Homecoming

It had taken a long time for Harry to figure out what it really meant.

It had all seemed so simple.. Treacle tart. Broomsticks. The Burrow. All things he loved, all things that made him feel warm and safe and conjured a million happy memories. It had seemed so obvious, in hindsight, what his mind was telling him when he first inhaled those sweet fumes of his Amortentia in Potions class his sixth year. Ginny. Beautiful, radiant Ginny. She was truly perfection to Harry. Small and pretty in appearance, but with a core as tough as Harry's own. She was the only one, he had thought with something strange and powerful blossoming in his chest, the only other person who'd felt Voldemort in her head. The only one who'd been forced to confront him like Harry had.. Or at least, the only other who'd survived. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat that hadn't been present only a moment before. As he so often did these days, he quickly hurried Cedric out of his thoughts, turning them back to the sweet, freckled face of the youngest Weasley.

It had all seemed to fit so nicely. Loving Ginny seemed like a natural progression, the final step in entering the Weasley family. If only he'd understood then. It wasn't as though he hadn't had signs.. no, they were there, some more.. obvious than others. Harry smiled to himself, turning the gold band on his finger idly and remembering Christmas that year. The year he thought he'd finally sorted everything out, only to have it come crashing down around his ears.

Christmas itself had been wonderful. Surrounded by the Weasleys, listening to them banter and bicker and chat, whispering with them about secrets and suspicions. He had truly felt then that this was his family, and he would never need any other. He wanted nothing more in those few days than to spend the rest of his life in that cramped little house with those wonderful people. And then Percy had arrived, bringing with him the new Minister of Magic and a fresh slap of reality that had Harry's head spinning. And then it was over, too fast, and they were back to school and back to Ron and Hermione's silly fight and Harry feeling like he was stuck in the middle of a terrible soap on muggle television. It was that night, their first night back, that it had happened. The password to Gryffindor Tower had been abstinence. That was one password Harry would never forget.

"What'd she say?" Ron had asked the moment they were alone in their dorm room. Harry had smiled, but he was barely hiding his exasperation with the other boy.

"Maybe you would've heard yourself if you hadn't had Lavender's tongue in your ear," he had teased, taking great pleasure in watching Ron's ears turn pink.

"Look, could you drop that, please?" Ron had muttered, dropping onto his bed and peeling off his socks. Harry had raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

"What's the matter, Won-Won? You're driving her nuts, you know. How long are you going to keep this up?"

"I'm driving her nuts?" Ron had echoed incredulously. "Blimey, she never bloody leaves me alone! You saw her, the second we step in and she's all over me like a.."

"Not her, you dolt." Harry rummaged through his trunk, wondering if he'd somehow forgotten his pyjamas in Ron's room at the Burrow. That thought generated an interesting reaction - he recalled slipping out of them that morning, but this image was doubled with one of Ron hastily scrambling out of his own, both of them trying to make up for the fact that they'd overslept and not incur the wrath of Molly Weasley when they descended from the attic room. He had stopped dead, the picture of a half-undressed, flushed Ron frozen in his mind, and cleared his throat hurriedly. "Hermione," he explained, hoping his strange behaviour would go unnoticed. Fortunately for him, Ron was just pulling his sweater over his head and didn't see his best mate's face go red.

"Oh." Ron had been quiet for a moment, frowning in thought. Harry, presuming that his face had cooled down somewhat, had risked glancing up and watching the other boy as he contemplated this response. He suddenly scowled and started unbuttoning his shirt with a violent shrug. "Well, I don't see what she's gotten herself all fussed over. Likely just upset she can't get a date herself," he responded smugly, but there was a bit of a sulky growl to his tone. Harry sighed.

"You're hopeless," he declared, giving up on the pyjamas and grabbing a clean pair of boxers to change into instead. Ron pouted, his own trousers halfway off already.

