Translation of Light

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

Chapter 4

*****

It was almost midnight by the time Ron Apparated back into his dark and silent flat. Harry had obviously decided to stay over at Grimmauld Place with Remus after all, because he always left a light burning when he was home. Ron made his way into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. He debated having some coffee, but decided he couldn't be bothered. Besides, he hadn't drunk that much, despite the twins' best efforts.

He really hadn't wanted to go out with them. He'd much rather have gone to visit Remus with Harry. Actually, he'd have happily sat and watched paint dry as long as Harry was with him. But as Harry had pointed out, they needed to stick to their usual routines as much as possible, and that included going out on the town with his brothers and spending time with his other friends.

So Ron had dutifully agreed to a night out with Fred, George and other sundry drunken gits. To be honest, he'd quite enjoyed the strip show. He might fancy Harry, but that didn't stop him appreciating a nice pair of tits. And who wouldn't enjoy having a few drinks and swapping dirty jokes with their mates? But having to fend off amorous women, without appearing to do so, had been difficult and extremely irritating. In the end he'd claimed to be feeling a bit off and had made his escape, saying he had to be up early to open the shop.

It was odd, Ron thought as he got ready for bed, how empty the place felt when Harry was away. It wasn't just that he was alone in the flat; it was more that he felt like a part of him was missing. It'd only been - what? Three weeks since they'd got together? But it felt like longer. Ron pulled on the old, worn t-shirt and boxers that he slept in as he considered why that was. Probably because it had been. Whatever it was that was going on between them had started long before that. What they'd done that night at Harry's house had only forced them to acknowledge it in a way they hadn't before.

Ron shook his head as he climbed into bed. It wasn't Harry that had been forced to face it. Harry had wanted him for ages, apparently. And looking back, Ron could see that it had been obvious, if he had been willing to admit it to himself. He'd even told him, last New Year's Eve. Granted, he'd been pissed as a newt at the time, and Ron had dismissed it as a horrible, drunken mistake that Harry thankfully hadn't seemed to remember afterwards. But Ron remembered, despite the fact that he'd run away the next morning and had spent a solid weekend in bed trying to forget with that girl who'd slipped him her Floo address. Annette? Anna? Fuck, he couldn't even remember her name. Only that she'd been very willing. It hadn't worked, though. He'd still remembered. Remembered Harry dragging him down on top of him. Remembered the feel of hard muscle as his best friend had pressed him into the bed. Remembered the taste of his skin as they'd kissed and the heat of his body as they'd writhed and rutted against each other. Remembered Harry whispering against his throat that he loved him as he came.

Ron groaned as the memory sparked a flare of arousal low in his stomach, and his hand automatically reached for his rapidly hardening cock. He seemed to be in a constant state of arousal lately. After their first night together Harry had backed off, leaving it up to Ron to set the pace and make the next move. But Ron wasn't sure he could do that, no matter how much he wanted to. Wasn't sure he was strong enough to take that step, knowing what it would mean if he did. What that would make him in the eyes of his family. But God, he wanted it. No, it was more than that. This went way past just fancying a shag. It was a constant, soul-deep ache. He needed him. The merest thought of Harry had him hard and aching in moments, and the memory of what Harry had done, the way he'd kissed him, the hot, wet mouth that had sucked -

"Fuck!" Ron groaned in frustration. He couldn't keep tossing off to the memory of Harry sucking him off and pretend that that was enough. Why couldn't Harry just bloody get on with it? He wouldn't have to decide anything then. It'd make things so much easier. Ron sighed. There's no way he'd do that. He already felt guilty about 'taking advantage' of him. Which really didn't make sense, not when that was exactly what Ron wanted him to do.

Ron fumbled for his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm. He was going to have to talk to Harry. After work tomorrow, he'd see if Harry was doing anything. Maybe they could go to the house and... Yeah, talk. Plan of action made, Ron rolled onto his side, dragged the covers up and settled down to sleep.

*****

The comforting smell of frying bacon wafted up the stairs and Harry followed it down to the kitchen, his stomach grumbling a little in anticipation.

"Morning, cub," Remus said as he deftly dished up eggs and bacon. "Want a cuppa?"

"Mm, that'd be good, thanks," Harry mumbled as he sat at the kitchen table, yawning widely. He smiled his thanks as Remus put a plate and a mug of tea in front of him. "Tonks working today?"

"It's her turn with the new trainee Aurors. They don't get weekends off."

"Please tell me she's not taking them for stealth training?"

"Cheeky sod!" Remus said, grinning widely. "You'd better not let her hear you say that."

"Don't worry, my days of living dangerously are well and truly over," Harry said with a chuckle, and tucked into his breakfast. There was a clatter at the window, and a moment later a rather imperious looking owl landed on the table next to Harry's plate and glared at him, clicking its beak impatiently.

