Nightmare

Nightmare Part Two.
Title: Stormy Night.
Author: Rina
Email: rina762003@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Warning: Slash (Boylove)
Pairing: Ron/Harry
Disclaimer: The characters contained within do not belong to me and I make no profit whatsoever from this story. I do it for the love of Ron and Harry!
Summary: Harry has a nightmare. Again. And who comes to the rescue? One guess.


***

“No...Stay away from him...” Harry Potter thrashes beneath the covers, tossing his head back and forth, eyes shut tight, brown hair plastered to his scarred brow with sweat, shallow pants of breath making his chest rapidly rise and fall.

“Don’t you touch him...Please don’t...NO!”

With a harsh strangled gasp, Harry awakens, his eyes flying open in the dark, feeling disoriented and petrified out of his wits. He can hear wind, rain and thunder. A blaze of lightning reveals a pale figure at the foot of his bed, looking at him. Sitting bolt upright with the blankets scrunched in his white-knuckled hands, Harry stares in fright at the person in front of him, thinking wildly that his dream has come to terrifying life.

Until he recognises his roommate and realises where he is. He’s at school, in a dormitory full of sleeping wizards in training, and the person looking at him is not some hideously mutated sorcerer but Ron. His best friend. The second boy is intermittently lit up by flashes of silvery-blue light flickering through the rain-drenched windows, the changing shadows highlighting the curves and hollows of his fair-skinned features, reflecting off his shaggy ginger mane. He is wearing flannel pyjama bottoms with a t-shirt stretched over his wide shoulders and is gazing at Harry as if he wants to say something, wants to give some small comfort or word of reassurance, but in nights gone by he never has. He just sits there silently, like he’s done every time Harry has a bad dream. It’s like he’s keeping watch over Harry, making sure that the night-terrors pass and that he goes back to sleep unscathed.

Realising that Ron has been watching him while he fights past battles in his sleep – yet again - awkward shame crosses Harry’s face and his gaze darts away. Usually this is the part where Harry rolls over and turns his back on Ron, ignoring him and the concern written on his freckled face but before Harry can turn do that, Ron speaks, his voice a low, soothing sound over the howl of the weather outside.

“You all right, Harry?”

The person to whom the question is directed at glances up and almost as swiftly glances away. Those searching blue eyes of Ron’s make Harry feel guilty for shutting him out; they make him feel like the horrible friend that he is but he believes he has no other choice. These burdens are not Ron’s bother. They are Harry’s and he should be the one to bear them. Nobody else.

“Don’t worry about it, Ron,” he mumbles, slumping against the bed head and raking his fingers through his dishevelled hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“Well, I would,” Ron answers dryly, “but every time I do, somebody wakes me up with their muttering and moaning.”

With a cringe, Harry asks, “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

“Yeah. All the time, lately.” Ron lets a thoughtful expression crease his brow. “Seems to be getting worse, actually.”

Not sure if he really wants to hear this, Harry nevertheless can’t help inquiring, “What…What do I say?”

“I think you already know what you say, Harry.” Ron looks solemnly at the first teenager. “And who you talk about. He’s back, isn’t he?”

It’s more of a statement than a question and Harry swallows, his focus dropping down to his hands. “Ron…what if I’m wrong?” His tone is quiet with a hint of fear. “What if I’m just going crazy?”

“You’re not crazy!” Ron declares strongly. Remembering that his classmates are still asleep, he quickly looks around to see if he’s woken any but the other boys slumber on through the storm, blissfully unaware of what Harry and Ron are both worrying about.

“I know what you dream about is real,” Ron decrees in a more hushed voice. “I believe you, mate.”

“Well, you’d be the only one,” Harry mutters sullenly, hating the fact that everyone else thinks he’s barmy. He rolls over onto his right side and yanks the bedcovers up to his ears, not wanting Ron to see the resentment etched on his face.

“I’ve always believed you. You know that,” Ron repeats, widening his eyes for emphasis. Then a corner of his mouth turns up in a cheeky fashion. “Although, there was that time you dreamt of me getting swallowed by a snake-monster and that never happened, did it?”

