Translation of Light

Authors Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Halo of Darkness.

Chapter 2

Harry Apparated into what he expected to be his empty flat to find Ron in the living room with Fred and George. There was an open bottle of firewhisky on the coffee table, an empty bottle lying on the floor, and Quidditch commentary blaring from the large wizarding wireless on the sideboard. Cursing silently, Harry plastered a smile on his face as he stepped into the room.

"Hey, Ron, the missus is home!"

"Get fucked, George," Ron muttered.

"Harry, my lad!"

"It's our favourite investor!"

"Our only investor, brother of mine. Give the man a drink!"

Harry could feel a headache coming on. Fred and George's double-act wore on his nerves at the best of times, and tonight he just wasn't in the mood. "What are you two doing here? I thought Ron had a date?"

Ron glanced up, and then quickly dropped his gaze back to the drink in his hand. "I, er, decided not to go in the end. And then these two showed up to listen to the match so, um... Wasn't expecting you back tonight."

"Siddown, mate, you're making the place look untidy," said Fred. Or maybe it was George. Harry had a drink shoved into his hand by one twin while the other steered him to the armchair.

"I hope you're in a better mood than ickle Ronniekins here. We're doing our best to cheer him up."

"Some blonde bird was acting all huffy and stormed out just as we got here, so we're doing our brotherly duty and -"

"Will you two just give it a rest?" Ron snapped angrily. "You said you came here to listen to the match, so bloody well listen to it."

The twins grinned unrepentantly at each other, but did quieten down long enough for Harry to discover that they were listening to a match between Puddlemere United and the Wimbourne Wasps. That explained it, Harry thought. Their Quidditch captain from school, Oliver Wood, was the Keeper for Puddlemere, and the twins never missed a match if they could help it. Harry kept a surreptitious eye on Ron, who was steadily working his way through the bottle of firewhisky, until a sudden roar from the crowd and the excited commentator shouting, 'Another great save by Wood' dragged his attention back to the match. The game was fast-paced and Harry found himself swept up in it, especially when it became obvious that the Snitch had been spotted. The earth-shattering roar told them that it had been caught before the commentator could, and the twins joined in with the cheering when it turned out that the Puddlemere Seeker had been the victor.

The twins raised their glasses in tribute, then one of them, possibly George, said, "What a game! Ollie'll be dead chuffed! That last save of his was brilliant. Wish we could have seen it."

"Have to get Man of the Match," the other twin replied. "They beat the Wasps, can you believe that?"

"Couldn't have done it without Ollie - best Keeper they've ever had."

"Not surprising though. Remember what he was like at school? Great mate, but an utter bastard as captain. Totally obsessed."

"Paid off though, didn't it? We won, and we kept winning."

"Happy days, eh?"

The twins shared a grin. Then Fred - at least Harry thought it was Fred, seemed to suddenly remember that Harry and Ron were still in the room, and said, "We're meeting Ollie and some of the lads at his place."

"Had something on and couldn't get to the match, so we said we'd see them after."

"We've got some serious celebrating planned!"

They smiled widely, then turned expectant looks on their small audience. Harry rolled his eyes and took a large swig from his glass. He just wanted them to leave, and knew better than to encourage them by joining in. Ron, however, took the bait.

"How did you know you'd be celebrating?" he asked after a moment.

The twins gave him a pitying look. "Keep up, Ronniekins. We always go out after a match, win or lose. If they'd lost we'd have been drowning our sorrows."

"I think young Ronald has had one too many."

"You can never have one too many, and I shall prove that tonight, oh brother of mine!"

"A challenge, is it? Well, never say I was one to back out of a challenge. Let's go."

"You two could come with us, if you want," one of the twins said as they once again turned their attention to their bemused audience.

"Do you good. Right pair of wet blankets tonight, you are, what with Ron here sulking over some bird and you looking like you lost a Galleon and found a Knut."

Harry quickly glanced at Ron, and then shook his head. "Thanks, but not tonight. Not feeling the best, so I think I'll just have a quiet night in."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," FredorGeorge said, shaking his head. "It's Saturday night! Party night!" Harry just glared at the irritating twin, who raised his hands in defeat.

"I don't understand them at all, do you, George?" Fred said, shaking his head. "Young, single and famous - if they went out on the town with us, without their bloody glamours on for once, we'd all have anything, and anyone, we bloody wanted."

"Fred," Harry growled, the warning clear in his voice.

"Fair enough, mate, but it's your loss. You're coming though, aren't you, Ron?"

"Not bloody likely. It took me a week to recover from the last binge I went on with you lot."

"Fine. The birds will be all over us anyway, hanging around with famous Quidditch players. You really don't know what you're missing," said Fred with a leer.

"I think he probably does," George said with a grin. "That's why he's not coming." Fred chuckled and the pair of them scrambled to their feet and made their way out into the hallway. Ron pushed himself out of the armchair and somewhat unsteadily followed them out.

"No sense of adventure, some people. That Auror was dead chuffed when she discovered she'd been the one to arrest the famous Ronald Weasley, Order of Merlin First Class, for being drunk and disorderly. Made her week, that did. Even asked for your autograph, didn't she? Did you invite her up to see your medal?" The twins were grinning madly.

"Fuck off, George."

"Love you too, Ron. Later, Harry." And with two loud cracks, the twins were gone.

Harry watched from the living room doorway as Ron swayed and then leant against the wall for a moment, his eyes closed as he took several slow, deep breaths. He opened his eyes as he pushed himself off the wall, and then froze when he saw Harry watching him.

"Oh!" Ron's face flushed a brick red. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "Er, all right, mate?"

Harry took a deep breath, and then hesitated. Ron had obviously had a lot to drink, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He was usually a happy, affectionate drunk - when the twins weren't around to annoy him, of course - which could definitely work in his favour. And if it all went pear shaped, well, a few missing memories wouldn't raise any suspicions after drinking that much firewhisky.

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to risk someone else overhearing, though, so they couldn't stay at the flat. Ron wasn't much good at keeping an eye on the twins at the best of times, so God only knew what little 'surprises' they'd left lying around. After their last visit, Harry had found surveillance wards and booby-trapped items all over the place. Granted, not all of the spying could be blamed on the twins, although the booby traps were definitely down to them. The last thing he wanted to do right now was spend time blocking the wards and defusing the traps. A change of venue was definitely called for. It was time to take Ron home.

"Yeah. Look, have you got your wand on you?" Harry asked in a low voice. Ron's eyes widened, and he nodded warily.

"Good, 'cause we're going out." Harry pulled out his wallet and took out a piece of paper, which he handed to Ron, saying, "Think hard about what this says." Ron gave him a worried look, but dutifully stared, somewhat owlishly, at the words: Harry Potter lives at 8, Alexander Mews, London.

"Got it?" said Harry as he grabbed hold of Ron's arm. "Hang on, I'm using a Portkey. Marauder's Rest." Harry felt the tug as the emergency Portkey cum family ring on his finger activated and braced himself. He still hated travelling this way, but it was the quickest way to get Ron through the wards on his house.

