Marshmallows

    The sky was just setting over the lake and there was a black mass in the distance that was a mountain, though Harry didn't know the name. It was cold, too cold, in fact, to be camping, but that's what they were doing. He, Ron, Hermione and Mr. Weasley - Arthur - he corrected mentally. Ron thought it would be a good idea: fresh air, fishing, campfires and the like. Harry thought, and with good reason, that Ron merely wanted a way to get closer to Hermione. He didn't blame Ron at all, after all they had been going out for a few months now and had barely even kissed. Arthur was supposed to be the designated chaperone, even though the trio were all of age. Mrs. - Molly, that is - thought it would be better. That and she made him go along so Harry wouldn't have to be a third wheel. After the four hour drive to the campsite with the lovebirds snuggling in the backseat, Harry was grateful for the man's company.

    Harry helped them put up the tent and was off collecting firewood. Everything was supposed to be done in the Muggle way, but he couldn't abandon his wand. Not after the final battle with Voldemort. Seeing several of his friends and teachers struck down in a hail of curses had made him paranoid and he jumped at everything. 'Getting as bad as Moody,' he thought with a chuckle as he picked up more dried twigs. With a sigh, he made his way back to camp.

    The tent was completely Muggle; a large six-person with a divider to turn one room into two. The sleeping bags were already laid out, Ron and Hermione on one side, Harry and Arthur on the other. He seriously considered putting silencing charms on the divider so he wouldn't have to hear his friends getting cozy. It wasn't that Harry didn't like the idea of Ron and Hermione together, he loved it - they were long overdue for some happiness. That didn't make it any easier though. He longed for the kind of love his friends had, but no one other than them would see him as Harry; the rest of the world wanted The Boy Who Lived Again. In capitals.

    He sighed and placed the bundle of wood next to the firepit, zipping his jacket up to the neck. His hands were freezing, though he didn't put them in his pockets. Sometimes he liked being too cold; it meant he was still alive. The biting sting on his red cheeks was a nice reminder as well. Having done his task, he sat on the log around the firepit, staring into the orange, dancing flames. The sun was almost down now, a dark blue hue settling around the campsite. Somewhere, an owl hooted, having found its evening meal. A quick glance to the sky showed several pinpricks of light and the glance turned into a gaze, then a stare.

    A warm body sat down next to him and he immediately recognized it as Arthur. He had gotten good at telling people apart using all his senses and Arthur had a particular aura of calm coupled with a sort of pine smell. It was nice and reminded him of a home he never had. They sat in silence, which was something Harry also liked. Arthur seemed to know when he wanted company without speech, a trait that Ron and Hermione lacked. Harry knew that if he felt like talking, he'd have an ear, but if not, he'd also have the friendship.

    The fire popped and crackled and Harry was jolted into a memory of the final battle. A ring of flame around Harry and Voldemort. No one to stop them from dueling, no one to save Harry. Nothing but a wand between him and the most evil wizard to ever live. He'd fought and he'd won. But the nightmares didn't go away just because of that. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them, staring deep into the fire. Arthur neither spoke nor moved.

    "You two coming to bed?"

    Ron's voice from the tent. No doubt Hermione was already snuggled into their sleeping bag. Harry unconsciously shifted closer to Arthur. In the past few weeks, spending all his time at the Burrow, Harry had developed a sort of unspoken code with him, Arthur often answering questions that were directed at Harry.

    "A few more minutes, Ron. Get some sleep, we're getting up early."

    The tent flap rustled and they were left alone again. Harry put his head on Arthur's shoulder and without hesitation, he felt Arthur's arm around him. This was normal for the two, often sitting up late into the night, not speaking but sharing comfort. If Arthur thought this kind of closeness was odd, he didn't mention it. Neither did Molly. This was exactly what Harry needed, or at least, what made him feel better. Comfort without question, no pushing or pulling, just presence. He sighed, which was their code for conversation.

    "Tell me about it?" His voice was gentle.

    "I just keep thinking about... that."

    "I know." The arm tightened. "Give it time."

    "It's been a year." Harry closed his eyes, feeling the tears come. "Why am I so weak?"

    "Stronger than you know; stronger than the rest of us."

    This was the way their conversations usually occurred. Harry couldn't bring himself to change them, nor did he fully accept the answers given, even though they were unwavering every time Arthur gave them to him. He didn't think that he would've been able to survive the aftermath without him; this thought alone scared Harry more than any or all of the nightmares combined. If Arthur left, or suddenly decided that their relationship although not physical past hugs and holding, was somehow innapropriate, Harry knew he'd crumble. He felt weak.

