Emerald Fire

( DISCLAIMER: Naturally, I don’t own anything. I’d make a clever line up about it, but I’m not all that witty. Ah well.

At any rate, this is a Harry/Ron story. It takes place ten or so years after the death of Voldemort, which happened their last year at Hogwarts. So do the math if you want to know how old they are. Be warned, Harry will seem horribly out of character, but by the end, you should see why he’s acting that way.

And I think it’s fair that you know my muse lives on reviews, and she is a total glutton. So make sure she gets fed…=P )


“God damnit, you don’t understand anything, Ron!” Harry spat viciously. The tea in his trembling china cup swirled in a tempestuous rage, a few drops slopping over the sides and onto his wrist. It was still scorching. The dark haired man cursed again, placing the drink down with a degree of controlled rage. He raised one arm, nursing the bit of red flesh tenderly.

“I can’t understand what you refuse to tell me,” the freckled fellow across from him replied. His words were too full with emotion. It leaked into his face, as well. Harry thought it would be just as easy to gauge the level of pity in those blue eyes as count the freckles on his cheeks.

“I would, but you’re too bloody dense to comprehend it.” There was a part of him that savored the hurt on that face. Ron ran one hand through his fiery hair, letting out a sigh. He remained where he was, firm and tense, but showing no intention of getting up to leave.

“It’s been over for years, mate. It’s time for you to tell someone, anyone, what happened and get the hell over it! It’s unhealthy to just sit and mope in the past,” he trailed off lamely.

“I do not mope,” Harry growled.

“You’re never happy and you never do anything. Whatever, Harry, it’s moping. Everyone was ready for the worse from you once it was over; god knows you went through enough. But it’s nearly been ten years, and everyone else who suffered has moved on already.”

“Really? Ginny is fine with being a rotting corpse in the ground? Fred and George have come to love Mungo’s?” Harry took a sip of his tea, and then slammed it against the wooden floorboards.

“Bloody fucking hell, Ron, no one has moved on! And if someone can barely get over watching a friend of a friend die or something like that, then tell me why the hell I’m expected to be cheery!” He stood up, hands pressed flat on the oak table.

“You have no idea of what I went through! You weren’t there watching me suffer! There was no one in that war, pt fpt for the lucky bastards who died, that went through more than I did! And I did it all by my bloody self! My best friend should have the brains to understand that.”

Ron stood up after the rant, looking to his good friend. After the war, nothing had been right. With the tenth year anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord swiftly approaching, he just wanted Harry to confide in him again and be giddy. He didn’t care what order it came in.

“Christ, I just wish you didn’t have to be so anal,” Ron muttered, eyes downcast. The words impacted them both a second later. Apologetic blue orbs rose, veiled by long lashes, to meet emerald fire.

Harry reached out to grab Ron by the shoulders. He had been steadily growing for years, while his friend’s height remained the same after their fifth year at school. As adults, they were equally matched for height, but Harry had become obsessive about his physique after the war. His frame was made up of lean muscle. In the back of his head, he could see Lord Voldemort and his supporters again. It was always their, his torture, over and over again.

“Anal, Ron? You’re fucking lucky I’ve been this peppy,” he growled again. His breath skittered across Ron’s face as strong hands pulled him closer.

“Harry, stop.” It was whispered and soft, fear biting on the edges of the words. Harry’s face grew ugly. No one had listened to his pleas, not once. He stared at his friend’s face. If Ron were to talk, Harry knew how it would sound. It would be sickeningly sweet, and if he let him go, he’d start talking like some overpaid psychologist again. He had no idea.

In a series of quick movements, Harry pulled Ron across the table, sending silverware flying, flung him at the couch, and pounced upon him.

“Harry! God, I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!” The apologies spilled out quickly.

“You’re a horrible liar,” grumbled the boy who lived in an awful voice. To Ron’s ears, it was nearly Slytherin, how he sounded right then. Harry pushed his hands hard on his friend’s shoulders, and it was then that the struggle began. The redhead pushed back, fighting to sit up. A whimper caught in his throat when Harry violently slammed him back against the armrest.

