Translation of Light

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

Chapter 3

Ron stepped out of the Floo into the living room at the Burrow and brushed the soot off his robes. He could hear his mother in the kitchen; the occasional clang of a pan along with the comforting aroma of something baking in the oven told him that she was getting dinner ready. But apart from that the house was quiet. It seemed odd, somehow. His memories of home were always loud, busy, full of people and life and love. He wondered if his mother missed that, or whether she was glad of the peace and quiet now that Ginny was the only one of her brood still living there.

He slowly looked around, his gaze resting finally on the mantelpiece crammed with photographs. He smiled as younger versions of his family waved madly at him from the assorted frames. His attention was caught by a photograph of the three of them; himself, Harry and Hermione. He remembered it being taken, the morning of the last battle. A few days earlier, they'd received what was to be the final message from their spy, warning of the impending attack on Diagon Alley, and adding the surprising news that Voldemort himself was going to be there. Surprising, because Voldemort hadn't left his heavily protected stronghold in more than two years. It was what they'd been waiting for; a chance to get close enough to perform the ritual, and to finally end the war.

So they had returned to the Burrow, for what each of them knew might be the last time. Harry had called a meeting of senior Order members and calmly informed them of the impending attack, and the fact that Voldemort himself would be leading it. Then he'd given them their orders: protect innocent bystanders, get Grimmauld Place ready for casualties, and stay away from Voldemort. He was their job, he'd said, and they were ready. No one argued with him, and Ron remembered his mum crying quietly while his dad held her. They all somehow knew that this would be the final battle of the war.

Ron studied the photograph. There were no happy, smiling faces here. No friendly waving and cheerful grins. The three looked far older than their twenty-one years, weary but determined expressions on their faces. They were wearing their battle robes, Harry in the centre, Ron and Hermione flanking him. As he watched, photo-Hermione turned to photo-Ron and smiled at him, and photo-Ron winked back. But photo-Harry simply stared grimly out of the photograph, unmoving. Ron had the sudden, strange urge to comfort him. He reached out and gently brushed his finger against photo-Harry's cheek, and as he did so, photo-Harry's expression softened, and he smiled.

A yearning filled Ron as he gently placed the photograph back on the mantelpiece. He missed Harry. He hadn't seen much of him in the last few days, and when he was around it was terribly awkward; full of stilted, careful conversations, aborted touches and heated looks. He'd never realised how little true privacy they actually had until now. Friends and family dropped in at all hours of the day and night, and reporters and the Ministry were a constant irritant. He couldn't wait until they could escape their all-too-public flat for the privacy of Harry's house tomorrow night.

He pushed open the kitchen door and said, "Hello, Mum."

"Oh, hello, love, I didn't hear the Floo. How are you? And how's Harry?" Molly said brightly as she wiped her hands on a tea towel before giving Ron a quick hug.

"We're both fine. He's off somewhere, and I was at a bit of a loose end, so I thought I'd drop 'round."

"It's always nice to see you, dear. Do you want to stay for dinner? There's plenty, and it's almost ready."

"Thanks, Mum, that'd be great. Ginny around?"

"She's up in her room, studying, but I'm sure she won't mind a bit of a break. Here," Molly summoned two bottles of Butterbeer. "Take her up a drink. I'm going to get on. Your father does like his dinner ready when he gets home."

"Okay," Ron said as he headed to the stairway. A feeling of nostalgia swept over him as he climbed the stairs. Things had been so much easier when he'd been a little kid, teasing Ginny and avoiding the twins and their jokes. He could tell Mum anything, and she always made things better. He sighed, and tapped on Ginny's door. Hearing a muffled shout, Ron poked his head around the door. "Just me. Thought I'd pop in and see my favourite sister."

Ginny put down her quill, rubbed her hands over her face tiredly, and then grinned at Ron. "I'm your only sister, you prat. What do you want?"

Ron placed a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded! Can't I just come and visit without an ulterior motive?"