    He let Arthur lead him into the tent; this ritual, too, was normal. Usually after a glass of wine or cup of hot cocoa, depending on how they felt, Arthur would help him up to bed, sometimes even carry him if he was too emotionally drained from the tears, and sit with him until he fell asleep. Then, Harry supposed, he went to bed himself. Tonight would be the first time Arthur didn't leave, however, and Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

    There was muffled conversation from the other side of the tent and Harry was grateful when Arthur put a silencing charm against the barrier; he was in no mood to listen to his friends whisper sweet nothings to each other. That's what Harry wanted. Or at least, it's what he thought he wanted. He'd never had a girlfriend, or boyfriend, for that matter, and aside from a few stolen kisses, his physical contact with others was limited to hugs. Except with Arthur. And, once again, Harry found himself unsure how to feel.

    Harry took off his jacket and shoes and slid into the large two-man sleeping bag. He let out a breath as he heard Arthur slide in behind him, spooning against his body. Almost immediately, Harry relaxed. An arm was draped around his waist and despite feeling so comfortable, he had to wonder yet again if this was right. Certainly it *felt* right, but was there something else? Did he want Arthur as more than a comforting presence? Harry took off his glasses and handed them back to him, another thing that was customary before sleep. If he left them on, this usually meant he wanted to talk more, though there was the odd occasion in which he fell asleep without taking them off.

    He fell into a quiet sleep.

-------------------

    The next morning, Harry was acutely aware of his arousal, something that he was more than used to during these times, especially being a teenaged boy. Something he was *not* used to however, was the arm still draped over his stomach. He tensed, and the arm moved. He felt Arthur sit up behind him, a chilly wave of cold hitting him and slowly remedying his problem. His glasses were handed to him and he put them on, the world coming back into focus. Shaking his head, he sat up, goosebumps covering his skin the second the sleeping bag fell away.

    "Fishing today."

    Harry nodded and yawned, then changed quickly. "We're not gonna *eat* what we catch, are we?"

    Arthur shrugged, pulling on his boots. "Depends on if we catch anything or not," he said with a grin.

    Accompanied by four fishing poles, tackle boxes, a cooler magicked to keep the hot cocoa hot, blankets and a battery operated heater, they set out to the shore of the lake. It was rocky, but oddly peaceful. Harry plopped himself down on a smooth boulder, rather resembling the shape of a couch. He looked dubiously at the fishing rod and shrugged, turning to watch the others.

    Ron and Hermione had picked a spot further down shore, claiming the electric heater for their own. Arthur was showing Ron how to use the rod, Hermione patiently correcting both of them with a smile. Harry pulled a blanket around his shoulders and watched the lake, another memory coming back to him.

    Hogwarts. The final battleground, where Harry would defeat Voldemort two months before the end of his school career. Everyone had been tense that evening, the village of Hogsmeade having been attacked mere hours before. Classes for the day had been cancelled, most of the teachers rushing to help the villagers. Harry was meditating, something he had never made time for, but had recently found to be relaxing. He knew what was coming that evening and he wanted to be prepared. A single red feather landing on his bed in a burst of flames let him know that it was, indeed, true. Voldemort would be upon them in a few short hours.

    Once again, Arthur's presence broke him of his thoughts and he was startled to feel tears on his cheeks. Embarrassed, he brushed them away and tactfully, Arthur said nothing. He settled in next to Harry, adjusting the fishing pole and casting it expertly into lake. Harry didn't even try his, instead reaching for a thermos of cocoa from the cooler. Before he and Arthur had become friends, his thoughts would go on for much longer, often driving him to hysterics and a few times, landing him in St. Mungo's.

    He shuddered. The line jerked and Arthur reeled it in. A nice sized fish, though Harry had no clue what it was, dangled from the end. He almost whimpered at the loss of body heat as Arthur slid off the rock to detatch it from the line. Harry grinned, watching him transfigure another rock into a second cooler, cast an ice charm, and store the fish inside.

    "Completely Muggle camping trip?" he asked as Arthur sat next to him again.

    "Just don't tell Molly."

    Harry laughed, taking a sip cocoa. Another cast, an arm around his shoulders, and Harry was safe again.

-----------------

    That evening after dinner, Ron and Hermione snuggled up in front of the fire, Harry and Arthur sitting next to them, roasting marshmallows on a stick. The temperature had dropped again and Harry was more than ready to settle into the nice warm sleeping bag, but he was having too much fun to want to leave. A stick with a semi-burnt marshmallow came his way.

    "I'm not eating that," he protested, "you ruined it."

    Arthur scoffed. "It's perfect." He pulled the half-white, half-black puff from the stick and ate it. "Delicious," he said, muffled through the goo.

    Harry chuckled, pulling his own from the fire. "Now *this,*" he said, pulling off the nicely browned marshmallow, "is perfect." He admired the puff for a second.