They froze like that for a moment. Harry was staring at Ron, but not taking in anything the man was doing. Did he want to do this to him? Yes. Ron made him feel like shit, Ron was an awful tease who never let Harry have him, Ron was an idiot, and Ron couldn’t understand what he was dealing with. He would make him understand. But…

“Harry,” Ron pleaded again. That did it. That stupid, loving voiade ade his blood boil. He wanted to share things with Ron, but he couldn’t, not until Ron understood! Swiftly, he brought his lips to Ron’s. They were velvety soft. He attacked. Harry’s teeth nipped at the soft flesh, searching for an entrance.

There was a yelp as Harry bit hard into his companion’s lower lip. His tongue thrust forward at once, meeting with Ron’s. The two organs had a very one sided fight, with Harry forcing himself as deep as he could go into Ron’s mouth. His hands tightened around silken red hairs as his nose pressed against the other man’s cheek. While his tongue explored the moist cavern, his hands gradually slipped down around Ron’s neck.

There were many cries of protest, all of which Harry caught in his own mouth and thought to taste delicious. He was well aware Ron had harbored a schoolboy crush on him once, but that was well over. He was now a firmly heterosexual wizard, and Harry was thrilled that now Ron was learning how horribly awkward something like this was.

It was not Ron who cried out loudest, though. Harry drew back and glared at a terrified Ronald Weasley. He had bitten his tongue!

“Stop, god, please,” he whimpered. The fingers around the back of his neck tightened, nails digging half moons into his flesh. Harry closed his eyes, basking in the delectable sounds Ron made, enjoying how his skin burned after his mistreatment of it. He had never been so sadistic.

“You’re getting just want you fucking wanted, so shut up. I’ll show you everything that happened to me.”

If they were animations, a light bulb with a blazing figment would have been sketched above Ron’s pretty head. His struggles suddenly found new vigor.

“Oh god, no. No, no, Harry, I don’t want…”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he replied flatly. Ron squirmed away from Harry’s touch, but it was hard to move with a hebodybody pressing hard against you. Harry’s hands moved to Ron’s shoulders again, pinching like spiders and putting him in a position more comfortable for Harry. Ron let out a frustrated cry as Harry wrapped a hand around the arm Ron had managed to escape.

In the moment that they both remembered that they were wizards, their eyes went to the same spot. Across the room, on a smaller table, sat their two wands. Ron thought that if he could only just stop Harry for a moment, he’d realize what he was doing. Harry wanted to make the fight easier for him, but his assailants had not used magic to keep him down. Their arms and hands were sufficient enough for that.

One hand still resting firmly near Ron’s neck, the other drifted downwards. Harry leaned his face near Ron’s, breathing hard and studying his expressions. The blue eyes widened further at the sound of ripping fabric. Soon the tips of fingers were sliding across his belly. He jumped and protested, the first hint of tears clouding his eyes. When Harry moved both hands to explore Ron’s chest, the redhead took his chance. He jerked violently and made a mad dash for the door.

Harry, not very behind at all, snagged the back of his pants and yanked him backwards. With gravity disrupted, they both came falling down, but the seeker was the faster of the two. He soon had a frantic Ron pinned against the floor. He straddled the lankier form at the lower back, pressing himself against the half naked creature.

“Stop it!” Ron yelled. It took Harry a bit by surprise.

“Stop it! Harry, stop! I know you’re not yourself, so get a grip and get the hell off of me!”

One of the dark haired wizard’s hands resumed what it had been doing previously.

“Help! Stop! God, someone help!”

Their position was not as comfortable as before, and the shouting was irritating him. They were on the second floor of his home, so there was really no point to doing it. Harry removed his own tie and Ron’s belt. With one hand, he grabbed the wild locks of fire on Ron’s skull, pulling his head back so that he could see him. His mouth was open in shock. Harry took the opportunity and shoved his crumpled tie in the wet orifice, then wrapped the belt around his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“It’s nice to know you’ll finally be able to understand,” Harry whispered in a voice lined with ice, such a paradox considering the sheen of sweat beginning to encompass the two bodies.