The Portkey deposited them in a neat hallway, just inside the front door. Harry pushed open the door on the left and ushered Ron in. He flicked a switch and a couple of lamps came on, softly illuminating the room. He loved this room. There was a large bay window to the left of the door that created a cosy nook when the curtains were drawn; he'd put a couple of armchairs there. A comfortable couch was positioned near the central fireplace, angled so you got a good view of the large television he'd splashed out on. At the far end of the room there was the formal dining area and an archway that led into the kitchen.

A gesture had the fire crackling merrily and Harry smiled as he watched Ron, who was still hovering in the doorway looking thoroughly confused. He was opening and closing his mouth, giving him the look of a bewildered goldfish as he seemed to discard one opening gambit for another, until Harry took pity on him.

"Sit down, Ron. I'll get us a drink," Harry said. "Lager okay?"

"What? Yeah, sure, whatever," Ron said as he took a seat on the couch, glancing around the room in confusion.

A large wall unit to the right of the fireplace housed Harry's CD and DVD collection and associated electronics. He scanned his CDs quickly and found one of the compilations the DJ at the club had made for him. He shoved it in the player and quickly adjusted the volume; he liked his music loud when he was on his own, but it was just background noise tonight. Then he headed out into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of bottles of lager from the fridge, opened them, and made his way back to Ron.

"Harry, what - I mean why -"

"I need to talk to you," Harry said as he handed Ron his drink and took a seat on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes. "Oh, that's better. Slip your shoes off, mate, make yourself at home."

Harry watched Ron fumble with his shoes, and quietly cast a gentle Sobrietus on him. It wasn't anywhere near strong enough to sober him up, but it would clear his head a bit. After all, he wanted Ron mellow, not unconscious. Ron shuddered and took a deep breath, and then quickly removed his shoes, his movements somewhat more assured. As he stretched his feet towards the fire he said, "Okay. But why couldn't we talk at home?"

"Because what I want to talk to you about is private, and I didn't want to take the chance that today was a Ministry surveillance day. Or let Witch Weekly get lucky if they were having another shot at finding out what colour underpants I'm wearing or something. And you do remember what we found last time the twins visited, don't you?"

Ron looked blank for a moment, then his face twisted into a grimace. The twins seemed to take a perverse delight in using Ron as an unwitting test subject. "Oh, yeah. Bastards." Ron took a long swallow of his lager. "So, um, where are we?" he asked, gesturing with the bottle to indicate the house. "'s nice place."

"Thanks. Glad you like it. I bought it three months ago. It's completely private. Even Gred and Forge would have trouble getting through my wards. And there's the Fidelius, of course."

Ron snorted, then said, "Hang on. You bought a house three months and you didn't tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "It didn't come up."

"It didn't come up?" Ron said incredulously, and Harry waited for Ron to start ranting at him. But instead he seemed to deflate and sink further into the couch. "I don't know why I'm surprised, really. You don't tell me anything any more. You're always off doing stuff. Some nights you don't even come home but you never say where you've been. I hardly ever see you these days and I feel like -" Ron broke off abruptly and stared at the lager bottle, his fingers picking nervously at the label. "I suppose Hermione knows all about it."

"Actually, no. Well, she knows in theory. She was the one who told me I should buy somewhere; good investment, she said. She doesn't know I have, yet."

"Really?" Harry nodded. Ron seemed to perk up a bit at that news. "Oh. I suppose that makes sense. But why'd you buy one in Muggle London?"

"I grew up in the Muggle world, Ron. There are some things that I prefer about it, and it's got definite advantages. Guaranteed privacy, for one. And I've got Muggle as well as magical investments, so it's, well, handy. Just makes it easier, you know?"

"Right. But you're not planning on living here yet, are you?"

"Not right now, no. Actually, that's one of the things I want to talk to you about. You know I told you I fancy going abroad for a bit?" Ron nodded and Harry continued, "Well, I'm planning on leaving soon; probably just after Hermione's wedding."

"That soon? I thought..." Ron took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly. "Fair enough, don't blame you, mate. It'll be good for you to see a bit of the world. How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Dunno, really. I thought I'd go and see Bill first. I've always wanted to see the pyramids, and then I want to catch up with Charlie and visit the Dragon Reserve. Not sure about after that, though. Maybe a bit of sight-seeing around Europe."

"Sounds brilliant," Ron said wistfully. "You'll probably be away for a while then." He put the lager bottle to his lips, tipped it up and took a long swallow, and Harry found himself staring as his imagination went into overdrive. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he quickly took a drink himself.

"You'll be home by Christmas, though, won't you? You know Mum expects everyone for Christmas dinner. And you can't abandon me for too long; the twins'll drive me nuts if you're not there."

"I don't know when I'll be back, Ron." Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm his suddenly jangling nerves. "It depends on you, really."

"Me?" Ron shot Harry a startled glance and then returned to staring at the now-empty bottle he was nursing, his fingers still nervously picking at the label. "What's it got to do with me?"

Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Well, things have been a bit odd lately, between you and me, I mean, and you're probably wondering about what happened this afternoon -"

"No, not really," Ron said quickly.

Harry huffed loudly. "Now see, that right there is what I'm talking about. A few months ago, you'd have given me the third degree the minute I walked back into the flat, asking me what the hell I thought I was doing, and didn't I know how dangerous it was to Apparate out like that."

"No, I wouldn't!"

Harry's incredulous snort caused Ron to shoot another glance in his direction before turning his attention back to the bottle he was nursing. They sat in silence until Ron finally huffed, dumped the empty bottle on the coffee table, turned to face Harry and said, "Oh, all right, maybe I would have. But there's no point any more. 's none of my business what you do. You obviously don't want me to know, because when I ask you, you just get all evasive. And now you've bought a house in Muggle London, and you didn't tell me about that either, and you're going away without me so obviously I don't matter any more so there's no point in me saying anything, is there."

Harry was stunned. Ron sounded more like a jealous boyfriend that a flat mate, and he was blinking rapidly, as though trying to hold back tears. Ron never cried - ever. Before he could stop himself, Harry wrapped his arms around Ron and hugged him. Ron froze for a moment, and then he sighed and leant into Harry, resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Harry whispered. Ron raised his head and as their eyes met Harry knew it was now or never. He leant in and brushed his lips against Ron's. "You matter more than anyone else in the world." Another soft brush of lips that Harry lingered over. "I've wanted you for so long." Harry pressed his lips to Ron's again, and this time Ron's lips parted, and he suddenly felt Ron's arms around him and Ron was desperately kissing him back. Harry felt Ron's arms tighten around him, as thought trying to pull him even closer, and he moaned appreciatively into his mouth as Harry shifted so that he was straddling Ron's hips, pressing their bodies tightly together. They eventually broke the kiss, and Harry rested his forehead against Ron's to catch his breath before gently nipping at Ron's lips.