"All right, keep your feathers on," Harry muttered as he removed the scroll tied to the owl's leg. He offered it a bacon rind, but the owl regarded it disdainfully before turning its back on Harry and flying out the window again.

"Where the hell did Draco find that owl? I swear, if I believed in reincarnation..." Harry's voice trailed off as he shook his head.

"I did wonder about that myself. I've never seen a jet-black owl before. And the way it just turned up and refused to leave was decidedly odd. It's absolutely devoted to him," Remus added with a chuckle. "We are absolutely sure that Snape's dead, aren't - Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, that was thoughtless of me."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and shook his head. He knew that Snape was dead. Voldemort had been incandescent with rage when the spy's luck had finally run out, and the vision of Snape's torture and execution had torn through Harry's mental shields. They'd both screamed for hours... Harry resolutely pushed the memory away. Snape really had been Dumbledore's man, right to the end. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forgive Dumbledore for that particular deception. He understood why he'd done what he had, but -

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically. He picked up the message and scanned it briefly before passing it to Remus. Who swore under his breath before tossing it onto the table.

"This is getting absolutely ridiculous! What the hell is the Ministry playing at?"

"Remus, calm down. It's not altogether unexpected, you know. The Ministry has been tightening the screws for a while now. Fortunately for us, they're pureblood morons who forget there's a world outside their control. I've spoken to an import company that can buy in the moonstones directly from Sri Lanka. We'll just need to grind them ourselves. Thanks to Neville the greenhouses at the Manor have made us self-sufficient in aconite and the other plants we need, and we're already getting the silver nitrate from a Muggle chemical company. It's all under control."

"That's not the bloody point!"

Remus pushed away from the table and strode over to the sink. He stood there for a moment, staring out of the window, and then sighed heavily before turning back to face Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but this really is the last straw. As if the Werewolf Control Act hasn't made it hard enough for someone with lycanthropy to get a job or somewhere to live, now they're trying to restrict access to the Wolfsbane potion."

"I know. Look, maybe if I went to the Ministry and -"

"No." Remus sank wearily down into his chair again. "I appreciate the offer but it'd only make matters worse. The last thing you need is for Scrimgeour to think you're challenging him."

"You're probably right. Actually, I think he might be starting to lose interest in me. I've kept my head down as much as possible, so there hasn't been anything in the papers about me for ages. And I've noticed the surveillance has been a bit slap-dash recently. Out of sight, out of mind, maybe?"

"I hope so, for your sake. And if that is the case, we want it kept that way. The last thing we need is anyone digging around to see what you're up to. We can't risk doing anything that might draw attention to The Lily Pad. We're the only option these people have, especially now, and that is a dreadful indictment of our world."

Harry was proud of The Lily Pad. After the war, when he'd finally made his way to Gringotts to claim his inheritance, he had been absolutely gobsmacked to discover that he owned rather a lot of property, and more Galleons than he could spend in several lifetimes. After the shock had worn off, he began speaking with people he trusted about the shortcomings he saw in the post-war magical community. The Ministry and Voldemort had been as bad as each other, in Harry's opinion, and neither cared about their victims. But somebody had to help them, and Harry could certainly afford to do so. He had no idea how to go about it, however. Remus had been one of the people he'd consulted, and The Lily Pad had been the result.

One of the properties Harry owned was a large, two storey building in Diagon Alley, a few shops past Ollivander's, and it had proven perfect for their purposes. Harry had offered the top floor, free of charge, to The Quibbler, and Luna Lovegood had gleefully moved in, printing presses and all. The ground floor he'd offered to Remus. After a great deal of consideration, they'd set up a Muggle-style bookshop and coffee bar combination that took up over half of the floor. The shop had regular displays of the latest Muggle best sellers in its window, along with a good selection of the more outlandish magical writings and posters advertising The Quibbler. Whoever owned the place was clearly a crackpot, general opinion had it, but as it was tucked away at the end of Diagon Alley it attracted little attention and was thus easily avoided by 'sensible' people. Which suited Harry and Remus perfectly. Because everyone overlooked the innocuous sounding Lumus & Associates, whose offices occupied the rest of the ground floor. Hiding in plain sight, Remus had called it. The bookshop and cafe provided a plausible reason for people to regularly drop in to The Lily Pad, and Lumus provided a good number of these regular clients with the latest formulation of the Wolfsbane potion each month. It also provided access to housing, employment and any other material aid that might be needed. And if the Ministry discovered what they were doing, they'd be on their way to Azkaban so fast their feet wouldn't hit the floor.

"Who's on today?"

