All Roads Lead Back Home

1.

"Whhhaaa . . . ?"

Ron jerked awake, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand and blinking into the darkness. A thin stream of light showed where the curtains had been pulled back, glinting off the rim of Harry's glasses as he stood, shuffling his feet, next to Ron's bed.

Ron groaned and collapsed backward; yawning widely.

"Whaddya want, Harry?"

Harry slipped quietly onto the bed next to him, curling onto his side and poking at Ron with his knee. "Budge over."

Ron scooted to the side, dragging his blankets with him and making room for Harry's head on the pillow. Harry was quiet for a long time and Ron listened to the soft inhale exhale of his breathing; he had just begun to fall back to sleep when Harry finally spoke, a hushed whisper in the night that made Ron's stomach feel as though it were dropping through his spine.

"He kissed me."

The fabric of the sheets twisted to the point of tearing under his hands as Ron stared dully upward at the ceiling. Harry moved next to him, propping himself up on his elbow and staring down. After several long moments Ron felt his body unfreeze, a slow loosening of limbs, and he blinked back at Harry.

"He . . . he did, did he? Well that's . . . that's -" Ron tried to swallow around the dry lump in his throat and ended up coughing harshly. He rolled onto his side, removing Harry from his view. "That's wonderful mate, really wonderful."

"It was. It was brilliant, Ron," Harry wrapped himself around Ron's back, chin propped on Ron's shoulder as he reached out, tucking a stray lock of ginger hair behind Ron's ear. Ron tensed, biting the inside of his lip.

"I know, well, I know you two don't get along and all that; but he's really not all that bad once you get to know him . . ."

Ron flipped onto his back, covering his eyes with his forearm and groaning loudly. "Haarrryyy. Trust me, I'm happy for you and all that, but Malfoy and I are never going to become friends, in any sense."

Harry laughed. "He says the same thing, you know."

"I'm sure he does."

"Well, thanks . . . thanks Ron," Harry's lips were dry and slightly chapped as they brushed the pale skin of Ron's jaw. "I just really needed to let someone know."

Before Ron could answer, Harry had slipped back through the curtains. Ron could hear the soft thud of his trainers against the hardwood floor of the seventh year dorm as he made his way across the room to his bed.

Placing his fingers to the spot that Harry's lips had kissed, Ron pressed down hard. Staring at the dark canopy above the bed he replied, "I know you did, Harry, but does it always have to be me?"

2.

Two months into their relationship, Harry and Draco had their first official fight. Harry didn't bother to tell anyone, not even Ron, but everyone in Gryffindor knew something was wrong.

For two days Harry sulked around the common room, either snapping at first years or completely ignoring everything. He picked idly at his food, barely eating, and would excuse himself early from the study circles to go sit in the dorm with the curtains pulled and spelled tightly shut. When, on the second day, Harry managed to land himself in detention not only with Snape but with Trelawney as well , Hermione decided it was time for Ron to talk to him and find out what was going on.

Ron had a sick feeling in his stomach that told him he already knew, and he wondered why he wasn't happier about it; but he climbed the stairs to the dorm dutifully until he stood just outside their room.

He knocked on the door, calling out Harry's name, before entering.

The curtains around Harry's bed were sealed shut but Ron could see the pale yellow glow of wand light creeping out from underneath. He walked slowly, breathing out through his nose in sharp bursts and feeling his nostrils flare. He was awful at this sort of stuff, why hadn't Hermione come up with him? She was a girl, listening to peoples problems was once of those genetic traits that girls had. She should have been the one up here, not him.

"Harry?"

Ron could hear soft noises coming from inside the curtains, but Harry didn't answer. Ron stepped closer, running his fingers along the gold trim that told him where the opening would normally have been.

"Harry? Listen, we . . . that is, Hermione and I, and well . . . just about everybody actually, we, ummm . . . want to know if you're alright." Ron stared at his fingers, noticing how jagged his nails were. He stuck the tip of his index finger into his mouth, chewing on the uneven skin at the tip and staring at the velvet drapes.