"No. But as you're here you might as well come in. I think my brain's about to explode, so any excuse for a break is a good one. Ooh, thanks, just what I need," she added as Ron handed her one of the Butterbeers. Ron sat on the bed and Ginny swivelled around in her chair to face him. "So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing! Why should anything be wrong?"

Ginny simply raised an eyebrow, and Ron sighed. "Nothing's wrong, I promise. I just wanted to ask your opinion about something."

"Okay, I'm all ears."

"Well, Harry's been talking about going abroad for a while and -"

"Yeah, I know. Sounds like a good idea to me."

Ron shot her a confused look and said, "I didn't know he'd mentioned it to you."

"He didn't. Hannah said that Lavender had told her that Eloise had overheard Harry talking to some friend of Luna's at some Ministry thing of Hermione's a while ago. Anyway, this girl was talking about visiting some relatives abroad, and Harry apparently said that he was going to travel a bit, too, and that he wanted to catch up with some of his best friend's brothers, because he hadn't seen them for a long time. Well, it was obvious that he was talking about Bill and Charlie, because Hermione doesn't have any brothers - or sisters, come to that."

Ron blinked slowly as he stared at his sister. How the hell she kept all that stuff straight in her head was beyond him. She had an intelligence network that the Unspeakables would kill for, which came in very useful at times. "Er, right," he said, because Ginny was looking at him as though she expected some sort of comment.

"Yeah. Most people, and by that I mean people that actually know him rather than just read about him in Witch Weekly, think it's a good idea. He's pretty much a hermit, these days. Not that I blame him. He's always hated all the attention and publicity. Poor sod can barely show his face in public without being stared at and photographed and stuff. Do him good to go somewhere where he can just be a normal person." She paused for a moment, taking a drink of her Butterbeer before saying, "But anyway, I'm wandering off the point here. You were saying?"

There was that expectant look again, and it suddenly dawned on Ron that Ginny saw him as an ideal source of gossip. Well, she was out of luck today.

"Right. So, Harry's planning on leaving just after Hermione's wedding. And he's, um, well, he's asked me to go with him."

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, of course. And?"

"Have you got a Time-Turner in here or something? Because you seem to know more about it than I do. Have we already had this conversation and you're just messing with my head?"

Ginny burst out laughing, then reached over and patted Ron's knee. "Honestly, Ron, it's obvious. Of course you're going with him. I mean, if Hermione wasn't getting married I expect she'd be going, too. But she seems pretty settled at the Ministry, so maybe not, although..." Ginny's voice trailed off and her eyes suddenly widened. "Tell me you two aren't going on her honeymoon with her!"

"What! Of course not. Bloody hell, Gin -"

"There's no 'of course' about it, Ron. You three have lived in each other's pockets since you were eleven years old. People used to joke that she'd tossed a coin to decide which one of you she'd ma-" Ginny suddenly snapped her mouth shut and gave Ron a mortified look. "Oh God, Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Ginny!" Ron said sharply, stemming the babbled apology. "It's fine. I'm really happy for her. Richard's a great bloke and Hermione is one of my best friends, okay? I'm not trying to be brave or nursing a broken heart, I promise you. And we're definitely not going anywhere near Paris. She'd kill us."

"Ooh, is that where she's going for her honeymoon? I've been trying to find out for ages but she's been keeping it secret." Ginny looked like a cat that'd just inherited a dairy farm, and Ron cursed himself. He should have known better than to try to discreetly sound Ginny out about anything. She had a way of worming information out of the most tight-lipped of people. He privately thought she was wasted as a Healer. She should have been a spy. Or a journalist, he added sourly.

"You can't tell anyone. If she finds out I told you my life won't be worth living."

"Oh, relax," Ginny said, waving a hand at him. "I never reveal my sources."

Ron sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as he massaged the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on.

"Are you all right? I've got a potion here somewhere..."

Ron looked up to see Ginny rummaging around in a small potions case. He knew she was only trying to help. But his family's constant watchful concern made him feel like cheerfully strangling the lot of them.