"Luna's expecting a delivery, so she said she'd man the office for me this morning, and I'll go in after lunch. Full moon was over a week ago, so all she should get is the odd inquiry. I told her to Floo me if anything urgent came up, and to just put up the sign telling people to ask at the bookshop if she had to leave." Remus sighed as he rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. "Sometimes I wish Greyback was still alive, so I could kill the bastard again. There's no way the Ministry could have got away with passing those laws if he hadn't caused so much damage."

"We're doing what we can. Between The Lily Pad and The Potions Research Centre -"

"Which is doing brilliant work by the way, thanks to its handsome, charismatic and talented Director."

Harry grinned as he turned to look at the smirking blond, posing in the kitchen doorway. "Modest, too," he said.

"Draco! What on earth are you doing here?" Remus said with a smile.

"I was shrieking like a Knockturn Alley hag through the Floo, but you two were obviously too busy gossiping to pay attention, so I invited myself in."

Harry rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling as Draco Malfoy pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Remus got out another mug and poured him some tea, and then topped up his own and Harry's drinks.

"We got your message," Harry said, indicating the scroll lying on the table. Draco sneered.

"I sent my order to Twirpmins a full three weeks before the new Ministry regulations came into force. They kept insisting they were waiting for a new shipment to arrive. And then this morning they had the temerity to send me one ounce of powdered moonstone, an apology and a copy of the updated Ministry Restricted Substances Act. One fucking ounce! I told them to stuff it up their arses, and that unicorns would be frolicking in Azkaban before they could expect any further business from myself or my associates. Cretins, the lot of them."

"I know," Harry said. "Now, how desperate is the moonstone situation?"

"We've got enough for probably two more batches of Wolfsbane in stock," Draco replied. "But I wouldn't want to risk waiting. I'd hate to have to refuse anyone. No one should have to endure being locked in a cage and treated like an animal for the dubious privilege of being poisoned by that Ministry slop. I don't know who brews it, but they make Longbottom look positively gifted."

"Neville's a brilliant Herbologist," Remus said chidingly.

"I quite agree, obviously," Draco said, waving an elegant hand dismissively, "or I wouldn't allow him anywhere near my greenhouses. But he can't brew a potion to save his life. That's the point I'm making."

"I believe the Ministry Potions Department is still brewing from the original formula," Harry said mildly, adding a little more fuel to the fire of Draco's wrath. Draco in high dudgeon was always amusing.

"Of course they are," Draco said scathingly. "They're barely-trained hacks and the original formula taxes the limit of their abilities. The fact that it's toxic and sometimes totally ineffective if even the slightest error occurs in the brewing doesn't seem to worry them one jot. They're only giving it to Dark creatures, after all, so what does it matter? Bastards. No Master worth his salt would demean himself in such a way. Such a highly complex potion must, of necessity, be considered a work in progress. Severus spent years refining that potion, and I myself have made many modifications, and indeed will continue to do so."

"I must confess that the improvements you've made have been truly remarkable," Remus said soothingly, giving a grinning Harry a reproachful look. "I've never felt so well. The work you're doing has made a tremendous difference. Everyone has commented on it."

Draco nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I was astonished myself at how well the latest batch worked. Combined with the morning-after strengthening potion I've developed, I feel as though we're almost there. I still have a lot of work to do on particular aspects, obviously. I would like to totally alleviate the pain of transformation, particularly for the children. It occurred to me that perhaps I need to be a little more innovative. What do you think about..."

Harry sat back sipping his tea as he watched Draco discussing his latest work on the Wolfsbane potion, and pondered how improbable this scene would have seemed to them in their school days. But war forces many changes, and it had certainly changed Draco Malfoy.

When he'd failed to kill Dumbledore, and Snape had been forced to do it and thereby give away his 'true' loyalties, Voldemort had been less than impressed to say the least. Draco had been severely tortured and then thrown into a cell, where he'd remained, apparently forgotten, until Snape had somehow convinced Voldemort to allow him to use Draco as an assistant. Snape had immediately begun to train him in his Potions Mastery. With hindsight, Draco had freely admitted to Harry one night when they'd both drunk far too much firewhisky, he should have known it couldn't last. 'I'm Fate's plaything, Potter, and she's very hard on her toys, as you well know,' Draco had slurred, before passing out in a drunken heap.

For two years, Draco had almost been able to forget that he was a virtual prisoner in the stronghold of a madman. He was being trained by the most gifted Potions Master in centuries, and he'd managed to avoid taking the Dark Mark by simply avoiding Voldemort, who had seemingly forgotten about him. Unfortunately for Draco, Fate and Voldemort apparently remembered his existence simultaneously.