Reminded of that dreadful nightmare, and what happened after it, causes Harry to become overwhelmed by his turbulent, unstable emotions and he can’t halt the hot, helpless tears that start to seep out of the corner of his eyes, slipping over the bridge of his nose and down his right temple, soaking into the pillow under his cheek. He clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyelids shut, attempting to get himself under control and failing miserably.

Keenly sensitive of his friend’s feelings, Ron exclaims in dismay, “Blimey, Harry. I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Harry grits out, angrily rubbing his eyes with his fist. “Just leave me alone, Ron. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Normally when Harry snaps at him like that, Ron obeys and reluctantly slinks away like a kicked puppy but this time he’s not going to follow orders. Harry has been mean to him often; he has said spiteful, hurtful things to him and while it stings to hear those words, Ron knows Harry only says them because he’s in pain, because he’s angry about Cedric’s death and because he blames himself for it. Among other issues. Not only is Lord Voldemort apparently back in business but the truly horrid Dolores Umbridge has taken over Hogwarts and changed it for the worse, banning everything that used to be so grand about the school and taking away all the things they loved to learn and practise, like actual magic spells that might be used to defend themselves.

And of course, the recent drama where Harry nearly got expelled for whipping out his wand in the presence of a Muggle, even though it was only his stupid, fat cousin Dudley, who probably deserved to get his life sucked out by a Dementor. Harry was only doing the right thing, protecting a fellow human being, and he gets taken to court and interrogated over it. Poor bugger seems to carry the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders and it’s not surprising that he’s moody and short-tempered trying to cope with it all. Fully understanding this, Ron has patiently stood aside and let Harry vent at him, occasionally offering the dark-haired boy encouragement and support which he never accepts or appears to want.

But he does need it. More than ever right now, even if he won’t admit it out loud. Harry has to know that he’s not in this alone. Because he isn’t. He has Ron.

He’s always had Ron.

No matter what trials and tribulations have been flung their way, Ron has stuck by Harry’s side like glue. Sure, they’ve had their rough patches, like the time Ron thought Harry put his name into the Goblet of Fire – which he didn’t – and Ron’s jealousy over Harry’s inherited wealth and fancy dress robes but those were fleeting incidents, tests of their friendship which has only endured over the years and gotten stronger. Throughout the stress and strain of puberty and school and giant spiders trying to eat them, Ron and Harry’s bond may have been bent but it has never been broken. And it never will. Ron won’t let it. He won’t let Harry push him away, which is what he knows the other boy is attempting to do. That’s why Harry has started to get snappy, using rudeness as a way to try and distance himself from Ron, to protect him in case the same thing that happened to Cedric happens to Ron. Harry is trying to act like a bit of a tosser but it’s not fooling Ronald Weasley, who – believe it or not - is actually smarter than he first appears. He realises that Harry’s life will never be normal and that being his friend is fraught with peril and danger but that’s a risk Ron is prepared to take. Harry is worth it. Unlike most of their schoolmates, Ron has never thought of him as a freak or believed him to be evil. He’s just...special. Sounds daft, but that’s the best way Ron can put it. It seems that he is the only one who accepts Harry for who he is, scars and all. The only one who appreciates Harry’s unique and tortured soul. The only one who recognises the stunning power lurking under all that insecurity. The only one who sees the breathtaking beauty behind the geeky glasses.

The only one who truly, deeply loves Harry James Potter.

Ron told him so, once upon a time. Harry said it back too, then, but he hasn’t said it lately. In fact, he hasn’t said much of anything lately. He’s been so aloof, so withdrawn, slipping quietly away from everybody but most of all from Ron. The thought of losing his best friend in this way scares Ron more than any horrible creature he’s faced, more than even the thought of death. It’s like Harry’s dying while he’s still alive. It makes Ron want to weep. Seeing all the spirit and fire inside Harry slowly turning into bitter ice is devastating and Ron wants more than anything to bring that fire back. He knows it’s there in Harry’s heart, in his soul; it just has to be reignited again. To bring that spark back – and their dwindling relationship back - Ron has to force Harry to bond with him on a profoundly emotional level, something they haven’t done since one particular night many months ago. They never talk about it and pretend it didn’t happen but they kissed. And it was magical. Then they went to the end of year ball together which was totally brilliant and had the whole school gossiping (with the exception of a gob-smacked Malfoy) but soon after that, life’s dramas got in the way and they kind of drifted apart. Not as friends but as whatever they were starting to become. Ron can’t say lovers because they never actually got that far but they could have been, if things hadn’t gotten so hectic and crazy. If people didn’t keep trying to kill them. If they didn’t have to spend most of their time getting into and out of serious trouble. If they didn’t have to solve one convoluted mystery after another like the sodding supernatural Hardy Boys. Honestly, they haven’t had time to do anything else apart from concentrate on staying alive and keeping everyone they care about alive as well.