"Stop, Gin, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, that's all. It's not a headache."

Ginny cast a professionally assessing gaze over Ron for a moment, and then nodded and sat down again. She took a sip of her Butterbeer and said, "So, what did you want to ask me?"

"I've forgotten," Ron said dryly.

"Ha, ha. No, seriously, Ron."

Ron sighed again. "I wanted to ask what you thought about me going with Harry. I wasn't sure if I should."

Ginny stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowed. "Why on earth not? You deserve to have a holiday and enjoy yourself just as much as Harry does."

Ron shook his head. "No, it's not that, it's -"

"Have the twins said something?" Ginny interrupted abruptly. "Don't pay any attention. You know they're taking advantage of you. I mean, you look after all their finances and business planning, and run the Diagon Alley shop all on your own -"

"Harry helps out when I'm busy," Ron protested quickly.

"Yeah, I know, but you're the one who's responsible for it all. It's a lot of work. Mum really got stuck into them the other day. Said you had to be careful about -" Ginny stopped suddenly, then continued, "about how hard you work."

"I really am okay," Ron said wearily.

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you hate us fussing, but at least I've got an excuse. Trainee Healer, here. Everybody's a potential victim. I mean patient."

Ron snorted as Ginny giggled.

"I must admit, getting away from Fred and George sounds good," Ron said wistfully.

"I'm surprised you haven't left already. I'd have hexed them ages ago if I were you."

"You hex them enough for both of us."

She grinned. "They bloody well deserve it! Trying out their latest inventions on me. They'll think twice before they try that again. Never cross a Healer - we know a lot of charms that have very embarrassing consequences for the unwary." She shook her head and took a drink from the bottle in her hand. "Right pair of prats they are, at times."

Ron could only nod in agreement. The twins had never admitted exactly what it was that Ginny had hexed them with after they'd tricked her into wearing a prototype of their new 'Knaughty Knickers' range, but he'd never seen them grovel to anyone the way they'd grovelled to her.

"Seriously, though," Ginny continued, "I know Lee Jordan's been angling for a job with them, and he'd take over the shop in a heartbeat. I mean, we all know you were only running the place until you sorted yourself out. After all, it's only been eighteen months since the War ended and... Anyway, you and Harry deserve to go and have a bloody good time abroad for a few months, and when you come home again, well, there's time enough to decide what you want to do then."

Ron couldn't help feeling a little guilty at Ginny's earnest expression as she reassured him about going away with Harry. He knew she worried about him; the whole family worried about him ever since he'd been injured. His mum had been at Grimmauld Place when he'd arrived by emergency Portkey, covered in blood with his skull cracked open, and had watched helplessly as the Mediwitch battled to save Ron's life. Poppy had put him in a healing coma once he was stabilised, telling Molly that he should be well enough after a week or so to be brought out of it, provided he took things very easy and rested. Head injuries were tricky things, she'd said. But Ron had seemed fine when Poppy finally woke him up. He was a little tired, but there seemed to be nothing to worry about. Until the odd behaviour started.

Ron would find himself in Harry's room, sometimes sitting on the bed, sometimes lying down with him. The trouble was, he never remembered going in there. Hermione told him that he'd suddenly complain of a headache, and then he'd start mumbling about Harry needing him. He'd get extremely distressed and even violent if anyone tried to stop him, and Hermione was the only person who could calm him down and talk to him. But even she couldn't stop him going to Harry. Once he was in the room he'd touch Harry, either his hand or his arm, and then he'd instantly fall asleep, waking up an hour or so later with no memory of what had happened.

Everyone had been quick to reassure him that it was probably just a stress thing, only to be expected. That he'd probably seen Harry collapse just before he'd been injured himself, and his subconscious just needed reminding that his best mate was okay. And as the episodes had gradually tapered off, finally stopping just before Harry came out of his coma, he'd thought no more of it.

