Borders of Our Lives

After leaving Hogwarts, it had seemed only natural for Ron Weasley and Harry Potter to move in together. They had lived in the same room at school for seven years, and had shared rooms at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place over the summer holidays throughout those seven years. So when they left school at the end of their seventh year and were craving a touch of independence, Harry had had the idea that they should find a flat in Diagon Alley that they could share. It wasn't as if the boys would be homeless after Hogwarts. They would always be welcome at the Burrow, Ron's family home, and Harry had inherited both Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and his parents' home in Godric's Hollow.

But that wasn't all Harry had inherited. He was also named the heir to the Black fortune - thanks to his godfather, Sirius Black - and was also made aware of yet another vault at Gringott's that had been set up by his parents when he was born for him to have after he finished school. Money would not an issue for Harry or, by extension, Ron. The issue was freedom. The war was over and the boys wanted a chance to live lives of their own away from the prying and overprotective eyes of parents, professors, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Besides, Harry had no desire to live somewhere that would remind him of the people he had lost in his life.

It had been fun searching Diagon Alley for the perfect flat, imagining what life could be like in each prospective flat. It seemed like they had seen all the Alley had to offer from one or two rooms with the bare necessities to posh, top-of-the-line flats before finding the perfect one. It wasn't too small - they didn't want to crowd one another. It wasn't too large - they would have very little furniture to fill the space. It wasn't too dingy - they didn't want to worry about appliances busting on them or uninvited guests stopping by. It wasn't too fancy - they wanted to feel comfortable to make a mess if they wanted to. It was perfect and had exactly what they needed. They each would have a bedroom of their own. The kitchen and the bathroom were both nice enough for what they wanted and needed. And the flat was located just a short walk from the Leaky Cauldron. Things were coming together nicely and it seemed to both Harry and Ron that life in this flat that would be their own would be perfect.

A half a year later, life wasn't as perfect as Ron had hoped. He wasn't so sure it had been a good idea to move into the flat with Harry. It was past noon and Harry was still in bed. He had become one of the most prestigious of the regulars at the Leaky Cauldron; he was at the pub almost every night of the week. Initially, Ron and Harry had tried going to the pub together but it hadn't worked out well. Ron had usually ended up too tired to go out after a long day of Quidditch practise and the days he had off were often followed by early morning practises. Besides, his team's owners had a tendency to check up on the players and, if they noticed too much alcohol consumption, Ron would be off the team in a moment's notice.

Ron had heard Harry come in late the night before and, from the way it had sounded, Harry hadn't come home alone. Ron had buried his head under his pillow and willed himself not to listen to the sounds coming from his best friend's bedroom. Unfortunately, his will wasn't as strong as he would have liked it to be.

Now he was sitting at the small kitchen table, enjoying his newly acquired taste for black coffee, and thinking about his best friend.

They had been living together a little over a month when Ron had realised that he wanted more from Harry than friendship and companionship. He remembered the first twinge of jealousy he had felt the first time Harry had brought someone home with him from the Leaky Cauldron and how soon afterwards that that jealousy had become a far too familiar feeling. Harry's conquests always left early and quietly and Ron had never come face to face with one of them.

'It was just as well,' he always thought. 'I probably couldn't stomach meeting one of them, knowing what I know.'

But last night, he had recognised the second voice, and this recognition had brought up a whole new set of questions for him to ponder.

Ron had always assumed that Harry was straight. What a scandal it would be if he wasn't! All the women in the Wizarding World would mourn, clutching the Daily Prophet tightly in their hands. But last night when Ron had heard the familiar voice of his fellow Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, the stable world in which Ron Weasley was head over heels in love with the straight hero of the Wizarding World was thrown out of balance.

In the weeks preceding last night's revelation, Harry's presence in the flat had been like a shadow to Ron. He rarely saw him anymore and he could barely recall the last time he had spent any quality time with his best friend. Everything that belonged to Harry provided only a hint of his existence. It was like they were strangers occasionally making small talk whenever their schedules happened to overlap. It seemed that the substance of their friendship had dissipated and, as Ron sat in the kitchen they shared, he thought about how much he missed his friend.