"How'm I hopeless?" he had huffed. "At least I've got a girlfriend." Harry had felt another blush creeping into his cheeks and hastily squashed the emotion with a sharp retort.

"Yeah, one that drives you balmy," he'd joked with a smirk, unbuckling his belt. Ron's reaction was not at all what he'd expected.

"Yeah, well," he had started, looking away as he dumped his trousers onto the foot of his bed and pulled on a pair of bright orange pyjama bottoms emblazoned with the familiar logo of the Chudley Cannons. "Sometimes when you can't get what you really want, you've got to go for.. you know, the best of what you can get," he'd finished lamely, keeping his attention fixed on anything that wasn't Harry.

"What you really want?" Harry had echoed, startled. He had never figured Ron would be straightforward enough to just spit it out after all these years. He was so surprised he found himself blurting the next part without actually meaning to. "Hermione?"

Ron had looked up at him sharply, a strange expression on his face. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he had seemed to relax, his eyes clouding. "Forget I said anything, okay?" He'd mumbled so softly Harry had trouble making it out. Blinking and not knowing how else to respond, the younger boy had nodded.

"Sure, Ron. Of course. Right."

They had finished changing in silence, and Ron had seemed even more uncomfortable than usual around Lavender after that. Harry had assumed at the time that he had finally been forced to voice his feelings for Hermione, but looking back.. now he wasn't so sure. God, he hoped not.

Ever since the end of the war, it seemed all Harry did was sit around and think. Mrs. Weasley kept writing him long letters updating him on the family's welfare and happenings and asking him how he was and what he was going to do now. The truth was, he didn't know. He'd been staying in a seedy room above an even seedier inn in muggle London, though of course hardly anyone actually knew that. He was unofficially in hiding, having no desire to face the press and discuss his hand in Voldemort's death. He had refused the many offers to come and live with the Weasleys, at least until he figured out what to do next, but he had firmly refused. The more he thought about Ginny and the family he'd never had, the more he felt like his heart had been broken. Not by Ginny.. No, never by her.

It had been mutual, when the war ended.. She had said she understood when he had first tried to break it off with her at the end of their sixth year, but they had both known the truth then: He loved her, of course, but feared for her safety. It seemed such a simple delusion. It wasn't until the painful reality of war and the subsequent reuniting that they had both realised it. It wasn't real. It was like thinking you had found the right puzzle piece and then noticing later that it was wrong, but just slightly - a corner curves in instead of out, or a dip is just a little too deep. Ginny, now 17 and vastly changed from the shy, quiet girl she was when Harry had first met her, had come to realise that the Harry Potter she had fallen for, the Harry Potter that she had tried so hard to end up with, was not the person she had expected.

It wasn't that she was disappointed. Many people had an idealised, unrealistic view of the Boy Who Lived, and upon getting to know him they found he did not quite live up to the standards they had imagined for him. It was rather the contrary - the crush on the Famous Harry Potter had dissipated and been replaced by very strong feelings for the real Harry Potter. It was just that those strong feelings, forged in the way they were, turned out to be the love for a brother. Harry's hopes to become fully accepted by the Weasley family had been realised - just not in the way anyone expected.

So they had ended it, and he had not returned to the Burrow since. Mrs. Weasley (understandably) worried that this was because he was afraid it would be awkward - "We all love you, Harry dear," she had written in her last letter, "and nothing will ever change that. We miss you, and hope to see you soon."

That line was stuck in Harry's head. It was the "we all love you" that tortured him now, made his heart tighten and his stomach flip. If only that were so. It had taken a long time for him to puzzle it out, to realise what that Amortentia in his sixth year had actually meant.

Treacle Tart. Buying sweets on the train on the way up to Hogwarts, sharing them and laughing and chatting about nothing. Sitting together in the Great Hall, teasing Hermione about the length of her last extra-credit Transfigurations essay while they served each other second helpings of dessert.