Nothing.

"Harry?"

After a few minutes of silence Ron sighed and returned to the common room.

Later that night, or early the next morning actually, Ron woke with a start.

"Harry?"

Harry pushed at Ron's shoulder, rolling him onto his side and crawling into the bed behind him. Ron tried to turn, to look at him over his shoulder, but Harry's hand blocked him so he stopped. Harry wrapped himself around Ron from behind, thin arms circling round his waist and pulling him tight to Harry's chest. Harry's breathing was harsh and uneven and his face felt damp against Ron's shoulder.

Without turning Ron asked, "Mate? You alright?"

Ron could feel the press of Harry's chin against his spine as he shook his head.

"You want to talk?"

"No."

"Ok."

Ron lay still in the darkness, feeling the uneven movement of Harry's chest against him. Harry's hands clenched and unclenched against his stomach, twisting the fabric of his pajama top until it was balled up past his navel. At the first flickering touch of lips against the back of his neck Ron thought he must be imagining it. When the touch was followed by a firmer kiss and the tip of a warm tongue, Ron stiffened in Harry's arms; feeling his face burn crimson and his heart race.

He tried to speak but the words became leaden in his mouth when Harry moved, pressing his nose into the hollow behind Ron's ear and breathing in wet bursts. Harry's lips moved softly over the skin there and his tongue became bolder, wiping a wet swath along Ron's neck. Ron shivered and closed his eyes; biting back a groan when Harry's fingers drifted over the sensitive skin of his belly, tracing over the lower ribs, dipping into the concave hollow of abdomen.

Harry's mouth moved over the cords of muscle tensing in Ron's neck, teeth nipping lightly. When he reached Ron's ear, trapping the small lobe of flesh and sucking lightly, Ron distinctly heard a noise somewhere between a moan and sob; but he wasn't sure whether it came from Harry or himself.

The hands on his stomach tightened, pulling him close against Harry's chest, and Ron could feel the swell of Harry's erection against his lower back. Harry's hands moved lower, pushing against the elastic waistband of Ron's pajama bottoms, fingers brushing over the tip of Ron's erection while Harry's mouth moved heatedly over his neck and jaw.

Ron rocked forward, urging Harry on, and then froze. The feel of Harry's cheek against the bared skin of his collarbone was wet and sticky. Ron clamped his hand over Harry's, pressing until it stopped moving, and pulled his head away from Harry's reach.

"Stop. Stop it, Harry."

Harry pressed closer, lips moving in soft fleeting movements against Ron's cotton clad shoulders. Ron shivered and rolled onto his back, bringing his hands up to grasp Harry's face and hold it above his own. Harry closed his eyes, cheeks glistening wet in the weak light that made its way across the room and between the cracks of the curtain.

"Harry."

Harry's chest trembled as he exhaled and he tried to pull away. Ron held tight. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean, it's just that . . . Fuck."

Ron's arms shook as he listened and when Harry finally paused, he pulled the other boy down to the mattress, moving slightly so that Harry was curled tight to his side. He wrapped his arm over Harry's shoulder, stroking his arm absently. Harry's voice was broken and harsh as he continued to talk, his breathing heavy and erratic. Finally, after a long while, he stopped; pulling himself tight to Ron's shoulder and drifting into a light sleep.

When dawn crept across the floor of the tower, Ron lay awake; holding tight to Harry's slumbering form. As he watched the lemon yellow shafts of light work their way towards his bed he told himself that if Malfoy ever touched Harry again he would personally hex him into the next century. When Harry sighed and moved closer, his hand resting lightly on Ron's hip, Ron closed his eyes and silently repeated his promise.

Harry and Malfoy made up the following week.

3.

The leaving party at the end of the year was a reasonably mellow affair. There was still a war going on outside the walls of Hogwarts, a war that none of them were immune to, particularly Harry; who had been called from so many classes lately for conferences with the Order that Hermione suspected that the professors were giving him extra help after hours to prepare for his N.E.W.T.'s.