The day Draco's father was killed when a Death Eater raid on Azkaban failed was when it had all started falling apart. Snape was discovered to be the spy responsible for warning the Order of the impending attack, and was tortured and executed. Draco had found himself once more broken and bleeding on a cell floor, guilty by association, and knowing his days were numbered.

Harry took a sip of his tea. Draco and Remus were still deep in some sort of technical discussion, so Harry allowed his thoughts to drift once more. He, Ron and Hermione had returned to Grimmauld Place after the Azkaban raid. Ron and Hermione's on-again off-again relationship was on at that point, and after spending a couple of days at the house catching up with various Order members, they'd taken the opportunity to spend some time with her parents. So Harry was alone in the house when the emergency Portkey alarm had sounded the morning after the full moon.

Remus had spent every full moon he could, during the last two years of the war, attempting to get between Fenrir Greyback and his latest intended victims; a very dangerous personal mission. So Harry had raced into the hallway expecting to find him bloodied and beaten. He was, but this time he wasn't alone.

Harry had barely recognised Draco, his face was so badly swollen and bruised. He was covered in blood, and his leg was obviously broken. Harry was even more surprised to see Narcissa Malfoy lying next to him, unconscious, a ragged, bleeding wound on her shoulder.

It was two days before Draco was able to tell them the full story. Voldemort had given him a last chance to redeem himself. He'd been ordered to torture his mother to death to prove his loyalty and remove the taint of Snape's betrayal. He would then be deemed worthy of Voldemort's Mark. When he'd refused, Avery and McNair had dumped them in the forest, sport for Greyback. Remus had arrived a few minutes later. Not soon enough to prevent Narcissa being infected, but soon enough to drive Greyback off and save their lives. The moment he'd transformed back he'd used the Portkey to bring them back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry was brought back to the present by Remus's voice, offering a fresh cup of tea.

"Not for me, thanks," Draco said as he rose to his feet. "I really only popped in to make sure you two don't forget about tomorrow."

"Of course not!" Harry said.

"And put an order in with the Muggle company for the moonstones."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll do it this afternoon, okay?"

"See that you do. And don't forget. Tomorrow, two o'clock. Don't be late."

As Remus began to stand up, Draco waved him back into his seat. "I'll see myself out," he said, as he strode out into the hallway.

"As if I'd be late for Katie's birthday party," Harry said after a moment, feeling vaguely offended. "I've even managed to get that doll she wanted, and you have no idea how many shops I traipsed through before I finally found one."

"You know how protective Draco is of the children," Remus said in a conciliatory tone.

"Yeah, I know. He's positively neglectful compared to Narcissa, though."

Remus smiled. "She's the alpha female. All the cubs in the pack belong to her, and that'd be the case even if they still had parents. As orphans, well, her wolf demands she mother them all."

"You call me cub," Harry teased gently. "Does that mean I get to call you Mum?"

Remus chuckled. "Not if you value your life. And strictly speaking, Moony is the one who insists you're his cub. Your mum and dad were his pack, and as far as he's concerned, you belong to him. So I'm stuck with you."

Harry gave a snort of laughter as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

"I suppose I'd better go and put that order in, or his majesty will have my guts for garters," Harry said. "Honestly, I swear he thinks I'm an idiot with the attention span of a gnat."

Remus chuckled as he followed Harry to the fireplace. "He worries, that's all."

Harry shook his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus." He threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire, called out, "Diagon Alley," and stepped into the flames.

****

"Harry, you home?" Ron called as he came through the front door.

"In the kitchen," Harry replied. "Want a cuppa? Kettle's just boiled."

"I'd kill for one," Ron said as he dragged out a chair and slumped into it. A moment later, Harry put a mug of tea on the table in front of him. "Ta, mate. Been rushed off my feet today, and I'm starving. Any chance of a biscuit?"

"What'd your last slave die of?" Harry said with a grin as he grabbed the biscuit tin out of the cupboard and dumped it on the kitchen table.

Ron took a slurp of his tea and quickly munched his way through half a dozen biscuits to take the edge off his hunger. He'd barely had time to stop for a few bites of a sandwich all day. He picked up his tea and sipped at it, watching Harry over the rim of the cup. His hair was sticking up at the front, as though he'd run his hand through it, and he was sucking on the end of his quill as he stared at the crossword in front of him. Ron found himself watching Harry's lips, and a jolt went through him, reminding him of last night's decision. He knew he had to word things very carefully, as they never knew who was listening from one day to the next. Ron felt a nervous flutter in his stomach as he said, "Harry?"