Harry had never been one for kissing before, not really. His few attempts with women had been disappointing, to say the least; it had always seemed too personal, too intimate an act to share during the casual encounters that his sex life had consisted of thus far. But Ron had obviously had a lot of practice, and Harry knew he could quickly become addicted to the way Ron's tongue teased and coaxed. He wanted to explore Ron's mouth for hours; he knew he'd never grow tired of the softness of his lips, the slight burn of his stubble against his cheek, and the way he tasted. Harry ran his hands over Ron's chest, stroking, tickling and teasing the warm skin he uncovered as he unbuttoned his shirt, wringing little moans and whimpering sounds from Ron that made Harry ache. An experimental roll of his hips had Ron gasping and thrusting against him, and the handful of still-functioning brain cells Harry had left told him that he should back off. That this was moving way too fast and that Ron was probably too drunk to be thinking clearly. But Ron was licking and sucking Harry's neck and making those little whimpering noises in the back of his throat, and Harry told his conscience to fuck off as he reached down and unbuttoned Ron's jeans. If Ron changed his mind once he'd sobered up, at least Harry would have this much.

Harry wanted to savour the moment, make it last. He knew he would never forget the look on Ron's face as he watched Harry slip to his knees. He took his time, touching Ron almost reverently, but all too soon, or so it seemed, Ron was gasping and shuddering his release and it was over.

Harry sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Ron was a boneless heap on the couch, his eyes closed, panting harshly, and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight. Ignoring his own, insistent arousal, Harry got to his feet, picked up his beer and took a couple of swallows.

Ron's eyes flew open. He was still trying to catch his breath as he stared at Harry for a moment before saying, "I've never... No one's ever done that to me before."

"You're kidding. Never?" Harry said as he handed the bottle to Ron and then slumped onto the couch next to him.

"Well, Herm- er, somebody tried it once, but it was a bit half-hearted, and she wouldn't try again. Don't think she liked it much." Ron took a long swallow of the lager and then dumped the bottle back onto the coffee table. Harry slipped a hand behind Ron's neck and leaned in, and Ron tilted his head and parted his lips as Harry kissed him. "I can taste myself," he said softly against Harry's lips, and then wrapped an arm around Harry and pulled him into a deep kiss. As they broke the kiss once again, Ron yawned widely, and then gave Harry a sheepish grin. "Sorry, 'm a bit sleepy," he mumbled.

Harry smiled as he got to his feet. "Let's go and have a lie down," he said. He took Ron's hand and pulled him off the couch. Ron wrapped his arms around Harry and nuzzled his neck as Harry Apparated them to the bedroom.

"Bloody hell, Harry, a bit of warning next time," Ron muttered, clutching at Harry as he stumbled a little; Harry wasn't sure if it was due to the sudden Apparition or the fact that Ron's jeans were still around his ankles.

"Sorry," Harry said unrepentantly, and with a quick wave of his hand he had the curtains drawn and the fire burning brightly, casting flickering shadows in the darkened room. He bundled Ron into bed; he was virtually asleep on his feet and was snoring almost before his head hit the pillow. Harry sighed. He was still painfully hard. He went into the bathroom and brought himself off with a few sharp tugs. Not exactly what he'd hoped for, but still more than he could reasonably have expected this evening, and he did have Ron naked in his bed. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that they'd sorted anything out though, not really, and was uncomfortably aware that what he'd done had been closer to Blaise's 'shoot now and ask questions later' strategy than he cared to admit. But Harry couldn't bring himself to regret it, and when he eventually drifted off to sleep he felt happier than he had for a long time.

---<@

"Get down!" Grab Ron and haul him down, ducking the spellfire as we scramble into the nearby alleyway, the only cover available. Ron spins around, tries to pull away.

"Hermione!"

She hits the ground, and a trickle of blood runs down her face. She vanishes. Ron starts to run forward. Too dangerous, grab him. Slam him against the alley wall. Got to keep him safe. Make him listen.

"Ron, stop it! It's the emergency Portkey. She's safe. Poppy's there." Hang on tight and yell reassurances until Ron stops fighting me, starts listening.

"It's important, Ron. Listen to me. It's just you and me now. You'll have to do the spell. Listen to me!" Shake him now, force his attention back. "Fucking listen! We've got to do it now. Ron!"

"Yeah, yeah, right. Sorry, mate, just..."

"I know, I know. But we've got to do it now." Running out of time running out of time...

"But you practiced with Hermione. She was supposed to do it with you. She was really good at it. I missed sometimes. You know that. That's why I'm supposed to cover you, I can't -"

"Yes, you can!" Hands on either side of his face now, I stare into his eyes, willing him to believe. "You can do this, mate. You practiced too. You never missed at the end. Never. I trust you. You can do this."

"I can't -"

"You have to! This is the only shot we've got." Pull out the potion phial with shaking hands and flip it open. "Right. Three drops of blood each, then rock it gently until it turns silver. You remember the spell?" Ron nods. "Wait till I finish chanting - the second I finish, cast it."

The potion's already turning silver. It'll only last five minutes. Everything depends on Ron getting that spell right. It's got to hit Voldemort's flesh the second the chanting ends or it's all for nothing...

Peer around the corner.

He's there. Of course he's there. Bastard. Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, laughing as his minions fire hexes wildly up and down the street. People screaming and running for cover as shop windows explode. Where the hell are the Aurors? If this works, God, let this work, Scrimgeour is next on the list, the self-serving, slimy bastard -

"Ready?"

Crouch in the entrance to the alleyway, Ron's hand on my shoulder. It feels so warm and I want, God, I want... Share a smile and almost tell him, almost say the words because this could be the last time but... he doesn't want to hear them. Not from me. Doesn't matter. If there's anyone listening take care of him, please... "Good luck." Deep breath.

Now.

My wand slips into my hand so easily, an extension of me. Ron disillusions us both. We've got no cover, no backup, nothing but the element of surprise. Motion Ron to stay in the cover of the alleyway. He can banish the potion from there, no need to both be out in the open. Move out into the street, away from him, don't make him a target. Our shields should hold but I can't risk him.

Now.

The words come almost without conscious thought. Chanting - an incantation in a language even Hermione couldn't translate. It's almost like singing, and the power starts to gather. Pure white light pours from the end of my wand and hit its target. It's working!

"Potter. Do you know what you're doing?"

He's staring right at me. Ignore him. Keep chanting. Must finish, don't stop. Almost done.

"Oh, very good!"

Why isn't he cursing me? He's pointing his wand at me but he hasn't cast anything. Has he? His minions have stopped attacking, too. Why aren't they attacking? They're just standing there like statues, staring blankly as though they're under Imperious or something. What the hell is going on? He's smiling. The bastard's smiling at me. Something's wrong. Really, really wrong. He's glowing and he's laughing and -

"Farewell, Potter. Give my regards to your parents."

What? There's a flash of light and suddenly bodies are littering the street. Most of them are Death Eaters, but there're a few red robes too. When did the Aurors get here? And what the fuck just happened? Got to get to Ron. We've got to get out of here now. I fucking told Hermione it was too risky... We couldn't translate it. We shouldn't have trusted -

"Fuck!"