Ron knew this wasn't the case. Knew that it was Malfoy that was helping Harry study, locked away in the back section of the library until the early hours of the morning; when Harry would come stumbling drowsily into bed for a few hours sleep. The grey circles under Harry's, and even Malfoy's, eyes were becoming increasingly more noticeable as the days went by.

It was no surprise that Harry invited Malfoy to the Gryffindor leaving party; pretty much the entire year knew about them, knew that Malfoy had been working with "their side" since the end of sixth year. But Ron still didn't like it.

When he saw Harry stand up from the overstuffed red and gold sofa, weaving slightly, and pull Malfoy up, supporting the other boy's weight against his side and heading towards the dorm; Ron snorted and downed another shot of fire whiskey. He whispered under his breath to Dean about not wanting to sleep in the room if it was going to have Malfoy there, feeling his stomach twist with the thought of the two of them sleeping (or not sleeping, which would be even worse) a mere few meters from his bed. Dean had blinked open his eyes, staring blearily up at Ron and nodding, before closing his eyes again and settling his head back down against Ginny's chest. Ginny had giggled slightly, flushing red, and Ron had turned away, grimacing as he downed yet another shot.

A tanned hand landed on his shoulder awhile later; Ron gave an undignified squeak and spun around, feeling his head whirl sickeningly. Harry stood behind him, green eyes wide, holding a half bottle of Ogden's. He nodded in the direction of the common room door and waited for Ron to follow. The room spun wildly and Ron plopped back into his seat twice before he was finally able to stand. He carefully made his way round the couch and slumped up against Harry, draping his arm around the other boy's shoulder for support.

Harry grinned and began to make his weaving way across the room and out the door. Once outside he walked to the end of the corridor, picking an alcove that wasn't stuffed with junk and dropped ungracefully to the floor. Ron followed suit, sliding quickly down the wall, legs splayed widely in front of him. Harry took a large swallow from the bottle and handed it to Ron.

"Whershus Malfoy?"

Harry tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Sleeping. Tired. Had a rough couple of weeks." Harry yawned widely, not bothering to cover it with his hand.

"Oh." Ron shrugged and drank.

They sat silently for a long while. Ron concentrated on the wall opposite him, trying to make the stones stop moving slightly to the left. Finally he gave up and closed his eyes, feeling the world shift around him.

"Harry? Are you happy?"

Harry made a soft noise between a laugh and a sigh, exhaling slowly. "I guess. Can't really be happy about heading to war, can I?"

Ron sat up slightly, pushing his hair back from his face and blinking. "No. I meant are you happy with Malfoy. Does he make you happy?"

Harry's faced softened and he smiled. "Yeah."

Ron closed his eyes. "Oh."

Both returned to their private thoughts, sitting quietly and handing the bottle back and forth with decreasing frequency. Ron yawned and let his head fall to Harry's shoulder, breathing in the smell of clean linen and lemon soap; familiar, comforting, and very Harry. Harry's hand dropped from the neck of the whiskey bottle and started to draw lazy circular patterns against the back of Ron's freckled hand. Ron felt like his entire body was shivering, but in a good way, and his belly flipped several times. He turned slightly, pressing his nose against the skin of Harry's collarbone.

"Whazzit like?"

"Whas - what's what like?" Harry's voice was languid and sleepy.

Ron turned his face closer to Harry, breathing deep. He could feel his face burning. "Kissin' 'nother bloke."

Harry's fingers stopped their movement and Ron tensed. He felt Harry move slightly and he pulled back. Harry's cold fingers against his jaw made him stop; and he sat blinking at Harry's expression for a long moment, trying to read the other boy. Finally, Harry moved forward, pressing the chapped skin of his lips to Ron's in a soft motion. He moved slowly, small touches of lips to the corners of Ron's mouth, along his lower lip, and then a brief, damp swipe of tongue against the seam.