So it had been a horrible shock to overhear Poppy talking to his mum and dad about possible brain damage and psychological problems, and telling them to make sure he took it easy and avoided any pressure or stress that might cause a relapse. Then Hermione had given him a Muggle book on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and tried to get him to talk about what was bothering him. He couldn't make her understand that there was nothing to talk about. That there was nothing wrong with him. Although, he thought wryly, if any of them had any idea about him and Harry, they'd consider it definite proof that he'd gone mental and ship him off to St. Mungo's quick smart. Getting away suddenly sounded like the best idea in the world.

"You know what?" Ron said decisively. "You're right."

"Of course I am!" Ginny said automatically. Then spoilt it somewhat by adding, "What am I right about?"

"I think having a nice, restful holiday will do me good. Don't say anything to Mum and Dad yet, though. I need to sort a few things out first."

"Fair enough. Don't leave it too long, though. You know how I am with gossip. I -"

Whatever Ginny was going to say next was forgotten as Molly shouted up the stairs that dinner was ready.

"Great, I'm starving," Ginny said as he jumped up. She opened the door and then turned to Ron. "You'd be mad not to go." Then she turned and headed down the stairs.

"Yeah, I would be," Ron said thoughtfully as he followed her down to dinner.

*****

Ron stumbled slightly as the Portkey deposited him and Harry in the hallway of the London house once again. Harry reached out to steady him, and Ron found himself with his arms wrapped around his best friend. They stood frozen in place, and Ron meant to take a step back, he really did. Harry had said they'd take things as slowly as Ron needed, and Ron was happy to agree. Having all these feelings for Harry was one thing, acting on them was something Ron had decided he wasn't quite ready for. Not yet, anyway. But standing there with his arms around Harry, feeling the heat of his body pressed against him, suddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world. This was where he belonged. The thought struck him so forcefully that he gasped.

"Ron?"

Harry looked concerned and began to move back, but Ron's arms tightened around him. He stared into Harry's eyes, and he couldn't stop himself. He leant in and kissed him. Ron allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit smug as Harry's obvious attempts to hold back and let Ron set the pace crumbled. Harry's hand moved to tangle in Ron's hair, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss even more. Harry began making little sounds at the back of his throat, and Ron thought it was the hottest thing he'd ever heard.

They could have been standing in the hall for minutes or hours. It didn't matter as long as it didn't stop. Ron was lost in the sheer rightness of it all, of holding Harry in his arms and kissing him. And then it was abruptly gone as Harry tore himself away saying, "We have to stop now, or I'm going to break my promise to take this slowly and drag you up to the bedroom."

Ron stared blankly at him for a moment, feeling utterly bereft. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Harry's face. His eyes were darker, he was breathing heavily and his lips were red and wet and... Ron shook himself, shocked at the frisson of pure lust that had shot through him. The startling realisation that he hadn't wanted to stop was unsettling, to say the least. Harry's voice forced his wandering thoughts back to the present.

"C'mon, I don't know about you, but I need a drink."

Ron followed Harry into the living room, still feeling somewhat dazed. Harry said something about drinks and seeing Dobby and headed out to the kitchen. Ron flung himself onto the couch, telling himself firmly to get a grip. He'd think about this later, when he was alone. He didn't trust himself to think clearly when Harry was so close to him. Not after that. Still feeling unsettled, he lit the fire and stared into the flames. He'd always found that soothing.

"Can't find Dobby," Harry said, dragging Ron away from his contemplation. Ron took the bottle of lager Harry was holding out to him and nodded his thanks. Harry continued, "He's probably at Hogwarts. I can call him if you want, or I've got some stuff in the freezer that we can eat."

"We'll manage," Ron said hastily. He liked Dobby, he really did. But the over-exuberant house-elf got a bit much to take sometimes.

"Fair enough," Harry said with a grin as he sat down next to Ron.

Ron took a long swallow of his lager, then said, "I went to the Burrow yesterday. Oh, Mum sends her love, by the way, and wants to know if you're eating properly and why I haven't brought you to the Burrow for a decent meal for a while."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "So when are we expected?"