    "I suppose it is," Arthur said. With a grin, he quickly ate the marshmallow from Harry's hand, laughing at the mock hurt on his face.

    "You- you-" Harry stammered fakely. "That was MY MALLOW!" he yelled, pushing Arthur over, laughing.

    They rolled around on the grass, pretending to wrestle over the marshmallow. Even though Harry was more muscular, Arthur had several inches on him and the added height was useful in pinning Harry's legs to the ground in a tangled mess. He couldn't stop giggling as Arthur leaned back, straddling his thighs, his arms pinned over his head.

    "Do you yield?" Arthur asked after swallowing the marshmallow.

    "N-no... Never!"

    "You two are ridiculous," came Hermione's joking tone.

    "He ate my mallow!" Harry defended. "Ouch. Get off," he said, twisting his hips.

    "Not until you yield." Arthur grinned, winking.

    "Okay, fine," said Harry, but he was still smiling.

    Arthur smirked and rolled off. Harry didn't hesistate; he threw himself at Arthur, knocking him over and they started wrestling again. Vaguely he heard Hermione's comment about, "boys..." and Ron's protests as they went into the tent, wishing them a good night. Once again, Harry found himself pinned.

    "You can't win. Even when you cheat," Arthur commented, now holding Harry's wrists together against his chest.

    Harry pouted. "Come on, Mr. Weasley..." he said, purposefully using the respectful title. "You wouldn't want to hurt a little boy like me, would you?"

    Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And what if that's exactly what I want?"

    'What?' Harry thought. 'That's not how the game is played.' Whenever they did something like this and Harry used the innocent little boy act Arthur would laugh and ruffle his hair, saying something to the effect that Harry was older than all of them. Arthur seemed to notice his confusion because he let him go, sitting back on the grass to look at him in the dancing firelight.

    "You okay?"

    Harry thought about that. Was he okay? No, not really. He was confused and worried, maybe even a little angry. Arthur was supposed to understand; he wasn't supposed to change the rules mid-game. That's what everyone else did, not Arthur.

    "You didn't..." Harry trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

    Arthur pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything."

    "No, I mean, I just..."

    "We should get some sleep."

    Harry nodded and let himself be led into the tent. They undressed like last night and also like last night, got comfortable together in each other's arms. However, Harry turned to face him this time. Arthur looked confused; this, too, was not in the unwritten rulebook of their games. Comfortable, heads resting on the same pillow, they looked at each other for quite some time, Harry's hands resting gently against his chest, Arthur's arm draped over Harry's side. It felt so normal, so right. So did the kiss that Harry pressed against Arthur's lips.

    It was nearly five whole seconds before either moved again, Arthur tilting his head just slightly so their lips made fuller contact. There was an uncomfortable pressure against his nose and Harry realized that their glasses had been pushing together. Impatiently, Arthur pulled out of the kiss, taking both his and Harry's glasses off and tossing them aside, then pulling him close for another kiss.

    Harry rolled with Arthur as he turned onto his back, and moaned into the kiss at the warmth between them. Arthur's arms encircled his back and Harry sighed happily, opening his mouth to accept the probing tongue. He tasted like the marshmallows they'd just eaten and Harry wanted more. They fought playfully for dominance of each other's mouths, Arthur finally surrendering and allowing Harry access.

    They kissed for several minutes like this, neither eager to move forward or stop, holding each other close and enjoying the simplicity of it all. When the kiss finally came to an end, Harry slid off him, snuggling close and nuzzling his neck. Arthur sighed contentedly, rubbing Harry's shoulder idly.

    "Is that why you broke the rules?" Harry asked.

    There was hesitation, and when Arthur spoke, his voice was low and even. "I've wanted to do that for a while now."

    "Why?" No one had ever wanted to kiss him before. Harry, not the savior of the wizarding world, but 'just Harry.'

    "Because I love you."

    Harry was shocked at how quick and simple sounded the response was. "You love me?"

    "Of course I do. And I think you're beautiful."

    "I'm not beautiful." Harry thought about this. "I'm broken."

    "You're a mosaic of beauty."

    Harry laughed. "I don't think so. More like... like... a paint splatter. Mosaics fit together nicely. I don't do that."

    "Paint splatters are beautiful, too."

    "Not when it's all blacks and greys."

    "You're a brat."

    Harry had to grin at this. "This is one argument you're not going to win, Arthur."

    "Oh?" There was a challenge to his tone. "I think I can."

    "How are-mmphf."

    Harry's words were cut off with another kiss. It was sweet and slow, less exploratory than the first and ended more quickly. Arthur was grinning as he pulled away.

    "That's cheating," Harry protested. "You can't do that."

    "Sure I can. It's in the rules."

    Happy and content to be in the arms of someone who loved him, Harry fell asleep.

FIN