Too late too late too late. He's dissolving into light getting brighter and hotter. Pure white spell light hits me. My shield buckles and then shatters. It's him. It's coming from him. Raise my wand, got to recast the shield. Shit, the light... My wand. I can't.... Agony. Energy raw power blinding too bright. Screaming and pain burning twisting agony...

---<@

Harry's eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding and his jaw clenched tight against the scream that echoed through his head. Another nightmare. Except it wasn't. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on calming his breathing. He hated waking up like this. A loud snore that he'd recognise anywhere broke into his troubled thoughts and brought a smile to his lips; he turned towards Ron, who was sprawled on his back across most of the bed. And considering that Harry had bought a king-sized bed that was no mean feat. He briefly considered curling up next to Ron and trying to go back to sleep, but his dream had unsettled him and he needed to get up, do something. Harry watched Ron sleep for a moment longer, then with a sigh he slipped out of the warm bed. He put on his dressing gown and slippers, wandered into the bathroom and then, urgent matters attended to, headed downstairs.

He went into the living room first, turned off the lights and opened the curtains. The room looked gloomy in the weak, grey daylight. Harry shivered and headed out the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

He'd suffered from nightmares for years, but they still unsettled him; left him jittery and feeling worn out. He didn't often dream of Diagon Alley, but when he did he found himself dwelling on it for days afterwards. There were too many questions that remained unanswered for Harry's peace of mind. Nothing about that day really made sense, but no one seemed interested in questioning it. Voldemort had been defeated; the Dark Mark had vanished from every marked Death Eater, not simply faded this time. And Harry's scar was gone, which seemed to confirm it.

Harry would have advised caution, and urged Minister Scrimgeour to keep things low key until they'd proven beyond doubt that he was really gone. Not that it would have done any good. There were eyewitness accounts of Voldemort dying in a very spectacular explosion. Scrimgeour would have just laughed at him. And Harry really had nothing more than gut instinct to offer as evidence. But where were Bellatrix Lestrange and Wormtail? Neither of them had been found, and he was pretty certain that other Inner Circle Death Eaters had gone missing as well. But Harry had been unable to do a thing. He'd been in a coma, hidden away in Grimmauld Place.

He'd remained unconscious for almost three months.

For the first few days, the Order had simply expected him to wake up on his own. But he hadn't, and the Ministry had started insisting that Harry be moved to St. Mungo's Hospital. Obviously this couldn't be allowed to happen. So Madam Pomfrey had approached an old family friend of hers, Darius Parminter, a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's, and he'd agreed to help. He'd fended off the Ministry, saying that Harry was suffering from severe magical exhaustion, which was only to be expected after defeating a Dark Lord. Harry's magic simply needed time and complete rest to recover, and there was nothing St. Mungo's could do to hasten the process. In fact, he'd stated loudly in front of as many witnesses as he could that Harry was better off at home, surrounded by family and friends. The Ministry had backed down.

Meanwhile, the Wizarding World had celebrated and Scrimgeour had wasted no time in ensuring that the Ministry shared the credit for the defeat of Voldemort. When Harry had finally woken up, he found that it was all over. Parties and parades had come and gone, and Orders of Merlin had been scattered about like confetti. All the Death Eaters were presumed to have died along with their Master, and that was considered to be the end of the matter. No one wanted to hear Harry's doubts.

Harry sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. He didn't want to think about this now. Ron would probably be waking up soon, and they'd need to talk. He gulped down the rest of his tea and firmly put away the questions his dream had once again raised. Ron would want breakfast, and Harry could do with another cup of tea. Or a strong cup of coffee.

Harry generally didn't like cooking with magic; he found it more enjoyable to do things the Muggle way, despite his years of servitude to the Dursleys. But he didn't want to waste time in the kitchen today; he didn't want Ron waking up alone. Then a sudden thought hit him. "Dobby," he called, and instantly the house-elf appeared in the kitchen.

"Harry Potter! Is you living in your house now?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet, but very soon now. A few months, maybe less, I promise," he said as the smile dropped from the face of his friend. Dobby had appeared in front of Harry almost as soon as he'd bought the house, and demanded that Harry employ him and Winky. Dobby was happy enough at Hogwarts, but even his - friendship, relationship, Harry wasn't sure and he didn't really want to know - with Winky wasn't enough to make her happy, and she desperately wanted to belong to a house and master again. Harry had explained that he wasn't planning on staying in the wizarding world, but Dobby was adamant that he didn't care. After much negotiation, Harry had given in and bound Winky, and started paying Dobby both their wages, as Winky refused to take anything, but told them to stay at Hogwarts until he finally moved into the house.

"Look, I'm probably going to be spending a bit more time here now, so you can move Winky and yourself in whenever you want, okay?" Harry said. The words were hardly out of his mouth before Dobby flung himself at Harry and hugged his legs.

"Winky will be so happy, and Dobby won't have to worry about keeping the Butterbeer locked away ever again!"

"Okay, Dobby. How about you move in during the week? You can always go and work at Hogwarts, or help out Remus or something for a few hours every day if you get bored."

Harry walked over to a door in the corner of the kitchen and opened it. It had been a larder, and Harry had expanded it to the size of a small bedroom. It was filled with bolts of material, planks of wood, small pieces of furniture and boxes of odds and ends; all the things that house-elves could use to set up their den.

"This room, and all this stuff is for you and Winky. There's a pouch of Galleons on the table so you can buy anything else you need. And don't forget, if you need to charge a vault -"

"I use WWW Shareholder No.1 Account, not any Potter account. No one will know about us or the house, Harry Potter," Dobby said. "Dobby knows." And Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Dobby did know; knew a lot more, in fact, than Harry thought he did. That account had been set up for Harry by Fred and George, and his share of the profits was paid in regularly. No one, apart from the twins, even knew this account existed, and they had no reason to tell anyone about it.

"Dobby is also knowing that Harry Potter's Wheezy is here. Is you wanting breakfast?"

At Harry's surprised nod, Dobby disappeared with a pop, reappearing a few seconds later with a large tray, absolutely laden with food. He placed the tray on the table, turned around, and with a few gestures had a pot of coffee brewing. Harry recognised the tray as belonging to Hogwarts, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Dobby is going now. We is moving in next week," Dobby said firmly, then with a pop he was gone. Harry shook his head in bemusement. He cast a warming charm over the tray and left it on the kitchen table. Then he poured two mugs of coffee, and carried them back up to the bedroom.

Harry crept into the bedroom and placed a mug of coffee on the bedside table next to Ron. He wrapped his hands around his own mug as he walked over to the window. He opened the curtains and stared at the glowering sky. It was pouring with rain. Harry shivered and glanced at the fire, which flared brightly in response. He stared at the rain a moment longer, then turned around to see Ron propped up on one elbow, watching him.

"Last night. It wasn't a dream, then." Ron's voice, still rough with sleep, gave nothing away. Harry's stomach clenched. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"No."

"Oh." Ron looked away; stared into the fire instead. "I wasn't sure at first. I woke up alone, so I thought maybe I'd just had too much to drink and had one of those really vivid dreams again, but..." His gaze flicked up to Harry's face for a moment, then he turned his attention to his coffee, picked up the mug and took a couple of gulps.