"This Sunday, tea time. I told her you might be busy, but she had that look on her face."

Harry nodded. "No problem. I'm not doing anything on Sunday."

"I had a chat with Ginny while I was there."

"How is she? Her exams must be coming up soon."

"Sometime in June, I think, but she's got a lot of essays to do as well. She's fine, though. Studying hard, obviously, but I don't think she's really worried. She's sailed through so far."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah. Anyway, we had a very informative discussion. Did you know that every witch and her cat knows that you're planning on going on an extended holiday, and that everyone assumes I'll be going with you? Even Mum and Dad, apparently?"

Harry smiled. "I should hope so. I've dropped enough hints. Good to know that the grapevine is still going strong."

"You did that on purpose?"

"Of course. I know people gossip about me, and I don't want anyone speculating about what I'm doing or who I'm going with, for obvious reasons. The easiest way was to have it become public knowledge. That way everyone's expecting it. And if everyone already knows all about it, no one's going to be that interested when the time comes, you know what I mean? It's old news."

"That's really devious," Ron said admiringly.

"My Slytherin side comes in handy occasionally," Harry said with a grin. He paused, then added, "Are you okay with that? I mean, you are coming, right?"

Ron stared into the fire for a moment, but he really didn't have to think about his answer. "Yeah, 'course I am. The idea of visiting Bill and Charlie and having a holiday sounds great. It's funny. I went to see Ginny 'cause she knows all the gossip, and I wanted to see if she thought anyone'd think it a bit odd if we went away together. Turns out they'd all think it odd if we didn't."

Harry sniggered. "I'm not complaining." Then, smiling contentedly, he said, "The wedding's in, what, ten weeks I think? So we've got plenty of time to get everything organised. Although we probably shouldn't leave it until the last minute, 'cause I know Hermione expects us to be involved in all the wedding stuff and that'll take up a fair bit of time."

The Wedding. Just the thought of it depressed Ron. Hermione's fiancé was the heir to an old pureblood family, and they were having a large, traditional wedding. He was already dreading it. He suddenly noticed that Harry had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly. Ron shook his head slowly.

"Sorry, mate. Drifted off there for a bit."

Harry immediately stood up, saying, "You need food. Come on, let's get some dinner organised."

Ron slowly got to his feet and headed out into the kitchen. He found Harry standing in front of the large, white cold cupboard, looking confused. Ron vaguely remembered Hermione telling him it was what Muggles used instead of cooling charms to keep food fresh.

"Wow, Dobby's been busy," Ron said as he looked over Harry's shoulder at the small mountain of boxes neatly stacked on the shelves.

"You know what these are?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, of course!" Ron said, feeling vaguely offended. They may not have been rich enough to have any house-elves at the Burrow, but he was surprised that Harry would say something like that to him.

"Well, would you mind telling me, because I've never seen them before. And they definitely weren't in here last time I checked the freezer."

Harry looked totally bewildered as he waved a couple of the boxes around, and Ron grinned sheepishly, feeling a little foolish. He should have remembered that Harry was the one who knew next to nothing about these things. He slung an arm around Harry's shoulder and picked up one of the boxes.

"These, my friend, are instant meals. A lot of people can't afford house-elves, so families that had a few would hire one out to people who were sick, or with a new baby in the house, that sort of thing. One of the things they'd get the elf to do was prepare a whole lot of meals. The elf would cook the meal, then cast a sort of preservation spell on it - that's the thing that looks like a box. When you want to eat it you put the box on a dinner plate, tap it with your wand," he paused, then with a wink continued, "or stick, in your case, and you've got a plate of hot food. Don't know why Dobby put them in the cold cupboard, though. They won't go off."

"I think it was the only place he could put them. I've expanded the pantry into a room for him and Winky."

"That'd be why, then." Ron started rummaging through the boxes. "Shepherd's pie and chips! Brilliant! Oh, and apple pie and custard. That'll do me. What are you going to have?"