"I'm pants at crosswords," Harry said, speaking over the top of Ron. "I mean, listen to this: 'The seeker finds this odd trench in a wet field; it's where the game started'. Two words, ten and five letters. What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

Ron didn't even need to think about that one. It was pathetically simple. "'s obvious. Queerditch Marsh. You know, odd trench, queer ditch. The wet field's a marsh. So you get Queerditch Marsh, where Quidditch was invented," Ron said. He didn't know why Harry tried to do cryptic crosswords; he was horrible at them. He watched as Harry slowly filled in the letters, muttering about stupid clues as he wrote.

Ron took a deep breath and quickly said, "You doing anything tonight?" before his courage could fail him.

"Nothing definite," Harry muttered absently. "All right, what about this one? 'Add a spark to something from the blue; you'll be the fastest of them all.' Eight letters, third one's an R."

"Firebolt," Ron snapped out, feeling somewhat irritated at how oblivious Harry could be at times. "Bloody hell, mate, you own one."

"Doesn't make working out the answer any easier. How'd you work that one out, then?" he asked as he started filling in the squares.

Ron sighed. "Think about it. You'll never learn if you don't try and work them out for yourself."

Harry gave an annoyed huff. "I do try, you know. It's supposed to be about Quidditch. I thought it'd be easy." He turned his attention back to the newspaper, his brow furrowed.

Ron thought the clues were childishly simple, but he was tactful enough not to say it. Besides, he didn't want to get into an argument. He had other things in mind, if he could get Harry's attention off the crossword for two minutes.

"I thought we could go out for a pint and a bite to eat if you're not doing anything. I, er, I wouldn't mind trying that place in Muggle London again."

Harry nodded absently, and Ron could see that he was scratching letters on the edge of the newspaper and then crossing them out again.

Resisting the temptation to Incendio the newspaper, Ron raised his voice and said, slowly and clearly, "I really liked that place. Felt really at home there. Remember what we did the first time we went there? I thought we could try it again."

"Yeah, okay. Look, I reckon this one's an anagram. What do you -" Harry stopped abruptly and then slowly raised his head. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he carefully placed the quill down on the newspaper and said, "You mean you want to - I mean... Really?"

Ron nodded, relieved that Harry had finally got it. "Yeah. I thought it was time we tried it again. What do you reckon?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Sounds good to me. If you're sure you, er, fancy it."

Ron simply nodded. Harry immediately pushed himself to his feet and said, "Might as well head off now, then."

"Oh. I was going to have a shower and get changed first."

"I wouldn't worry about it, mate. You're hungry. Let's get you fed."

Ron was about to protest when he remembered that they weren't really going to a Muggle pub. So it didn't matter.

"Right then. Let me grab my jacket and we'll head off."

They casually made their way out into Muggle London, Ron following Harry's lead. They'd been walking for about ten minutes when Harry turned down an alleyway.

"I'll Apparate us from here," Harry said, wrapping an arm around Ron's waist, and a moment later they were standing in the neat hallway of the Mews house once more. Before either of them could say a word, they were tackled by Dobby. The elf was bouncing with excitement.

"Dobby is so pleased you is here. What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter Sir and his Wheezy? Is you wanting something to eat, or drink?"

At Harry's questioning look, Ron said, "I really am starving, mate."

Dobby gave a squeak of excitement and vanished into the kitchen.

"Dinner it is, then," Harry said.

*****

By the time they'd been virtually force-fed more food and drink than two people could reasonably consume, Ron was firmly convinced that Dobby was insane. But finally, Harry managed to convince the demented elf that what they really needed was time to be alone, and after an embarrassingly knowing look, Dobby had returned to his den.

Soft music was playing in the living room, and the lights were low. Harry handed Ron a glass of brandy and then took a seat next to him on the couch. Ron nearly choked as he took too large a gulp of his drink, and Harry plucked the glass from his hand and patted his back while he caught his breath. Ron felt his face heat up with embarrassment.

Harry chuckled, his voice low. "Don't worry about it," he said. Ron felt Harry's arm slip further around him. And then he felt Harry put a hand on his thigh and immediately tensed up, a mortifyingly unmanly squeak escaping his throat.

Harry sighed and started to move away, and Ron clutched at his hand. "No," he barked. "Don't. I have to do this."

"You don't have to do anything, Ron. I'm not going to push you before you're ready, and you're obviously not ready yet."

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled loudly in frustration. "But I am," he protested. "It's all I can think about. You and me, and..." He shook his head. "I dunno, maybe I'm just over-thinking it. I was fine, and then suddenly my muscles tensed and... Maybe I'm just too tired tonight."

Harry cocked his head and gave Ron an appraising look for a moment. Then he stood up and held out his hand. "C'mon. You need a hot shower, and then I'm going to give you a massage. Like you said, you're tired and stressed. You need to relax. Forget about anything else tonight."