Was whatever it was that Harry had with Neville serious? What if it wasn't; would Ron ever get a chance to be with Harry?

When Harry finally emerged from his bedroom later that afternoon, Ron was still sitting at the kitchen table, his coffee long since cold. He came into kitchen, heading straight for the cabinet to the left of the sink.

"Ugh, my head," Harry complained, reaching for a vial of anti-hangover potion he seemed to take almost daily now. "You would think I would get used to feeling like this one of these days," he said before tilting his head back and chugging the potion. Harry drained the vial, rinsed it off, and left it resting to the right of the kitchen sink. He walked the short distance to the table and, clapping Ron on the back, said, "So right-hand-man, how've you been?"

"Left-handed," Ron said, nearly grinning at his pun before he remembered the morning's serious ruminations. Harry chuckled and settled into the chair opposite Ron.

"So," Ron said, fixing Harry with an uncompromising stare, "tell me about Neville."

"What about Neville?" Harry countered, eyeing the other suspiciously.

"Tell me about why he couldn't keep quiet last night in your bed," Ron said matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. He wanted to see his friend's reaction.

Harry paled slightly, now staring horror-struck at Ron, "You heard that?"

"I always hear that, Harry," he paused, nodding. "You're gay," he stated.

Harry looked away, muttering, "Yes."

"Now why exactly have you never told me this before?" Ron said sharply.

Harry snapped his head back to look at Ron. "Because I knew you would have a problem with it. And, look, I was right!"

"Harry, you're my best friend and I love you," Ron said, clearly sounding out each syllable as if that would convey everything he had wanted to express to Harry for months. "I can't believe that you could think I am capable of judging you like that."

"Then what are you so upset about, Ron?" Harry said accusingly.

"I'm upset that you never saw fit to tell me that you were gay. How long have we been friends, Harry? Did you honestly think I wouldn't at the very least try to understand?" Ron chastised Harry while the other sat silently. In this silence, Ron realised he would have to admit that he was also gay. If he didn't, Harry would be upset once the fact inevitably surfaced, especially after this conversation.

Harry was still sitting silently. Ron imagined that Harry was feeling slightly guilty for being secretive about his preferences, but that was probably just his imagination running away with him. Ron sighed and spoke, "I've been thinking a lot lately and, um.... I mean, I don't have any actual experience or anything but--" Ron paused to swallow and summon his courage to finish his sentence. "I think I'm gay, too."

Harry snapped out of his silence. "You're gay?" he said. It was obvious he had been completely taken by surprise with this new information.

Ron shrugged. "I think so," he said, abruptly changing the subject before Harry began to ask more questions.

"So, is what you have with Neville serious?" Ron asked, conversationally.

"'What I have with Neville,'" Harry quoted, chuckling. "No, it's not. I suspect it was just a one-night thing. I probably shouldn't have... done that with someone I know as well as I know Neville. I think he wants more, but I don't want to commit to anyone right now."

Ron was relieved. If Harry wasn't serious about Neville maybe Ron would get his chance with Harry after all, but only if he was patient. He knew Harry and he could suspect how he might react if Ron made his move after everything Harry had just admitted to him. For now, he would just have to settle for Harry's company and wait for the right time to admit his feelings. He stood and walked around the table to where Harry was sitting and tugged gently on Harry's arm to suggest his flatmate to stand.

"Relax, Harry," Ron said as Harry stood. He rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to worry about anything around me. Like I said, you're my best friend. I love you. I want you to feel comfortable to tell me anything you need to. I feel like we've lost touch in the last few months and I don't like it."

"I know," Harry said, nodding. "I miss you, Ron."

"We should spend more time together. Maybe I could come with you to the Leaky Cauldron sometime. Get pissed with you," Ron suggested.

"That would be great, Ron. Actually, I was hoping you'd come out with me sometime, but you've been so busy with Quidditch practise and everything," Harry said.

Ron's heart warmed when he heard that Harry had wanted him to come to the pub with him all this time. Ron had always thought he wasn't invited. "What about Friday night? I don't have practise Friday or Saturday so I'm free," he said excitedly and they continued planning for their night out. It was nice to feel comfortable around Harry again and for now that was all Ron cared about.