Harry settled for the boxes he'd already picked up, which turned out to be roast lamb and apple crumble and custard, and within a minute they were eating.

"I've got to admit, this is a bloody good idea. I'll have to tell Dobby to make sure he keeps a good supply of these around for us," Harry said as he turned his attention to the preserved dessert.

When Ron finally pushed his bowl away, he gave a satisfied sigh and said, "I could get used to this, you know."

Harry leant over and dropped a kiss on his lips. "That's the general idea," he said with a small smile. He looked at Ron carefully for a moment. "You do know that I want you to come and live here with me, don't you?"

Ron was nodding before he could stop himself. Harry had all the subtlety of a Bludger to the guts; of course he knew.

"Good. Great. So you'll, um, think about it then? I mean, there's plenty of space, if you want your own room. Though I'd rather you... My room's big enough for both of us. Not that you have to..."

Ron fought down a grin as Harry tied himself into verbal knots. He knew he'd move in with Harry, if for no other reason than he'd be homeless once Lee took over the shop and moved into the flat, and Ron definitely didn't want to go back to the Burrow. But he was surprised to find that he rather enjoyed keeping Harry somewhat off balance. He suddenly remembered Ginny explaining to him once about why she made her admirers work so hard for a crumb of attention from her. 'Keeps 'em keen', she'd said with a giggle. 'And it's fun.' He hadn't understood it at the time. He glanced at Harry, who was chewing his bottom lip, looking like he was debating what to say next. Ron took pity on him.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" Ron said. "Or should we key me into the wards first?"

"Definitely the wards," Harry said as he stood up, clearing the table with a wave of his hand.

"Okay," Ron said agreeably as he stood and followed Harry out into the hallway.

Harry led him to the front door and said, "I need to cut your hand, and then place it against the front door."

Ron was taken aback. "You're using blood wards?"

"They're the most secure," Harry said defensively. "And I should warn you. They're also - sort of sentient."

Ron really was surprised by that. Sentience was usually only found in the wards of ancient magical buildings, like Hogwarts. It took a vast amount of power, and for Harry to have created them was... Was actually pretty scary. Something of Ron's thoughts must have shown on his face, because Harry instantly started babbling something about not knowing how it'd happened.

"Harry!" Ron said loudly. Harry's mouth snapped shut. "It's fine. Honestly. Just a bit of a surprise. I mean, it's one thing to know in my head that you're that powerful. It just brings it home a bit when I find out something like this. That's all," he said firmly. "Shall we get on with it?"

Ron held out his hand. Harry quickly cut a slash across the palm and pressed the bleeding hand to the front door. The wards flared and Ron gasped. He felt a warm, loving presence surround him. It felt familiar, and he knew he'd felt it before. He vaguely noticed Harry healing the cut on his hand as the warmth slowly faded into the background. If he concentrated, he could still feel it. It felt like home. It felt like Harry.

"Ron? Are you okay?"

Ron's attention snapped back to Harry, who was standing in front of him, looking worried. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He turned away from the front door, and noticed there was a door to his right that he could have sworn he'd never seen before. Harry opened the door and walked in, and Ron followed him. He found himself in a large study.

"Because this is a Muggle area, I thought it was probably safer not to have any magical stuff lying around the house. So this is where I keep it all," Harry said. "It's shielded and the wards protect it, so only you and I can get in here. No one else can see the door."

That explained it then, Ron thought. He looked around. There were several bookcases and a couple of glass-fronted cabinets full of knick-knacks set against the walls. An imposing desk made of some sort of dark, highly polished wood stood at one end of the room, and couple of comfortable looking leather armchairs were set in front of the large fireplace at the other. He noticed Harry's broom was propped up in one corner. Every bit of exposed wall seemed to be covered in photographs, and a large Gryffindor shield was set on the wall above the desk.

Harry stepped behind the desk and placed his hand on the centre of the shield. It glowed for a moment and then swung open, revealing a small niche. Harry reached in and pulled out two leather pouches, a small leather case and an envelope, which he then placed on his desk.

