Broomstick

"Ron, it's not like it's I'd be doing it for you; that old Shooting Star won't last another game, let alone through the season's end. I can't have my keeper trying to stop the quaffle from the ground, can I?"

"Harry, I'll find a way to shore this broom up. I'm not completely without resources."

"Yeah, aren't I one of your resources? I am your best friend right? Let me do this for you."

"No!"

"You are so stupid sometimes! You can't help that your family doesn't have money anymore than I can help that my parents left me more than I know what to do with."

"Harry, I can't take your money. I didn't earn it."

"And I did? Ron, you don't deserve to do without anymore than I deserve to have everything."

"No!"

'Please' is on my lips, but I have never begged Ron for anything and I am not about to start, so I'll let it go. We walk back from the quidditch pitch in silence, but not anger. After six and a half years, I know and accept Ron's stubbornnesses just as he knows and accepts mine. We had long ago agreed to disagree on the issue of money. It just irks me some to know he can't get past this and let me help him. He helps me in so many ways that have greater value than a new broomstick.

We make our way up to Gryffindor Tower. Ron walks into the seventh year boys' dorm in front of me and exclaims, "Bloody hell! What are you guys doing?" I step across the threshold and look around Ron to see Dean, Seamus and Neville standing together in a circle with there pants down and well . . . you know. "What is this, a contest or something?" Ron asks.

Seamus looks up with a wide grin, never stopping the motion of his hand, and says, "Yeah, want to join in. Neville won the first round. Now we are going for best two out of three." He looks over at Neville in admiration, saying, "Damn, is he fast!"

Ron turns his head to catch my gaze out of the corner of my eye and says, "Funny, I thought, at least when you are with someone else, the point was to last longer, not finish first." Seamus' face falls and he just stares open mouthed at Ron, who just goes to his trunk, gets out his toothbrush and heads to the toilets. I just shake my head and follow Ron's lead.

Ron is standing at the sink getting out his tooth paste when he says, "Blimey, where did they come up with that? I mean how can they just stand there and do that?"

"Hormones, I guess," I guess.

"Still, how could they make it into a contest? Honestly? I mean, the first time someone else see that look on my face, I want it to be someone I love. Don't you?" He has loaded his toothbrush and is gesturing wildly with it threatening to make the interior of the room sparkling clean and pearly white.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose so," I agree.

"It's like, have you ever looked at Mum and Dad? I mean really looked at them? They'll both be in the middle of something- Dad, fixing some piece of the house that's fallen apart and Mum reaming out the Twins or something and they'll just look at each other. If you can catch them at it, you see that they are happy; content- like they know without a doubt that they belong there. That is what I want. Not stains on the dormitory carpet. That is just juvenile."

"Ron, it is the strangest thing to hear you, call someone juvenile," I laugh.

"Oy! That's not funny. I'm being all sincere over here and you make fun!" He protests, but his eyes and voice dance. Our eyes meet in the mirror above the sink and I see it; Belonging.

"Oh," I gasp.

"Yeah," he mouths, a wisp of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. We brush in rapt silence.

Moments later, on seeing the other boys in each in his own bed, when we re-enter our dorm, Ron jovially calls out, "Fun time over than? Who won?" He laughs maniacally and puts his things away.

We finish getting ready for bed with no further comment from anyone. I turn to face my four-poster and find Ron sitting on it. I must have been quite lost in my thoughts as I failed to notice him closing the curtains around it. He merely looks at me and climbs under my covers, motioning for me to join him. Belonging. I slip into the enveloping warmth and he settles the blanket over us, leaving his arm across me.

He leans in and whispers in my ear, his lips teasing my sensitive flesh, "This is the first time I ever got exactly what I wished for."

I turn to face him and reply, "Don't worry, it won't be the last." Then I cross the abyss of the bed and kiss him. "Now, about that new broomstick you wanted . . ."