The woody smell of a broomstick handle. Quidditch, of course, but with his best mates cheering him on from the stands. The smell of sweat and wood and grass after a match, being clapped on the back or embraced for a victory, a reassuring pat for a loss. Playing games outside the burrow, lending out his broom and watching the many Weasleys fight over who got first shot. Saying of course it goes to Ron, him having best mate status and all. And more recently, practicing with Ron, helping him break in his new Cleansweep 11. Staying out on the pitch until after dark, finding each other by the light of their wands, walking back to the castle together with their brooms in tow.

The Burrow. The most obvious of all. His home, the warm, sweet scented house filled with laughter and happiness and.. and him. Nights spent in the cozy attic, surrounded by gaudy orange banners and quidditch memorabilia, chatting about nothing and everything until late in the night, or else just collapsing exhausted into bed and listening to Ron's light snores until sleep took him.

They all had one element in common. He had been so quick to decide it was Ginny, so quick that he never even contemplated other interpretations, and ended up missing what the Amortentia was really trying to tell him.

Ron.

Ronald Bilius Weasley. The name echoed in Harry's head, making him smile. It was a ridiculous name, really. Hardly one you wanted to use in public. But it made Harry smile, made him feel.. safe. Comfortable. God, how badly he had misread the signs.

He had thought Ginny was the only one who could understand. The only one who was really there with him instead of being there for him. How wrong he'd been. The war had been evidence enough. Ron charging into battle, heedless of the dangers or his own shaking knees, stubbornly refusing to leave Harry to become a martyr. But even before then, Ron had proved in every instance his steadfastness and willingness to lunge into danger for Harry. He and Ron and Hermione had all saved each other's lives so many times at this point that it hardly seemed worth keeping count, but he mulled over them anyway, finding new meaning in each one. Their first year, Ron had sacrificed himself on that chess board, not to save Harry or something so frivolous, but to give him a chance to go and put himself in harm's way. To let Harry continue on, because Ron knew he had to. And again, their second year.. Ron was there, accompanying him into the Chambers, but once more allowing him to confront the final danger alone. It was just the right mix of protection and freedom. Poor, stubborn, terrified Ron had never tried to keep him from doing what he had to. He really was Harry's second-in-command; he felt almost like he was list left hand, and he would be utterly lost without him. The few times they'd had rows so terrible they'd been left not speaking to one another for extended periods had been like torture for Harry. He didn't try to kid himself anymore - he couldn't live without Ron.

It was this stifling sense of dependency that terrified him and kept him from returning to the Burrow.

He had seen Hermione several times in the last few months - always her visiting him, always telling him the same things. She saw right through him. She knew and clearly described how he had lost his sense of purpose following Voldemort's demise. She told him he was being silly, how he just needed to pull himself together and make a plan. Hermione was very keen on making schedules. If she were running Harry's life, she would doubtless have a six-month plan to get him "back on track." The problem, as he had irritably explained to her, was that he didn't know where to begin. What should he do - just go and get a job, and pretend the last year and a half had never happened? Go show up on Scrimgeour's doorstep and ask if he's got any job openings for Aurors, in the wake of the biggest post-disaster cleanup the Ministry had seen in decades? No, he insisted, he was fine just.. taking a break, he called it. Sorting things out. And that was how he had spent these last few months, sulking in his room and avoiding the press and the wizarding world in general.

But it was Hermione, of course, muddling as always, who was changing that. She had finally managed after much coaxing, cajoling, arguing, and crying to get Harry to agree to spend Christmas at the Burrow. And so there he was, sprawled out on his settee and toying with a ring of Dumbledore's that he'd been given during the war by Hogwarts' new Headmistress, thinking about things that had already happened and worrying over things to come. He glanced at the clock. It was just about time to go. He hadn't needed to pack, as he'd been living out of a small case for the last few months, anyway. He would just bring that - he had know idea how long he'd be staying. He tried not to inject any hope into that thought.