"As you can see, this is the safe. Now you're keyed into the wards it'll open for you, too," Harry said.

Ron perched on the edge of the desk and watched as Harry opened the small case and took out a heavy gold chain. He placed it on the palm of his hand and there was a brief flash of light. Then he handed the chain to Ron and said, "This is an emergency Portkey to the house. It has the same activation phrase as mine. Marauder's Rest. If anything happens I want you safe, and the wards on the house will protect you now." Ron could see the plea in Harry's eyes so he nodded, smiling somewhat at his best friend's paranoia. But he put the chain on anyway. It wouldn't be visible under his shirt, so nobody would ask awkward questions about where he'd got it. And it seemed to make Harry happy.

Harry closed the small case and slipped it back into the niche in the wall. Then he turned back to the desk and picked up the two leather pouches lying there.

"These are linked to the main Potter vault. The red one is for Galleons, and the black one for Muggle money. Just hold it in your hand and say how much you want out loud. A Galleon is worth about five pounds in Muggle money, okay? Use these whenever you need money, not just in emergencies."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry interrupted, saying, "I know you have your own money, but you might not always be able to get to Gringotts. This is more convenient. That's all," he added firmly.

"Fine," Ron said, rolling his eyes. Harry knew how he felt about anything that smacked even faintly of charity, so Ron didn't feel he needed to say anything more on the issue.

Harry placed the Gringotts bags back in the safe, and then picked up the envelope. He stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "If anything happens to me, take this to Ragnok personally. It's very important."

"You mean the Head of Gringotts Bank, Ragnok?"

"Yeah. First time I went to Gringotts after the war, the desk Goblin said he wanted to see me. He's helped me with some stuff. Said it was an investment in the future."

Ron stared at him in shock. Ragnok rarely had dealings with wizards. Harry seemed totally oblivious to how unprecedented this was.

"You know that the really old, powerful Goblins can sense a wizard's magical strength, don't you?" Ron said slowly. "You can't shield against them. At least, that's what Bill said, and he'd know. Ragnok would have sensed you the minute you walked into the place." And known exactly how powerful you are, Ron added silently.

"Yeah, I thought it was something like that," Harry said. "I've never had a problem with the Goblins, and if Ragnok wants to help, I'm happy to let him. We both have the same views about the current Ministry and its laws. He's got nothing to lose by helping me, and the possibility of gaining in the future. Everybody wins." He placed the envelope in the niche with the other things and then closed the safe. "He looked really ancient. I mean, I've never seen a young looking Goblin, but Ragnok looked hundreds of years old."

"Probably is," Ron agreed absently. He'd just remembered why they were talking about the old Goblin in the first place. "Harry, when you say, 'if something happens to you', what do you mean? You don't think anyone at the Ministry suspects anything, do you?"

"Nothing's going to happen to me, and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of any problems with the Ministry. This is just an emergency back-up plan. A gorgeous redhead, who's really good at all this planning and strategy stuff, once told me that only an idiot didn't have a back-up plan," Harry said as he walked around the desk to stand in front of Ron.

"I didn't think Ginny was that good at strategy."

"Prat," Harry said as he slipped his arms around Ron's neck. Harry nudged a hip against Ron's knee, and he shuffled back a little on the desk and spread his legs, letting Harry move closer still. His eyes drifted shut as Harry leant in and kissed him, and his arms seemed to wrap themselves around Harry of their own volition. As before, Ron could feel Harry holding himself back, keeping the kiss gentle and slow, and this time Ron was the one who broke the kiss. He thought he saw a flash of disappointment on Harry's face, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure he wasn't imagining it.

"So, fancy that cuppa now?" Harry asked as he stepped back to let Ron stand up.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Ron said. "Got any biscuits?"

He didn't have to see Harry's face to know that he was rolling his eyes, and Ron burst out laughing as Harry muttered something about people with bottomless pits instead of stomachs.

He was so predictable.

*****