Ron made a noise low in his throat, opening wide and pulling Harry closer as he leaned back against the support of the wall; his mouth moved hungrily, clumsily, over the other boy's, tongue thrusting thickly to meet Harry's own. It took Ron a few minutes to realize that the hands on his shoulders were not drawing him closer but actually were pushing him away, and he broke off with a ragged noise, scooting backward and closing his eyes. He could hear the harsh sound of Harry's breathing in his ears.

Standing awkwardly, feeling his legs tremble, Ron stammered and blushed. "Sorry, 'Arry. Sorry. Di - didn't mean to do that. Didn't -"

Ron felt his stomach churn sickeningly and started quickly down the hall; ignoring the concerned tone of Harry calling out his name behind him. He made his way unevenly to the stairs, stumbling more than once as his weaved his way up them. Throwing open the door he blinked into the darkness.

Stopping at the foot of Harry's bed, listening to the even sound of Malfoy's breathing, Ron kicked out clumsily, wincing as his toes connected with the oak of the footboard.

"I hate you, you slimy git. I hate you."

Falling onto his bed, Ron didn't bother with undressing. He raised his hands to his face as the room spun dizzily around him, pulling them away covered in damp. He laughed harshly and let the harsh, choking sobs come; not caring whether he woke the ferret or not.

Shit, Shit. Shit. Fucking hell. He had really messed up this time.

4.

In the months following their leaving Hogwarts, all of them - Hermione, Harry, Ron, Draco, even Dean and Neville - were stationed together at Grimmauld Place for training. For the most part Ron managed to avoid any contact with Harry, and Harry seemed okay avoiding him. During dinners and meetings Ron could feel the cold grey stare of Malfoy's eyes on him and he would turn his heated blue gaze towards the git, silently telling him off. Malfoy never looked away first, but would continue to stare at Ron, his hand resisting comfortably on Harry's forearm, or waist, or leg until Ron blushed furiously and looked away. Harry never seemed to notice.

Sometime during the second week Ron started taking his meals alone in the study.

When Ron's assignment finally came from the Ministry, an outreach located in a small village in the south of England, he couldn't say he wasn't exactly ready to leave. Harry and Draco would remain in London, close to the headquarters, and that suited Ron just fine.

On the day that Ron departed, Harry was waiting in the hall for him when he came out of the room, trunk dragging heavily behind him. Ron stopped, looking at Harry, really looking, for the first time in what seemed like years. Harry was thinner and the grey smears beneath his eyes had become permanent fixtures. His green eyes still glittered faintly behind his glasses and Ron felt his chest close to breaking.

"Ron, I just wanted to say goodbye."

Ron stared for a moment longer, watching as Harry shuffled his feet and balled his hands into fists at his side. He turned slowly, luggage thudding heavily against the floor and Pidwidgeon hooting wildly in his cage. Turning to look back over his shoulder he watched Harry staring unmoving at the floor.

"Goodbye Harry."

Ron walked the rest of the way out of the house, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone else, and Apparated from just outside the front gate.

5.

In the end the war lasted just a little under fourteen months.

Hermione, to everyone's surprise, had married Ernie Macmillan the following summer. What hadn't surprised anyone was when she had divorced Ernie less than a year later. Ron had stayed in contact with her over the years and would occasionally pop up to visit her in London on the long weekends associated with Bank Holidays.

Harry and Draco had left England entirely, and the last most people had heard were living somewhere just outside of Lisbon.

Ron had remained in the south, purchasing a small house about 5 kilometers outside of Portsmouth. He spent his days running a small Quidditch supply shop in the back section of the wizarding community in Southampton, and his weekends at the pub watching Muggle football (an obsession he had gotten from his years living with Dean). Occasionally he would go on dates that his nearby friends or Hermione would arrange for him, both with males and females. His longest relationship to date had been with a dark haired, green eyed boy from Brighton that Ron would Apparate over to see a few times a week. It had lasted all of five weeks.

When the invitation to Dumbledore's retirement party had arrived Ron had placed it on his desk along with a thousand other things that he planned to get to some day and promptly forgot about it. He didn't want to go, not really, it was a long time since he'd seen any of his old school mates, and he wasn't exactly sure this was the time for a reunion.