But that has to stop. They have to make time. They have to reach out to each other because if they don’t, they could end up missing out on the best thing to ever happen to them in their whole lives, which, incidentally, may not be that long. Practising wizardry in this day and age is not exactly a safe occupation to have. They could both die tomorrow and Ron doesn’t want his final regret to be about things he never said. Or did. Maybe Harry can’t – won’t - reach out to him at the moment but there’s nothing stopping Ron from doing it. The last time they were fully close and connected, Harry came to him. Harry made the first move. Now, tonight, it’s Ron’s turn.

Decisively, he gets up and walks across the room, the floor cold on the soles of his feet. He discreetly pulls the curtains around Harry’s bed for privacy and then perches on the edge of the mattress behind his brunette friend, the bed dipping with his tall weight. Still huddled under his blanket, Harry sniffs unhappily but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Ron’s presence.

Undeterred, Ron lays his hand on Harry’s shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m here for you, mate,” he pledges sincerely. “If there’s anything you want me to do, just tell me.”

“Nothing you do is going to change what’s happened,” Harry blurts out in frustration, throwing the bedclothes down and turning around to glare at Ron. “Nothing you say is going to make it all right. Because it’s not all right. Life is unfair and we can’t do anything about it!”

“I know I can’t change things,” Ron regretfully acknowledges. “But I could help you to stop thinking about it. At least for a little while.” He regards Harry closely, his manner cautiously optimistic. “Would you be all right with that?”

Harry furrows his brow, propping himself up on his elbows so he can stare at Ron in perplexity. “What do you mean? An amnesia spell?”

“No, Harry,” Ron replies, shaking his head. “I’m not talking about a spell.”

“What, then? How are you going to-”

“Could you quit asking questions for five bloody minutes?” Ron’s admonishment has the desired outcome and Harry shuts up, a quizzical look in his green gaze. Leaning down to Harry’s ear, his breath ghosting intimately against the other boy’s delicate flesh, Ron murmurs, “I’m trying to make you feel better, you idiot.”

“Oh,” Harry utters stupidly, his cheeks going pink as he finally comprehends what Ron is talking about. He feels the red-headed male’s lips starting to trace the outer rim of his ear and Harry says, “Oh,” again but it’s much more high-pitched and breathless. As a warm, moist mouth encloses his lobe in a very sensual way his eyes grow round and all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle and lift up. Goodness gracious. Harry never knew such an ordinary part of the body could be so responsive. He starts to wonder how the heck Ron knew that when he didn’t but the unfamiliar sensation of a tongue probing into the crease behind his ear quickly makes him lose his train of thought and he lowers his lashes with a visible shudder.

“Do you want me to help you, Harry?”

Ron’s softly spoken query is followed by teeth biting down and tugging at Harry’s earlobe. At the almost unbearable shivers shooting down his spine, Harry can’t stop himself from gasping, getting more and more lost in Ron’s spell of seduction, which is not really a spell at all, but simple human desire and attraction, something they are both capable of experiencing without the use of magic words or herbs.

Circling a spot just under Harry’s jaw with his thumb, Ron whispers enticingly to the second boy, “Do you want me to make you forget?”

“Please,” Harry breathes desperately, tilting his head to the right in a yielding and compliant gesture. “Make me, Ron. I don’t want to remember anymore.”

Harry’s complete and willing submission fills Ron with a heady sense of anticipatory triumph and he vows to himself that he will not leave Harry’s bed until he has accomplished what he promised to do.


***


A/N: I’ve been getting begged for a sequel and I’m feeling pretty inspired after watching Order of the Phoenix so here’s the start of it. Hope you like. This fic will be posted in chapters so if you want the next one, you know what to do!