He dragged himself to his feet, straightening his clothes and stalking into the dingy bathroom to survey his appearance one last time. He looked decent - well, as decent as he could manage. He'd not yet regained the weight lost in the war, and he still looked a bit tired and pale. Still, it would be an improvement over the last time Mrs. Weasley had seen him, he thought with a slight smile. He splashed some cool water on his face and flicked off the light, slinking back into the room and stopping next to his suitcase. Taking a very deep breath, he took hold of it, squeezed his eyes shut, and Apparated to the front door of the Burrow.

He landed unsteadily, but to his credit he would have been able to keep his footing if it hadn't been for the suitcase. As it was, he tripped over it and landed square on his arse. Wincing and dusting his trousers as best he could manage, he plucked up his courage and knocked at the door.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley wasted no time bursting into tears upon seeing him. He was ushered inside, barely aware of what she was saying to him as he found himself immediately surrounded by red hair and a cacophony of competing voices.

"Hey, welcome home, Harry!"

"How've you been, mate? Hiding from Rita Skeeter, are we?"

"Oi, ease off, Fred! Can't you tell the bloke's tired?"

"Em, Mum, you're squeezing him a bit hard, I don't think he can breathe.."

"Harry! God, you look terrible!"

He was beginning to feel numb from all the hands clapping his shoulders and dragging him into a tight embrace as he was ushered into the kitchen. Just as Mrs. Weasley was about to push him down into a chair (to make him have a steaming bowl of potato and leek soup, she said, just the thing to get some meat back on those bones!), Ginny finally shoved her way through the throng and, in contrast to her brusque brothers, slipped her arms around Harry's waist and pulled him into a gentle hug.

"It's really good to see you, Harry," she said softly, smiling at him. Harry felt relief and warmth and a hundred other emotions wash over him, and he found himself relaxing in her arms. "Welcome home."

He reluctantly let her go after he realised the rest of the Weasley clan were trying very hard not to make it seem like the moment should be an awkward one, and he looked around, feeling his stomach sink when he realised they were one red head short.

"Where's Ron?" he asked, trying not to sound as crushed as he felt that his best friend wasn't there to meet him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley answered, bustling to the table and depositing the largest bowl of soup Harry had ever seen in front of him. "He really wanted to be here when you arrived, he did. But he's helping Hermione with some last minute things she had to attend to before she comes out. They should be here a bit later tonight, I should think. Just eat your soup and get yourself settled and they'll be here before you know it." She favoured him with a wide, tear-filled smile, and Harry found himself returning it instantly.

"Yeah, alright," he replied, taking his seat and feeling immediately pleased when Ginny seated herself next to him. She sought out his hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. The rest of the Weasleys saw fit to leave Harry to eat his soup in peace; perhaps they sensed that Ginny and him needed some time alone.

"He's really looking forward to seeing you," she asserted, resting her elbow on the table and leaning her chin against her palm. "He's been talking about it non-stop since we got your owl." Harry smiled. Sometimes he wondered how much Ginny knew.

"I'm looking forward to seeing him too," he managed, blowing on a spoon of Mrs. Weasley's soup. It would be true, if his insides didn't feel like they were full of spiders. He felt like he wouldn't be able to keep anything down but forced himself to try, and was surprised to recognise hunger flaring in his stomach. He tried to think of the last thing he'd eaten and drew a blank, and soon found himself shoveling down the hot broth so quickly he burned his tongue.

"Harry," Ginny started, watching him wolf down the food without comment, "He's been really worried about you. We all have been."

He forced himself to pause in his feeding frenzy and looked up, plastering a goofy grin on his face. "I'm alright," he answered quickly. "Voldemort's dead, right? Nothing left to worry about."

Ginny frowned, observing him closely. Her next comment was carefully worded. "I think you know what I mean, Harry. I know things are still hard for you, and I understand why you don't want to.. to face them." Harry knew who she meant by them: Everyone. "But," she continued, "I don't understand why you don't want to face us."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, staring into what little remained of his soup. He was torn; to tell the truth, or just come up with something? Hide behind the vague label of "emotional troubles" or "coming to grips with what happened"?