It did sound inviting. It had been a very long day, and his back was killing him. So Ron allowed himself to be led to the bathroom and faithfully followed Harry's firm instructions to have a long, hot shower. And he had to admit, he felt 100 percent better as he dried himself and slipped on the fluffy dressing gown Harry had given him.

"Right," Harry said briskly as Ron stepped out of the bathroom. "Massage oil can be a bit messy, so I've put a spare sheet down. Hop on the bed and lie on your stomach." He handed Ron a towel and headed into the bathroom. Ron smiled at Harry's tactful withdrawal as he slipped off the dressing gown and wrapped the towel around his waist. He crawled onto the centre of the bed and lay down, pillowing his head on his arms. There was music playing softly in the background, and the room was pleasantly warm. Ron took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It felt peaceful, and Ron felt himself really beginning to relax.

"Ron?"

He opened his eyes. Harry had apparently been busy. The bed was a cosy, candle-lit haven in the darkened room. Harry was kneeling on the bed next to him, smiling down at him. He was holding a small bowl, and was wearing only loose cotton pants.

"Comfortable?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Feel better already."

"That's good," Harry said softly. "Can I move the towel? I'll just drape it over you, so it doesn't get in the way of the massage." Ron raised his hips slightly and Harry duly adjusted the towel. "Now close your eyes and relax, love."

The bed dipped, and Ron felt a weight settle on the back of his thighs. A moment later, warm, slippery hands began kneading his shoulders. Ron could smell vanilla, and something spicy, as Harry worked on his muscles. He decided that Harry had to have done this before, because he was brilliant at it. Every knot, every ache was gradually smoothed and soothed under those clever, knowing fingers. Ron found himself groaning appreciatively as Harry worked down his back and then on to the long muscles in his legs, then sighed happily as Harry got to work on his feet. His dad often gave his mum a foot rub when she was feeling particularly tired. Now Ron knew why she enjoyed it so much. He'd never have imagined it could feel so good.

Ron was floating in a pleasurable haze. He vaguely noticed the bed dip again and felt Harry straddling his thighs once more. But Harry's touch was lighter this time. A little burst of warmth by his ear, following by the press of soft lips caused Ron to shiver and gasp. The light touches became teasing as Harry pressed soft kisses to his skin, and Ron's breath hitched as something warm and wet very slowly ran down his spine. Harry's tongue, he realised as he felt warm puffs of air that felt shivery on the wet skin. He hoped the oil tasted as nice as it smelled, because he really didn't want Harry to stop as he gradually moved lower.

Ron shifted restlessly. He was getting hard. Harry's hands were now gently kneading the cheeks of his arse as his tongue reached the base of his spine. Ron couldn't stop the moan that escaped as Harry lingered there. It was warm and wet and he wanted more. He felt something, a vague tingling, and then Harry's hands became more insistent and there was Harry's tongue again, so slippery and hot and - "Fuck!" He couldn't breathe. The air seemed too heavy and he had to gasp as heat flooded through him and his universe shrank to Harry's hands holding him open and Harry's tongue doing wicked, sinfully amazing things that sent sparks dancing up and down his spine and he needed... And Harry seemed to know, because the hands eased him onto his back and the wet heat surrounded him and sucked him down and he strained against the hands that held him firmly as the shivery sparky feeling wound tighter and tighter until it suddenly broke free, the tension pouring out of him in wave after wave after wave until he drifted away.

*****

Ron yawned and opened his eyes. A dull, grey light was seeping around the edge of the curtains, and there was a solid, warm presence in the bed next to him, snoring softly. He eased himself out of bed and padded into the bathroom at the urging of his bladder. He moved as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb Harry, but as he slipped back into bed a sleepy voice murmured, "You all right?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep."

"'kay," Harry muttered as he snuggled up to Ron. Ron slipped an arm around Harry and pulled him close. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. Thoughts of last night filled his head. Considering the disaster it could have been, it'd actually turned out rather well. He felt good. The seemingly ever-present tension in his back and shoulders was completely gone. Who knew Harry was so good at giving massages? And blowjobs, crowed the sniggering teenage part of himself that still lurked in the back of his head. He was spectacular at those. He wondered idly if Harry had planned something like this all along. Had he known that Ron's Gryffindor spirit would make a valiant attempt to plunge fearlessly in, but that the rest of him would panic like a particularly skittish virgin? Probably, Ron concluded ruefully, but he really didn't care. It had given him what he wanted, after all. He was naked, cuddling up in bed with an equally naked Harry, and he didn't have even the slightest urge to run screaming from the room. Life was good.

"You're looking particularly pleased with yourself."

Harry's voice broke into his thoughts, and Ron opened his eyes to find Harry watching him. "Thought you'd gone back to sleep," he said.

