Single Regret

The red head remembers that day perfectly. It was when Harry had come by the Burrow for the summer. Slept in the same room as he did. And he got so many mixed feelings. He liked the boy. A lot. A lot more than best friends should. But it was so wrong to want Harry. They were both guys.

But he soon learned that it wasn\'t as wrong as it should have been.

A certain Weasely had given up his bed for the spectacled youth, and had made up his own pallet on the floor with one of his infamous Chudley Cannons sleeping bags. Barely asleep and staring up at the ceiling, a rather disheveled Harry had been murmering things in his sleep. Worried, Ron tried to wake the boy. But instead, Harry had grabbed him and held him in his sleep.

A deep blush fell across the boy\'s spotted cheeks, wrapping his own arms around the raven haired male.

\"Don\'t... ever... leave me...\" Harry murmered, nuzzling into Ron\'s shoulder, and he felt an unfamiliar heat rising in his abdomen. Ignoring it and simply comforting the sleeping boy, Ron nuzzled his nose into the boy\'s neck, drinking in his spicy scent, completely enthralled.

\"Mmmm...\" He mumbles, laying down next to Harry, letting the boy hold onto his waist. Watching Harry\'s nostrals flare as he exhaled. Ron lay there in complete silence until the sound of the boy\'s sleeping eventually caused him to drift off also.

That was his very first expirience with Harry. Too bad Harry didn\'t know about it. Things could have been so much different.

The now forty-eight year old Weasely stands at his lost love\'s funeral. His very sister standing beside him weeping over her husband\'s untimely death.

If Ron regretted even one thing about his and Harry\'s friendship. It was that it never fully came to the surface. And it was too late to even be watered, let alone bloom.