In the end, with near constant niggling from Hermione via the fireplace, Ron had dusted off his best suit and gone to Hogwarts with her as her date.

The party was already getting crowded when they walked through the doors to the Great Hall. Ron swallowed roughly, fighting back a strange desire to run, and held tight to Hermione's hand until she complained that her fingers were cramping and would he please let go. They made their way around the room, stopping to talk to Neville and Luna (who were expecting their first child), the Patil sisters, Hannah and Justin, and a slew of others. Ron felt heavy tongued and awkward, so many people that he hadn't seen in ages; and so many not attending that he would never see again.

After what seemed like hours of inane small talk, they made their way to the bar and Ron quickly ordered their drinks; a Raspberry Martini for Hermione and a bottle of ale for himself. He glanced slowly around the room, taking in the smiling faces, the dancing couples. He nudged Hermione roughly before breaking into a full blown smile at the site of Dumbledore marching, none to steadily, into the hall wearing a grotesque assortment of plaid shirts and grey striped trousers that ballooned out around his knobby knees like a pair of old fashioned women's knickers. Albus had stated, on his invitation, that his retirement would allow him to finally spend his time mastering the Muggle game of golf; and if that was what "golf" meant, then Ron was pretty sure he didn't want to know anything more about it.

Finally he let his gaze settle on a small table nestled into a corner of the room. Harry and Draco sat, separated from the others, heads together in conversation. They looked . . . good. Ron stared for long moments, watching the movement of their hands together on the table, fingers twisted round each other. When Malfoy nodded his head slightly, Harry turned; staring at Ron with wide eyes. Ron noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. He felt the old familiar somersault in his stomach and his breath seemed to not want to expel from his lungs. Cursing them both under his breath, Ron turned back to the bar and ordered another drink.

The feeling of someone standing behind him, of a hand hesitating just over his shoulder, made him jump. He turned to find Harry standing only a few paces away.

"How are you, Ron?"

Ron studied Harry for a moment, taking in the tanned features, a little unfamiliar to him now, but still the same. He sipped his drink and looked down at his shoes, scuffing the toe against the hardwood floor.

"I'm good. You?"

"I'm good."

They stood for long minutes, each staring off into their own separate nothingness. Finally Harry reached out, pressing thick fingers into Ron's arm. "Want to dance?"

Ron swallowed. "What? I mean no, no, Harry, I don't think that would . . ."

Hermione took his drink from his hand and pushed his shoulder gently. Harry's fingers dropped from his arm to his hand, lacing tightly with Ron's own as he walked with him towards the makeshift dance floor.

The music was slow and Harry draped one arm around Ron's waist. They stood motionless for a second before Harry pulled him close, arm wrapping tightly around Ron and head pressed against Ron's shoulder. Ron rested his chin on the top of Harry's head and followed his movements. He breathed deep the scent of linen and sweat and lemons, the smell of Harry; and his heart twisted in his chest.

"I've missed you, you know."

Ron stared straight ahead, moving his jaw reflexively to rid it of a strange prickly tingle. His voice was just the slightest bit uneven when he answered. "I've missed you too."

Harry led them around the floor, twisting and turning to the soft rhythm. As they passed by the table where Draco was still seated, Ron caught the other boy's eyes. They were still hard as ice and he was still an ugly tosser; but he smiled slowly, raising his glass to Ron in a small salute. Ron blinked and, feeling something inside him shift slightly, nodded back.

When Harry spoke again Ron had to ask him to repeat it, turning away from Malfoy and leaning his head low to catch Harry's whisper.

"I said don't leave me again."

Ron swallowed several times before pressing his cheek to the top of Harry's head, feeling the rough hair there scratch against his cheek. His eyes burned slightly and he blinked. "I won't, Harry. I promise I won't."

He could feel the small hitch in Harry's breathing and he closed his eyes; surrounded by the slow tempo as he let Harry lead their dance, because it was always Harry who led. And no matter what, in the end, Ron would follow; because where Harry led was home.