"You were thinking too loudly. I could hear the wheels turning."

Ron saw the hint of uncertainty in Harry's eyes, and smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine. Best night's sleep I've had in ages. In fact, I'm considering hiring you as my personal masseur."

Harry gave an amused snort. "My rates are rather high," he said. "But in your case I'm willing to work out some sort of trade."

"I'm sure I can think of something that I could do for you," Ron said. Then he slowly, deliberately licked his lips, surprising himself with how much he was enjoying flirting with Harry. He wasn't prepared for the sudden, desperate desire that he saw in Harry's eyes just before he pushed himself away from Ron and sat up.

"Shit, Ron. Don't say things like that when you're lying naked next to me. You don't know how hard it is not to just..." He exhaled heavily. "I'm... Bathroom..."

Harry fled.

Ron just lay there for a moment, stunned, until the absurdity of the situation hit him, and he groaned in frustration. Harry was obviously still certain that Ron wasn't really ready. Which was clearly ridiculous. It had all turned out fine in the end, hadn't it? Or maybe Ron just needed to be a bit more direct. Sniggering at the somewhat surreal thought that he'd actually been too subtle for someone, Ron decided that the more direct approach was definitely the one to take. He cast a quick mouth freshening charm and then propped himself up on one forearm, facing the bathroom door.

"Oy, Potter, get your scrawny arse out here now," he bellowed. A minute or so later, the bathroom door opened. Ron was a little disappointed to see that Harry had put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but quickly decided that was probably for the best. He needed to make Harry understand that he was okay with things. And then they could plan to spend a night here during the week. Or next weekend. Yeah, that'd work.

"Sit down a minute," Ron said, scooting back a little to give Harry room. "Have you cleaned your teeth yet?"

Harry looked totally confused as he nodded. "What's that got -"

"Good," Ron said as he grabbed Harry and pulled him down for a kiss. It was soft, and sweet. And short, as Harry broke the kiss after a few moments and moved back a little.

"I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for yet, Ron. You thought you were ready last night, but you obviously weren't. I need to know that you want this as much as I do," Harry said softly.

"I do," Ron blurted out. "I really do. I think I just panicked a bit, that's all. But what you did was brilliant. I didn't have to think about it at all. So you can, you know, do that again, right? If you want to, I mean. I wouldn't mind if you..." Ron waved a hand vaguely and shrugged helplessly, willing Harry to understand.

Harry stared at him. He had an odd expression on his face that Ron didn't know how to interpret. "You didn't have to think about it," he said slowly.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. So it was easier, you see? Look, I'm no good at talking about this stuff, but you know what I mean, right?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Then he pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed again. Ron was getting the distinct impression that he'd bollocksed up somehow, but had no clue why. Shimmering numbers suddenly appeared over the bed. 10.55.

"Didn't realise it was that late. You must be hungry. I'll go and tell Dobby to sort out something for breakfast," Harry said. A moment later he was gone.

"Sodding hell," Ron muttered as he climbed out of bed. He spotted his clothes in a neat pile on one of the chairs. He grabbed them and headed into the bathroom.

*****

"Tea or coffee?" Harry asked as Ron walked into the kitchen.

"Um, tea would be great, thanks," Ron said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. The table was laden with food. Dobby had obviously raided the Hogwarts kitchens again.

"Help yourself," Harry said as he placed a mug of tea in front of Ron.

Ron started loading up his plate. Harry was calmly eating his breakfast while reading the newspaper. Ron picked up his knife and fork, and then put them down again.

"Harry? Are we okay?"

Harry looked up, and for a moment Ron couldn't read his expression. Then he smiled and said, "'Course we are, mate."

"It's just... You rushed out and -"

"I just didn't realise how late it was, that's all. I've got a lot to do today, and your mum's expecting you for lunch."

"Oh, right." Ron picked up his knife and fork, and Harry turned his attention back to the newspaper. After a moment he gave a derisive snort.

"Bloody hell. Listen to this."

As Harry began reading out the stupidest Quidditch report he'd ever heard, Ron told himself that he'd been imagining things. Harry was fine. All the same, he thought he might just have a discreet word with Ginny when he saw her. Not that he was worried or anything. Just... It couldn't hurt.

*****

For the second time in less than a month, Ron found himself standing in Ginny's bedroom doorway, a supplicant at the Oracle once more. She'd know if he'd done something wrong and help him to fix it. He just had to be careful he didn't give anything away.

"I won't be a minute," Ginny said, waving him into the room. He sat on the edge of her bed and watched her as she finished reading a very long roll of parchment. She gave a relieved sigh, rolled it neatly and set it aside carefully. "Finished. Took me weeks, but I think I'll get top marks for that." She turned to face Ron, a bright smile on her face. "So, what can I do for you this time?"