"Do you want it to be a dream?" Harry asked softly. Ron looked up sharply and stared into Harry's eyes for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. It wasn't exactly an enthusiastic 'yes', but it could have been a lot worse.

"What do you want, Ron?"

"Well, the bathroom and some breakfast would be a good start," Ron said. There was something brittle about his smile that told Harry not to push, so Harry just smiled at him.

"There's breakfast downstairs in the kitchen. Bathroom's through there. Oh, and there's Hangover Potion in the bathroom cabinet. Just in case," Harry added as he pointed to the bathroom door. He conjured a dressing gown and slippers and put them on the end of the bed.

Ron shot him an odd look, then took another quick slurp of his coffee before sliding out of bed, grabbing the dressing gown and diving into the bathroom. Harry sat on the edge of the bed as he sipped his coffee, waiting for Ron to come out of the bathroom again. He heard the toilet flush, and a moment later the shower being turned on. With a sigh Harry looked around to see what he'd done with Ron's clothes. He spotted them in a heap on the floor where he'd dropped them last night. He picked them up, cast a cleaning charm on them and then folded them in a neat pile on the end of the bed. The shower was still running, so he shouted through the door that he was going down to the kitchen, picked up his coffee and headed downstairs again.

Ten minutes later, Harry was just about to go and see if Ron had got lost when he poked his head around the kitchen door.

"There you are! Wasn't sure where to go, so I followed the smell of food. This stuff came from Hogwarts, didn't it?" Ron asked as he took a seat at the table and began helping himself from the platters of food. "How did you - Bloody hell, not Dobby?" At Harry's nod, Ron continued, "That's one determined house-elf, mate. He never let up, did he? What are you going to do with a house-elf?"

"Two. He made me take Winky as well. I couldn't say no to him. I am such a soft touch," Harry said sheepishly.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Ron said. He had that odd look on his face again, but it seemed to have something wistful about it as he continued filling his plate. They ate in silence. Ron tended to take his food seriously, so that was nothing unusual for him. Talking wasted valuable eating time, after all. There was something off, though, an unspoken question in Ron's eyes that had Harry on edge. By the time Ron finally pushed his plate away, Harry had had enough.

"Whatever it is, just say it, Ron."

Ron stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Where's your wand, mate?"

Harry stared blankly at Ron. What had his wand got to do with anything? Then his eyes widened in horror as he realised what Ron had been getting at. He hadn't used his wand once since they'd arrived at the house. In fact, he had an idea that he'd left it in his bedroom yesterday afternoon when he'd made his panicked flight to Blaise's place. He couldn't believe he'd been that careless.

Ron summoned the coffeepot, ostentatiously using his wand, and topped up both their cups. "You've forgotten a few times at the flat, too," he said conversationally. "I told myself that I was imagining it, or that maybe you'd slipped your wand away too quickly for me to see it, but I didn't really believe that. Hermione said you'd be back to normal well before last Christmas. And no, I haven't said anything to her. But I'd really like to know what's going on."

"You're not the only one, mate," Harry said wryly. He really didn't want to get into this right now. He'd wanted to talk to him about last night, first. That would have to wait, now, while he tried to explain something that he didn't completely understand himself. This would not be a short conversation.

Ron furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know. Not for certain."

Ron opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, "I don't understand. Hermione said -"

"I know what she said," Harry interrupted. "And she was wrong."

"But..." Ron shook his head, looking perplexed. "She's never wrong about things like this."

Actually she was, at least twice that Harry knew of. She was wrong about what had happened to him, and she'd been wrong about the ritual, he was almost sure of it. But he simply shook his head and said, "This time she was. Not about everything. At least I don't think so. Just about me."

"Then why didn't you tell her that?" Ron blurted out. There was a look of betrayal on his face that twisted something in Harry's gut. "If you knew she wasn't right, you should have said something. You let her tell everyone -"

"I didn't let her tell anyone a bloody thing," Harry snapped out. "She did that all on her own. I didn't have any say in it. I was in a bloody coma, if you remember."

Ron exhaled explosively and scrubbed a hand over his face. After a moment he looked up and offered Harry an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's just..." He sighed and said, "She didn't have a lot of choice, you know? We didn't tell anyone what we'd be doing, and they were all screaming for explanations, including the Minister. And as she was the only one of us who was still conscious at the time, she was the one they were screaming at. She told me she'd fobbed everyone off as long as she could, but she had to tell them something."

"I know she did. I wasn't having a go at her, Ron," Harry said wearily. Far from it, in fact. He had nothing but admiration for what she'd been able to do. She had to have been worried sick about both of them, and everyone from the Minister of Magic down had been pressuring her for answers. And yet she'd still managed to fend them all off long enough to come up with a sound, watertight theory that gave away as little as possible while still answering all of their questions. He knew he couldn't have done it. No, he'd simply been jealous of the way Ron had leapt to her defence. Which was stupid. Hermione was marrying someone else, and Ron was here with him.

"I know you weren't, mate," Ron said. He picked up his coffee and took a couple of sips, peering at Harry over the rim as he nursed the cup. "But I still don't understand why you didn't say something afterwards. Being right about all this stuff really matters to her, you know?"

"I know it does. But I thought it was better for her to be safe than right, this time."

"Oh." Ron went very still, and then slowly put down his cup. "And that went for me, too, did it?"

Harry sighed as he saw that all-too-familiar stubborn look in Ron's eye. He slumped back in his chair and said, "Hermione's explanation of what happened to me was perfect. It fitted seamlessly with her overall theory. She even produced evidence, expert witnesses and a ten-foot long scroll of calculations that proved she was correct. Nobody was going to argue with that. And if anybody did decide that they wanted to make sure it was the truth, that we weren't covering anything up, you and Hermione would be the first ones they'd go to. You both had to believe that I was back to normal. That she'd been right."

"We wouldn't have said anything!"

"Not voluntarily, no. If I'd known you suspected anything before today, I'd probably have Obliviated you."

"You'd what?"

Seeing the look of shock on Ron's face, Harry quickly continued, "I'm not going to now, obviously. But you've got to realise how serious this is, Ron. I was going to tell you eventually. I'll have to add an extra layer of protection to your mind, though, so that if anyone tries to question you under Veritaserum, you simply won't remember who I am."

Ron stared at Harry for a moment, before saying, "That's a bit drastic, isn't it?"

"The block only lasts until the potion wears off or you're given the antidote. I don't want to mess about with your memories, Ron. It's simpler to just lock them away under certain conditions."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "You've done this before, haven't you," he stated.

Harry nodded. He had a highly placed spy in the Ministry; one who was still voluntarily under cover there, and he'd used the technique on him. It wasn't subtle. If he was questioned and the protection kicked in his cover would be blown. But then the mere fact that he'd been questioned about Harry under Veritaserum would mean that his usefulness was over, anyway.

Ron took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Okay, do it," he said.