"Ginny," he began slowly without looking up. "I.. I know this is going to sound lame." Best to start with a disclaimer. "But.. A lot's happened. And I don't mean that in the way that.. 'Oh, a lot's happened, I'm still trying to take it all in!' Just.. it's made me realise a lot of things. About myself, and about the people who are important to me." He risked looking up. She was listening with interest, her expression concerned but neutral. He knew she wouldn't reject him. "I've done a lot of thinking, and some of the things I've discovered aren't good. I.. I didn't want to face you guys until I had it all sorted, you know?" He smiled weakly, hoping he hadn't failed too miserably in explaining himself. After considering him for another moment, Ginny returned the smile and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Yeah," she said with a small laugh, "I know what you mean. Believe it or not, Ron was the same, right afterwards. He said.. Well, he said after the things he did and saw, he felt really weird coming home and hugging his mum. He said he felt like it had changed him and he wanted to take some time to figure out things. He stayed holed up in his room for weeks, I swear. I think that's what finally cinched it for him and Hermione, honestly." She sighed sadly and released Harry's hand to brush her hair out of her eyes thoughtfully. "He said he just realised he wasn't the same person, and she wasn't the same person, and, well.. a bit like you and me, really," she finished sadly, but she maintained her smile. Harry felt Mrs. Weasley's soup churn in his stomach. Here was something else he'd been dreading having to confront.. they'd all changed so much, and it signaled the end of two relationships. What if he and Ron just didn't.. click anymore? What if Ron was a totally different person? What if he no longer had the feelings Harry suspected he had? (What if he never had them at all? another voice nagged.) Harry shook his head, dismissing these treacherous thoughts. He would cross that road when he came to it. For now, he had to see.

"That's how Herm described it as well," he agreed, realising from the look on Ginny's face that she had expected some sort of response. "I mean.. No one expected this to be easy. I just didn't expect it to be so.."

"Life-altering?" Ginny suggested with a laugh. "I know. It's a foreign concept to us. I know I never --"

But she was interrupted by a sudden very loud POP!, which was immediately followed by a loud shriek.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" Hermione quickly disentangled herself from her belongings and pounced at Harry, barely giving him a chance to stand before she'd thrown her arms around him. This was accompanied by another loud POP!, and suddenly Ron was standing behind them. Harry didn't see him arrive, but he could feel it - could feel Ron's eyes on his back. He hugged Hermione back fiercely and then, taking a deep breath, released her and turned to face his best friend.

He was the same. He was a little tidier and a little better fed than the last time Harry had seen him, but he was honestly the most familiar, comforting sight Harry had ever seen. Something swelled in his chest but he bit it back and the two boys stood, staring at each other with a few paces in between them. Hermione had wisely stepped to one side and she and Ginny were waiting silently, not even daring to breathe.

Harry stared into Ron's crystal blue eyes, trying to read the emotions between them. There was a little coldness that hadn't been there before, a little hard edge to the otherwise warm irises. He suddenly looked very adult to Harry, very grown-up and tired. They stood that way for several minutes and then, without saying a word, simultaneously closed the distance between them and embraced each other tightly.

Ginny and Hermione let out a long breathe and looked at each other, smiling. Harry was surprised to find himself biting back tears, and when he finally pulled away he was even more surprised to see Ron having the same troubles. They grinned at each other stupidly, eyes watering and trying not to show it.

"Good to see you, Harry."

"Good to see you, Ron."

"Ginny, would you help me get my luggage upstairs?" Hermione interrupted pointedly, though neither of the boys seemed to hear her. Ginny immediately agreed and the two girls collected her bags, exchanging knowing glances and hastening out of the room.

"It's been a long time," Ron stated dumbly once the girls were gone. He was clearly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. They were both silent for a moment before Harry cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. "I'm sorry."

Ron smiled and patted his shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay, mate. You don't have to say anything. Honest."

"I know," Harry replied, smiling back. "Ginny told me."

"Yeah, she would." Ron rolled his eyes theatrically. "Man's got no secrets in this house." Ignoring the spiders returning to his abdomen, Harry decided to seize this opportunity.

"In that case," he said quickly, watching Ron warily, "I've got one I'd like to get off my chest."

"Oh no," Ron moaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Don't tell me. You're eloping with.. Draco Malfoy? You've really been absent because you've joined a muggle rock band? You're wearing girls' knickers?" Harry laughed.

"No," he reassured his friend, trying to let the joking relax him and release him from the encroaching sense of panic. "Nothing so dramatic. Draco Malfoy?" He scoffed. "Honestly, what sort of taste do you think I've got?" It was refreshing to be able to joke like that about old schoolmates, as though everything hadn't gone utterly to hell. As though the war had never happened.

"Well, what is it then?" Ron demanded impatiently. Harry steeled himself for what seemed to be the millionth time that day.

"It's just.. Well. I had been putting off seeing you because I, er, wasn't sure how I would feel when I did," he blurted awkwardly. He could tell be Ron's expression that that had come out all wrong.

"What's that mean?" Ron asked hotly. "Afraid you'll see me as a murderer, or something?" Ron hadn't killed anyone, really. Not directly. But neither fooled themselves as to the results of their actions.

"No, no, not like that," he corrected quickly, trying to figure out how to explain what he meant. "I mean.. I, em, I did a lot of thinking, you know, about.. about us, about school and all the stuff that we.. That we did.." He was faltering, and he knew it. For god's sakes, this was his best mate and he was getting as tongue-tied as if he were talking to a girl. Ron was clearly as frustrated with his inability to express himself as he was.

"God's sakes, Harry, spit it out." He looked at Harry with an expression that could only be classified as 'expectant exasperation.'

'I want to kiss you, you bloody git!' Harry thought crossly, and then was immediately horrified at himself. He was even more horrified to discover that he had actually done it.

"Mmmnn--" Ron had started to say, which would likely roughly translate to "Harry, what on earth do you think you're--"

Harry broke away quickly, too quickly, he felt like in the action of pulling back he was slowly tearing his heart in half. Ron looked nothing short of flabbergasted for a moment, then seemed to recover somewhat and said, to Harry's immense mortification, "God, Harry, I thought you'd gotten in some practice in this."

Harry opened his mouth to reply with something horribly witty and indignant, but he found himself unable to when Ron crushed his lips against his. (This was just as well, as he had nothing particularly witty to say anyway.) His initial surprise at the kiss was only doubled when he realised what the kiss might mean, but both emotions quickly faded away when he felt Ron's lips part slightly against his own. He sighed and relaxed into the kiss, faintly registering Ron's arms snaking around his waist and responding by wrapping his own around the other man. The kiss was slow and gentle, tempered by the caution that came from being apart for so long. Harry felt Ron tasting his lip with his tongue and followed suit, leaning against him and feeling as though the entire world was melting away around them. Harry was lost in the embrace, the feelings and the taste and the.. He smiled as a familiar scent reached him. Broomsticks and the Burrow and a touch of Treacle Tart, if he wasn't very much mistaken. Ron slowly broke away and fixed him with a questioning expression.

"What's so funny?" he asked with slight irritation, starting to unentwine himself from the other boy.

"Not funny," Harry replied, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He held firmly to his best friend, unwilling to suffer any distance between them. "I'm just happy."

"Oh," Ron said, feeling a bit foolish and relaxing back into Harry's arms. A mischievous grin appeared on his face and he inquired innocently "So, what was the big secret?"

"Ron," Harry groaned, shoving him playfully. "You're a right git, you know that?"

"I know," Ron replied with a smirk, leaning in to plant a light kiss on the other boy's lips. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas, Ron."