"I need to ask your advice about something. You're a girl, right?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Not much gets past you, does it?"

Ron made an impatient gesture. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, you're good at all this relationship stuff. Talking about feelings and things."

Ginny nodded agreeably. "Well, I'm probably a lot better at it than you are, Ron."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. Because, well, I have this friend, right?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Uhuh. A friend. Definitely not you."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed. "Forget it. I shouldn't have -"

"No! I'm sorry. Go on. You have this friend."

"Yeah. Anyway, this person's very inexperienced with, you know, sex."

"Well, it's definitely not you then, if even half the rumours I've heard are true."

"Ginny!"

"Right. Sorry. Friend who's a virgin. So what's the problem? What does he look like? Because I know a lot of girls who'd -"

"God, no! Seriously, just forget I said anything. How's the studying going?"

"Fine, and don't change the subject. Look, how about this. Try presenting it as a hypothetical situation." Ron stared at her blankly. "Tell it like you're telling me a story about them," Ginny clarified.

"Okay. There are these two people, right? One is -"

"Gilderoy and Sibyll."

"What?"

"Call them Gilderoy and Sibyll."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Makes it easier."

Ron shook his head. "Whatever. Anyway, Gilderoy is... You know what, let's call them A and B."

"If you like. Or you could you use their real names."

Ron sighed. "As I was saying, A is very experienced, but B might as well be a virgin. A wants B to set the pace in their relationship. But B's a bit..."

"Too slow? Stupid? Drunk? Frigid?"

"Unsure about the whole thing," Ron said with a quelling glare at his sister.

"You've just got to give her time, Ron. Let her make the first move."

"It's not me. And it's not like that." Actually, it was exactly like that, but there was no way he'd be telling Ginny that. "Anyway, B decided that they wanted to go ahead and, well -"

"Fuck like bunnies with A?" Ginny suggested helpfully.

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Well, that's cleared that up, then."

"Look, I don't know if you can remember back to when you were still a virgin, but -"

"You realise I'm going to have to hurt you severely for that, don't you?"

Ron winced. "Fine. Just, can we sort this out first?" At Ginny's shrug, he continued, "So, B tells A that they're ready, but then they sort of freeze up and A has to sort of coax them... Look, that doesn't matter. What matters is that after a false start they..."

"Do the deed?"

"Sort of," Ron said with a sigh. "Anyway, the next morning, everything seems to be okay until they start talking, and then it all seems to go wrong."

Ginny nodded sagely. "She made you feel like shit for taking advantage of poor innocent little her, right?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"If you say so."

"I do. I - look, they said they were fine with it."

"Uhuh. And that's why you're here asking me for advice. Because everything's fine."

"Yes. I mean no." Ron sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Ginny seemed convinced he was talking about a girl, so Ron decided the best thing was to go with that, because he wasn't getting anywhere with the hypothetical thing, and A and B was just bloody confusing. "Okay," he said. "You're right. It's a girl I was with. She seemed really keen, then froze up. But like I said, the next morning she said she was fine with it, and that I could do it again if I wanted to. That she wouldn't mind. Or something like that, anyway." Ron couldn't really remember exactly what he'd said. He just knew it hadn't come out right.

Ginny winced. "Well, if you want my advice, here it is. Dump her."

"Dump who?"

"The girlfriend," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Ron felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. "What? Why?"

"Let's be honest, since Hermione moved out you've changed girlfriends more frequently than you change your socks. And you've never once asked me for advice about any of them. I don't know why this one's any different, but if it's because you think it might be serious, well..." Ginny sighed. "Look, I know the type. They blow hot and cold, and always seem to pick the nice blokes and make them feel like bastards." She snorted, shook her head and continued, "She really said, 'you can if you want to, I wouldn't mind'? Bloody hell, Ron, you deserve better than that. You don't need someone who's just playing stupid games."

"Fuck." Ron thought he was going to be sick. That wasn't what he'd done. Was it? More to the point, was that what Harry thought he'd done? He had to talk to him. Sort this out.

"Ron, you okay? You've gone really pale. Hang on a minute, I've got a Pepper-Up here."

Ginny flipped open her potions case and handed a slim phial to Ron. He swallowed its contents mechanically.

"Bloody hell, you really like her, don't you? Look, this is just my opinion. I could be completely wrong. You know me, jumping to conclusions. She might just be really shy or nervous or something. You should probably talk to her before you do anything."

Ron stood abruptly. "I've got to go. I'll see you later."

"But you haven't had lunch yet. Mum -"

"Tell her something came up, and I had to go." Ron slipped a finger under the chain that Harry had given him and muttered, "Marauder's Rest."

*****