"Look into my eyes and lower your shields," Harry said. It was the work of a moment to place the block in his mind, and Ron blinked rapidly as Harry withdrew from his mind.

"That was quick. Are you sure you did it right? I didn't feel a thing."

Harry chuckled. "You let me in. That sort of thing only hurts if you resist."

"Oh, right. So, you going to tell me?"

Harry rested an elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand. He gazed at Ron steadily while he gathered his thoughts. "I'm not sure where to start. It's a long story."

"Better start at the beginning, then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I remember floating. It was warm, and dark, and quiet. Peaceful, you know? Anyway, I started hearing things. Voices. I didn't move at all at first. I just lay there, trying to remember what had happened. For some reason I thought I was back in the Hospital Wing. I think one of the voices must have been Poppy Pomfrey. I cracked my eyes open a little, and everything was blurry and far too bright. I fumbled about on the bedside cabinet, and suddenly I heard Hermione's voice. So I finally opened my eyes again, and Hermione was standing there, staring at me. I asked her to pass me my glasses and my wand, and she started crying. She told me I'd had my eyes fixed on my 18th birthday, that my wand had been destroyed, and that I'd been in a coma for three months. She said she had to get Poppy, but I grabbed her hand to stop her."

Ron shuddered. "Don't blame you. Downright vicious that woman is."

"Yeah. I wasn't in any hurry for the poking and prodding to start. I told Hermione I needed to know what had happened. And that I needed to know before anyone else knew I was awake and started asking awkward questions. She insisted on tipping several disgusting potions down my throat before she'd say a word, and by the time I'd drunk the last one I'd remembered pretty much everything. Anyway, she finally sat on the edge of the bed and starting talking. The first thing she told me was what had happened to you."

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing."

"You nearly died, Ron! Massive head injuries, she said, and it was all my fault." At Ron's quelling glare, Harry just shook his head and sighed. "Anyway, then she told me about my arrival at the Portkey point."

"Wish I'd been awake for that," Ron said with a snigger. "Hermione said you were floating in the middle of the entrance hall, glowing like one of those Muggle tube-light thingies, and everything was flying around and exploding. Everyone was diving for cover. It was pretty spectacular by all accounts."

Terrifying was the word Hermione had used. No one had been able to get anywhere near him. They'd had to evacuate the hall and wait until the maelstrom finally died down and he'd gently floated to the floor, some twelve hours later. It had certainly explained the wary, fearful glances he'd noticed some people cast his way.

"She told me her theory about Voldemort draining all his Death Eaters through the Dark Mark in a bid to hang on to his soul. She said that would explain the massive amount of power that was released when he disintegrated. And that it also accounted for all the dead Death Eaters they'd found. While she was talking to me, my throat felt dry and I really wanted a nice, cold glass of water. The next thing I know one just... appeared, in my hand. It had ice cubes floating in it, and a slice of lemon, and a red and gold striped bendy straw. We both just stared at it, and then she looked at me as though I was..." Harry shook his head. "It scared her, Ron. I scared her. Shook me up a bit too, to be honest. And that's when she started telling me what she thought had happened to me."

Two glasses of water appeared on the table, complete with ice cubes, lemon slices and bendy straws. Ron stared at the glasses for a moment and then burst out laughing. Harry smiled at him, picked up his glass and took a sip of water.

"As I listened to her explanation, I realised that nobody had actually seen what had happened between me and Voldemort."

Ron looked taken aback. "What? There were plenty of people who saw it. I was watching you myself before he blew up."

"What did you see?"

Ron tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling for a moment, obviously casting his mind back. "I couldn't see you at first, obviously, because you were Disillusioned, but once you started chanting you gradually became visible again. You were standing a few feet away from him. You had your wands pointed at each other, but he just stood there. I thought that the chanting had stunned him or something. Then I cast my bit of the ritual and there was a flash of light, and then... He was glowing. Actually, you were both glowing. It was too bright to see properly..." Ron's brow furrowed as he looked at Harry. "It was too bright to see exactly what happened. You're right."

"Hermione's theory was that I caught the brunt of the magical explosion, but instead of killing me the magic somehow recognised my connection to Voldemort and protected me instead, wrapping itself around me like a shield. She said I must have somehow absorbed some of this magic, probably because of the connection, but that it was leaking away and that's what caused my little wandless 'accident'." Harry gave a humourless chuckle. "I felt like a puppy who'd just pissed on the carpet. I half expected her to hit me on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper."

Ron snorted and slapped his hand across his mouth. He looked torn between laughter and indignation.

Harry shook his head. "It's okay, you can laugh. She did when I told her. And then she apologised." He picked up his glass and drank some water while Ron sniggered. He continued, "She kept assuring me that I had nothing to worry about; that the excess raw magic was already almost gone, and that I wouldn't have woken up if that hadn't been the case."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, that's what she told us. You stopped glowing after a few days, and things stopped blowing up around you a week or so after that. Poppy couldn't scan you to check your magic levels, though, because spells just bounced off you, so Hermione came up with the idea of measuring the level of magic in your room. It dropped a little bit every day. After a few weeks, she said she had enough information to work out when you'd be back to normal. When she said it'd take about nine months, everyone was horrified. We all thought you'd be unconscious that long, you see. But she said it didn't work that way. She said it was like a big tub of water. You put a hole in the side, and a lot of water gushes out to start with, but then it slows to a trickle, getting slower and slower till it eventually stops. She reckoned that all the glowing and floating and blowing stuff up was the gush, and that once your magic loss slowed to a trickle, you'd probably wake up. And you did."

"You've got to hand it her," Harry said. "It's a brilliant theory."

"But..."

Harry took a deep breath. "It didn't happen that way. When Voldemort started glowing he... There was this light coming from his wand. I don't know what it was, but it smashed straight through my shields. I raised my wand and..." burning pain agony Harry exhaled shakily at the memory. "It was like molten lava was being forced up through my wand into me. I could feel it burning its way up my arm and then there was this pressure in my chest; it grew worse and worse until I could hardly breathe. And then suddenly it felt like something burst inside, and I swear it felt like fire was flooding right through me. I thought I was dying, Ron. I wanted to die. It was worse that Cruciatus, worse than anything I've ever felt before. Then my wand exploded and there was this blinding light, and then it all just faded away."

Ron gaped at him. "Bloody hell."

"There's more. According to Hermione, the witnesses saw a final bright flash, and then they saw me standing there, alone, before the Portkey whisked me away to Grimmauld Place. If anyone had really thought about it, they'd have realised that the explosion couldn't have hit me. If it had, I'd have been blasted halfway down Diagon Alley. I don't think the blast of power came from Voldemort at all. He just dissolved; I watched him. I think it came from me."

"Shit!" Ron looked as pale as Harry felt. "So that means... What the fuck does that mean?"

Harry shrugged. "Somehow I took all that power, absorbed as much as I could, and expelled the rest in one burst. It's the only thing I can come up with that fits."

Ron was simply gaping now, so Harry decided to just keep talking.

