clenching. Harry's teeth gently tugged at Ron's earlobe, then his lips pressed against the skin behind his ear, then the soft curve of his collarbone. "I don't plan on leaving you anytime soon," Harry added in a hot breath against Ron's shoulder, his tongue lapping at the freckles.

Ron could only gasp, the back of his throat filled with tears. He gulped them down and closed his eyes, shivering as Harry's hands travelled round his chest and stomach, soon joined by Harry's lips. From that point on, Time seemed to shrink into a cloudy, gelatinous substance, as Ron could only focus on the caresses laid all over him, Harry's lips kissing, nibbling, tasting places that had never been touched before, like Ron's sides, which Harry's lips climbed as if they were the tastiest pumpkin pie, and not flesh stretched over his ribcage. Or the tender flesh on the inside of his elbow, which Harry's tongue lavished times and times again like an ice-cream. Likewise, Ron would have never, ever thought that getting his hand lapped could be anything but gross, and yet the soft wet caress of Harry's tongue over his palm and between his fingers was little short of heavenly. But the best must have been (still was. Harry was greedy to compare, sampling the same places over and over again) the soft ginger trail of hairs pointing down at Ron's boxers, which got the supreme honour of being veneered by Harry's tongue, Harry's lips, and Harry's fingers.

Time passed by in a foggy breeze and still Harry was everywhere, everywhere at once on Ron's body, petting him, tasting him, exploring him at leisure, sometimes so softly and slowly Ron felt himself floating away, then with so much hunger and fierceness Ron could only moan and whimper, straining against his boxers, hands groping blindly to try and reach any part of Harry's body. But whatever bit of skin Ron managed to get his hands on always seemed to vanish from under his fingers as Harry moved over his body, tongue tracing circles around his (suddenly naked) knees, fingers sliding up under the legs of his boxers, mouth sucking on whatever flesh it met. For one second, Ron wondered if he would wake up the next day covered in love-bites. But suddenly he was lying on his stomach, and Harry was kissing the soft skin at the back of his knees, and Ron's hips started grounding into the mattress, his middle desperate for a touch.

Harry's hands were now moving Ron's body around as if he were a puppet, spreading his legs, gripping his arms and stretching them backwards to sprinkle them with hot kisses, turning him on his side and bending Ron's knee up to massage the soft skin of his thigh. Then Harry's lips were pressed between his shoulders and Ron stretched his arm behind him, wrapping it around Harry's back and craning his neck to try and get those lips on his, moans turning desperate. He was sure he heard Harry chuckle before his mouth brushed against his cheek, his temple, his forehead. "Please," Ron whimpered, hand gripping Harry's side. "Harry..."

At last Harry's lips crushed against his and Ron moaned with relief, his other arm curling around Harry's shoulder, hand gripping his hair and trying to press him even closer, tongue reaching out for Harry's throat. Harry curled one leg around Ron's ones, unconsciously pressing his middle against Ron's buttocks, much turned on by his own ministrations. Ron's behind eagerly pushed back and Harry gasped into his mouth, then wrenched his lips away, tutting. Ron could only whimper, not understanding why Harry would move away when things were getting even more perfect. But Harry's body wasn't touching his anymore and Harry's head lowered behind him, hot breath ghosting over his spine.

"No," Ron whispered, his hand awkwardly reaching behind him, sliding from Harry's hair to his neck, trying to keep him up. "Kiss me again," he added pleadingly. Harry smiled but obliged, deliberately making his kisses lighter, smaller, before drifting down again.

There was flesh pressing against his back, and slender fingers gliding on his thigh, but no trace of Harry's arousal. Ron tentatively pushed his arse, seeking, but met only thin air. Harry chuckled against his shoulder, fingers dancing around Ron's nipple, and caressed Ron's ankle with his toes, tutting again.

Ron sighed, resigned, and closed his eyes, letting himself drift away into this sea of Harry-ness, shivering in pleasure at every unexpected touch, every inch of his body receiving respects. Actually, and despite the desperate way they were reaching out for attention, a few inches were left out completely, but in his dreamy state Ron didn't mind this slight rudeness much. He sighed, his brain diving in and out of half-dreams, the strangest thoughts developing into crazy shapes to recede in a flash, like seaweed frightened by a fish. Harry's kisses were getting softer, his touches less pressing. Ron suddenly realized he was lying on his back again, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He felt Harry's breath against his cheek, warm flesh hovering close to his chest, one leg sliding between his and making him dream of the giant Squid, then the merpeople squeaking into the night air, then a beautiful mermaid he had once seen in a book. He tried to raise his hand to touch Harry but it felt like lead. He would do it tomorrow then, after class, and maybe Filch would give them leave to go early to decorate the house-elves cause it was the Yule Ball...

Harry looked up and smiled at Ron's relaxed features, his hands finally stopping all movement. He scooted up and carefully lied beside his sleeping (and already slightly snoring) boyfriend, leaning up so he could gaze down at Ron's face, his fingers unable to resist the temptation and quickly tracing its edges, before his lips laid butterfly kisses on their path. Harry beamed and pressed his cheek against Ron's cool one, closing his eyes for a second before gently kissing Ron's mouth, lingering there, refraining the urge to deepen the kiss and waken Ron. He wanted to whisper things in Ron's ear, reassurances and more, but every time he half opened his lips, the words died on his tongue, too heavy to escape. After a few minutes of this routine, Harry scrunched up his face, grinning, and scooted down, pressing his face against Ron's stomach, shivering when Ron's arms sleepily came to wrap around him, fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck.