Never Let Me Go

Your first friend is always the most important. With a first friend, they are very often the best friend, the friend that you can tell anything to. Sometimes, when you're drinking with them in the pub, or talking to them after midnight when everybody else is asleep, you might just think that there's a little spark there of passion and possibly love. Sometimes, the spark can turn into a fire and engulf you and that best friend, that first friend.

Harry and Ron felt that way.

Harry first knew when they disappeared under the invisibility cloak together in the first year to go and look at the mirror. Being so close to Ron, breathing the same air, treading silently, just felt so right, that he didn't know what to feel about anything. He could have reached out and touched him.

He knew what he was feeling was wrong. But how could it be wrong when it felt so right?

Ron first knew in the second year, when they hid in the staff room closet, waiting to speak to the teachers about their discovery of the chamber. When Ginny's death had been announced, and he slid down to the floor of the closet with his back to Harry, fighting back tears and sobs, Harry had gently, tenderly, softly put his arms around Ron's waist. Ron sat back slowly, leaning into Harry's warmth, still trying not to cry.

The night after their horrendous adventures in the chamber, Ron couldn't sleep. He sat up in bed, listening to Neville's snores, Seamus's wheezy breathing. Taking care to make no noise, he parted the curtains on his bed and padded slowly across the room to Harry's bed. Ron peeped around the curtains, and saw Harry's green eyes flashing back at him. He smiled and slid himself onto Harry's bed.

"Can't sleep either?"

"Nope. Listen, mate, I just really wanted to thank you for saving Ginny and all..." Ron felt as if he was stammering.

Harry blushed, looked down and said, "Hey, look, don't worry about it."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

The words were sticking in his throat. "There's something else..."

Harry almost stopped breathing. He sat up in bed and looked at Ron, who had suddenly gone the same colour as his hair. Slowly, as if in a dream, he reached out his hand to Ron's shoulder, let the hand wander up through Ron's hair and pull him slowly forward.

Ron's hand found Harry's waist as he edged towards him. Their eyes met.

"Ron, I don't know how to say this..."

Ron instantly shrunk back and took his hand away, but Harry hadn't finished.

"I feel the same..."

Ron gave a gasp, and before he dared to do anything different, he had leant forwards and kissed Harry on the lips. Then, as if amazed at his doings, he shuddered and looked Harry in the face.

He was smiling.

*~*~*

In the third year, both of them started noticing changes about each other. Ron's puppy fat was slowly but surely turning into hard muscles, Harry's jaw line was stronger and more defined. Ron would grin about that as he slowly left a trail of kisses up Harry's chin, ending on his mouth.

Neither of them pushed to have sex. Neither of them felt ready; they knew that in the end it would come and they would both be nervous, but now wasn't the time, they were both too young. For now, all they wanted was the midnight hugs and kisses, the holding hands under the sheets if they cuddled up together.

*~*~*

Ron lay on Harry's bed, running his hands tenderly through Harry's dark hair. It was the day after the funeral. Everybody else was downstairs at breakfast, or already going home. The train would be pulling up in Hogwarts station soon, their suitcases would be taken on board and they would board the train themselves soon after. Ron knew as well as Harry did that it would be the last time they went on that train.

Tears were slowly coursing down Harry's cheeks. Ron kissed them away, and Harry opened his eyes, as if surprised to still find Ron there. Cheeks touching, hips touching, hand in hand, Harry suddenly knew what he wanted and needed now more than anything - Ron's love, his slow and steadfast love that had lasted through five years.

He leaned forwards and kissed Ron slowly, letting his tongue run into Ron's mouth. His hands were wandering, removing Ron's shirt, stroking the hard muscles of his stomach, before unbuttoning his friend's flies and letting his hands wander further down.

Ron was gasping, panting, as Harry's hands worked. They had done these things before, but today Harry seemed more urgent, more wanting, more passionate.

Harry tore off his tee shirt and flung it from the bed. He knew what he wanted now; he knew that he couldn't rest now until he'd done what he needed.

Ron rolled so that he lay under Harry, face down on the pillows.

Harry put his mouth next to Ron's ear, his hair sweaty on Ron's neck.

"--Are you sure?"

"As I'll ever be," gasped Ron.

What came next was unquestionably pain - pleasure - sex - oblivion - Love.

*~*~*

They lay there afterwards, curled together , Harry's arms around Ron's waist, Ron's legs entwined with Harry's, their faces touching, listening to each other's breathing.

"It's never going to be the same again," said Harry.

"I never wanted it any different, I promise," replied Ron.