"After a couple of days of my little 'accidents', Hermione was a nervous wreck and insisted I go and get a replacement wand. She said it'd help settle my magic down. So Remus came with me to see Ollivander. The first wand I tried caught fire. The second one exploded. Fortunately it didn't do any real damage." Harry held out his right hand. It had been badly burnt when his original wand exploded, and the Mediwitch had done wonders healing it, considering she could only use salves and potions on him. It looked perfectly normal, apart from a shiny patch on the palm, where the skin had been burnt completely away and had to be regrown.

"It was mainly just splinters, and Ollivander summoned them out and healed me in a few seconds. Said he'd had a bit of practice. Then he went out the back and brought out a wand that looked just like my old one. He told me to levitate a chair with it. It hit the ceiling so hard it shattered, but the wand didn't catch fire or explode, so I thought he'd found the right one. He gave me an odd look, then told Remus to go and get a cup of tea while he took me into his workroom to make some adjustments to the wand. He said it might take a while, so Remus didn't need to hurry back.

"The minute we got into the room, he shut and warded the door then he asked me point blank how long I'd been doing wandless magic. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about, but he shook his head and said, 'The truth, if you please, Mr. Potter.' Remus had cast the strongest Glamour he could on me, but Ollivander saw straight through it. I ended up telling him everything I knew, and what I suspected, and he nodded along as though I was just confirming his suspicions. I asked how he knew, and he told me that the 'wand' I'd successfully used was still waiting for a core. It shouldn't have worked. It was nothing but a nicely carved stick. Then he said we had a lot to do and not much time to do it in if we were going to make sure the Ministry didn't find out about me.

"He made me practice casting simple spells with my new 'wand'. After five or ten minutes I was a bit better at controlling how much power I used, though I was still pretty erratic. He told me to keep practicing, as I wouldn't stop leaking magic until I had full control. But before I did that, I needed to shield myself, so if anyone scanned me, my magic levels would register as normal. When Remus came back, Ollivander told him that he'd managed to find another holly and phoenix feather wand that seemed to suit me, and that my magic would be a bit erratic for a while, but that he confidently expected it to settle down in no time at all. And I knew that's what he'd be telling the Ministry when they asked him about me."

Harry's throat felt dry after talking so much. He picked up his glass and took a long drink. As he put the glass down again, he realised that Ron was looking more than a bit shell-shocked.

"Ron? Are you -"

"Your wand isn't real?" Ron said sharply. Harry shook his head. "But that means..." Ron paused, shook his head, opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, and then exhaled heavily. He obviously needed time to think through what he'd just heard. Harry glanced at the clock, and was surprised to see that it was already 11 a.m.

"Look, I really need a shower," Harry said as he got to his feet. "Why don't you make us a cup of tea or something. You could take it through into the living room, be a bit more comfortable. I won't be long."

Ron simply nodded absently.

Harry went into the living room and turned on the radio for Ron before trudging up the stairs. Ron wouldn't have taken kindly to being fobbed off, so he'd really had no choice but to tell him everything. He just wished the timing had been better. And he hoped that Ron wouldn't have too many questions after he'd had some time to think about everything. They still had last night to discuss.

---<@

When Harry came downstairs again, he found Ron sitting on the couch. The fire was burning merrily, making the room feel warm and cosy. He sat next to Ron and picked up his tea, wrapping his hands around the mug. Ron said, "I put a warming charm on it for you. Didn't know how long you'd be."

"Thanks." Harry took a sip of his tea, then said, "So. Um, is there anything else you want to know?"

"Actually, yeah, there is. You've really been using a stick instead of a wand all this time?" At Harry's hesitant nod he continued, "So what happens if you need a wand for something?"

Harry sighed. "Ron, I don't need a wand. For anything."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. He was chewing on his lip, obviously still thinking things through, so Harry sat quietly waiting for the next question.

"So is this permanent? I mean, will you ever go back to normal?"

"I've got no idea. But I think this is normal for me, now."

"Just how powerful you are, then? I mean, are you the same as you used to be, except you do it all without a wand now, or is it more..." Ron made a vague gesture with his hands.

For a fleeting moment Harry considered lying to Ron, but quickly dismissed the thought. Ron hadn't run screaming yet, and Harry really wanted him to know the whole truth. He took a deep breath and, studiously staring into the fire, said, "I really don't know. I haven't had any problems so far, but that doesn't mean that I won't come across something one day that I can't do."

"You warded this house on your own, Harry. And you cast the Fidelius charm. On your own. Wandlessly."

Harry nodded, then stilled, realising too late that Ron had simply been guessing about the warding. "Shit," he muttered.

Ron shook his head, a grin on his face. "Thought so. Look, I know you, mate. And I know how you think. I'll bet you've taken yourself off somewhere far, far from the Ministry, and tried out every spell you could think of. I'm thinking a deserted island, maybe?"

"Australia. Nothing but desert in the middle. Nobody around for hundreds of miles."

"That'd do it. Tell me honestly, Harry. Was there anything you couldn't do?"

Harry slowly shook his head.

"That's what I thought. Explains why you're so paranoid about the Ministry finding out. I would be too, in your shoes. No wonder you want to go on a long holiday."

"You remember me telling you that?"

Ron looked suddenly wary. "I hadn't had that much to drink, not really," he said. He immediately grabbed his cup and stood up. "Fancy another one?"

"I haven't finished this one yet," Harry said as Ron headed out to the kitchen. Harry sighed. There was no way he was going to allow Ron to avoid talking about this. He gave Ron a minute or two, and when he hadn't reappeared Harry raised his voice and called out, "There's a packet of biscuits in the cupboard. Grab it, would you?"

A moment later Ron slowly made his way back to the couch. He put the packet of biscuits on the coffee table and sat down again. Harry opened the packet and took a biscuit, then said, "Help yourself. You know, I'm really looking forward to getting away. I'm sick of looking over my shoulder all the time, wondering who's watching. Worried that I'll let something slip at the wrong time."

"Yeah, I can see that, and I do understand." Ron said. Harry watched as he dunked a biscuit and stuffed the whole soggy mess into his mouth. He washed it down with a mouthful of tea, then said, "You'll, er, you will be coming back though, won't you? I mean, you're my best mate. I'll miss you."

"Actually... I was wondering if you wanted to come with me."

"What?" Ron quickly turned to face Harry. "Why? I mean, I thought..." Ron fell silent, a look of confusion on his face, and he was staring at Harry as though he'd suggested they voluntarily submit themselves to some of the twins' more exotic experiments.

"Well, I thought you might like to see Bill and Charlie, and have a bit of a holiday. With me," Harry said slowly. He couldn't understand why Ron seemed so confused. It was a perfectly simple question, after all. Wasn't it?

"You want me to come with you?" Ron said slowly.

"Yes!" Harry snapped out in exasperation. "Bloody hell, Ron, it's not that hard to understand, is it? I really need to go away for a while, but I don't want to leave you because I'm in love with you. And after last night, well, I'm hoping that we can be together. So I want you to come with me."

"You're in love with me?" Ron stared at him in shock, and then slowly shook his head. "But that's not... I don't know what to say. It's just... I've spent the past six months telling myself that I just needed to find the right girl, and then everything would be okay. That I couldn't possibly be that sort of disgusting pervert. That I didn't want my best friend like...that. You were never supposed to find out. I thought that last night you were just being..."

"Just being what?"

"We'd both had a lot to drink, and I thought you'd found out somehow and, well, you can't stop yourself from helping people and..." Ron's voice trailed off and he worried his bottom lip as he slowly shook his head. Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

"Look, Ron. Last night had nothing to do with me feeling sorry for you, if that's what you're thinking. I was trying to show you how I feel about you. I know that being gay isn't exactly going to win anybody any popularity contests in Witch Weekly. So you'll understand why I haven't advertised the fact. But I'm definitely gay, and after last night I think we can safely say you're not completely straight, at the very least." Ron looked totally confused, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that he had no idea what he was talking about. So he said, "Do you know what I mean by gay and straight?" Ron shook his head. "Gay is the Muggle word for homosexual people. Straight is the word they use for heterosexual people."

"Oh." Ron's brow furrowed for a moment, then his eyes widened and he said, "You - you're homosexual?"

"Well, yeah."

"Fuck."

Harry snorted softly. "I wouldn't have thought it was that much of a surprise, mate. I sucked you off last night. That should have given you a clue."

"Jesus, Harry!" Ron's face flushed bright red as he winced.

"Ron, I want you. And I know you want me. You've done everything short of actually telling me for months now. It's just you and me. I have to leave. Come with me."

"It's not that simple, Harry."

"Yes, it is."

"No, no, it's not. Just listen, will you? I grew up knowing that this is wrong. My family is brilliant, and I love them; and every single one of them will hate me for this. I'm supposed to get married and have kids. I'm supposed to be normal, not -" Ron broke off with a gasp, his distress clearly evident in the stiff way he held himself.

"You don't want this."

"Nobody in their right fucking mind wants this," Ron said. His voice sounded muffled, as though he'd had to force the words out. Harry sat in stunned silence for a moment. He needed a drink. As the thought crossed his mind, two glasses of firewhisky appeared on the coffee table. He picked one up and took a gulp, before picking up the other glass and wordlessly offering it to Ron.

He should have known. He'd hoped that once, just once, he'd actually get what he wanted but really, when did that ever happen? He had to be realistic. Ron had drunk far too much and acted on a secret desire, and obviously regretted it now. He could understand that. Ron loved his family, and he couldn't blame him for not wanting to risk that.

Harry took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said as calmly as he could manage, "Okay. I understand. Look, Ron, I can - When I asked you if you wanted this to be a dream, I was perfectly serious. I can make it so that you won't remember what happened last night. I'll move out of the flat, of course, stay out of your way. Once I'm gone you'll be able to get on with your life, forget that we - that..." He couldn't go on. His chest felt tight and he couldn't force the words out.

Ron had gone very still.

"You'd do that?"

"Yes."

"You... You said you loved me."

"Yeah, I do."

Ron raised his head and looked Harry in the eye. "Then why?"

"Because you don't want this," Harry said wearily. "Because you're the most important thing in the world to me and I would do anything to make you happy."

Ron gave a shaky laugh. "You really are a self-sacrificing prat, aren't you? You can't fix everything, Harry. Life doesn't work that way. Some things are worth putting up with shit for." He raised the whisky to his lips and finished it in one swallow, placing the empty glass on the table with a clatter that sounded deafening in the quiet room. "I don't want to feel this way about you. But the thing is, I do, and I have for a while now. And I'm going to have to deal with that, no matter how much it scares me. Because last night, when we were together... For the first time in - fuck knows how long - it felt right. I felt right, because I was with you."

Harry slumped back and laughed softly. He felt like crying with relief, actually. But he took a fortifying breath and sat up again. He reached out and took Ron's hand, twining their fingers together. Ron looked up and Harry stared into his eyes, then slowly leant towards him. They kissed for a moment, a mere press of lips. "Prat," Ron whispered shakily against his lips.

Harry pulled back slightly. "Yeah, but I'm your prat."

Ron huffed softly and shook his head. "That'll take a bit of getting used to."

"There's no rush. We'll take things as slow as you want. We've got all the time in the world, mate."

"Yeah," Ron said with a smile. The whole room seemed suddenly brighter. Harry found himself musing on how Ron's smile lit the place up when he realised that it was actually sunshine flooding the room. Soppy git, he mentally chided himself.

"It's finally stopped raining," Ron said. "About bloody time."

"Yeah. Looks nice out, now. Tell you what, how about going out somewhere for lunch? There's this really great pub just -"

"Lunch!" Ron sat bolt upright. "It's Sunday, isn't it. Shit! I just remembered. Fred and George have invited themselves over for lunch. They've got a new line they've just finished testing. Elegance Eclairs, they're called, aimed at teenage girls. Gives them new hair dos or something. Anyway, the point is they're bringing a couple of crate-loads to the shop today. I told them they could bloody well unpack them themselves, and they said they would if we fed them. I didn't put them off because I thought we'd just be hanging around doing nothing, you know? They'll be at the flat any minute now, expecting us to be there."

Ron looked vaguely distressed as he quickly stood up, and Harry suppressed a sigh. Fred and George were a bit much to take at the best of times. After last night, and this morning's revelations, Ron needed peace and quiet; time to think and sort himself out. Not an afternoon with the duo from hell.

"Don't they have any bloody food at their place?" Harry grumbled as he summoned his shoes and jammed his feet into them. "We'd better get back then, I suppose. Dobby!" The elf appeared with a pop. "We have to leave. Can you -" Harry gestured around the room.

"Dobby will take care of everything, Harry Potter," Dobby said happily.

Ron trailed Harry out into the hallway. Harry turned to Ron and slipped an arm around his waist. "It'll be okay," he said with a reassuring smile. Ron smiled back, somewhat tentatively, and Harry tightened his hold. "I really wanted to take you somewhere nice for lunch. Just the two of us, you know?"

"Yeah, that would have been nice. Maybe we could do it next Sunday? It's too difficult to get away from the shop when it's open."

Harry rapidly reviewed his commitments for the weekend, then said, "Yeah, that sounds good. Look, you doing anything on Friday night?" Ron shook his head. "Great. I can key you into the house wards, and we can have dinner and talk. I'm sure Dobby'll be happy to cook for us, or something."

"I'd like that," Ron said.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then Harry leant in, slowly, giving Ron plenty of warning, and Ron closed the rest of the distance. Their kiss was again only a simple, chaste press of lips, but Harry recognised that it was going to take Ron some time to get comfortable with the reality of their budding relationship.

"I'll have to Apparate us back to the flat from here; you won't get past the wards, otherwise," Harry said, and a moment later they were back in the Diagon Alley flat.

The instant they arrived, Ron shot into the living room, muttering something about opening the Floo. Harry sighed as he headed towards the kitchen, already mentally rummaging through the cupboards to see what he could feed the twins.

Rat poison was looking good.

---<@