Moonshadow And Lightning Shade II: Lost

DISCLAIMER: All HP characters belong to JK, Warner, Scholastic, etc. etc. I merely have fun with them.

A/N: This is a sequel to Moonshadow and Lightning Shade, taking place approximately ten years after the original fic. The song "The One I Love" by R.E.M. was written by Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills & Michael Stipe. It can be found on their 1987 album, DOCUMENT. Percy Weasley's nickname 'Pom' is from Atalanta Pendragonne's "Words Ending in N" series on Cipher, and belongs completely and soley to her.

WARNINGS: There have been multiple Character Deaths prior to the start of this fic. Dark Fic.

Beta'd by Evil Auntie Snape. Thanks, Luv!

10 November, 2007

~~~~

This one goes out to the One I love.

This one goes out to the One I've left behind.

A simple prop, to occupy my time.

This one goes out to the One I love.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.


~~~~





Ron sighed heavily as he finished chopping the last of the red pepper. Using his knife, he pushed the tiny, red vegetable squares across the cutting board and into the plastic container, joining the diced green peppers and onions already in it. Snapping the lid in place, he dumped the knife in the sinkfull of soapy water. Glancing at the digital clock on the oven, he checked once more to make sure he had everything ready.

Whole-wheat flatbread. Diced peppers and onions. Sun-dried tomatoes. Artichoke hearts. Grated fontinella and gouda. Spices. Minced garlic. Ron nodded to himself. Olive oil. Check. Oven? All heated up and ready to go.

Giving the clock one more accusatory stare, he topped off his glass of firewhiskey. Then he added a dollop of Disaronno. The Italian liqueur imbued the whiskey with a smooth, cherry flavor. He had discovered the Muggle concoction accidentally. He was Obliviating a couple from Surrey who were unfortunate enough to have had a rabid hippogriff stomping about in their backyard. In the process of restoring their demolished parlor, Ron had noticed the spilled bottle of liqueur. It was now his new favorite.

Sipping on his drink as he walked into their small office, Ron sat down at the desk and punched a key on the laptop. Harry had shown him how to work the contraption. Gingerly pecking at a few keys, he managed to open the thingy that let him see websites. Harry knew the terminology; it was all Goblin to Ron. Most of the stuff on the computer, he ignored. Ron visited sites that featured stories written by regular Muggles based on their literature, TV or films. At the moment, Ron was into reading Lord Of The Rings slash in general, and anything that featured Boromir or Faramir in particular. Percy and Oliver had shown him the Muggle movies, which in turn had inspired Ron to read the actual novels. He was stunned to find out that Tolkien was actually a Wizard himself, which explained a lot. It wasn't long before his older brother had introduced him to Lord Of The Rings slash fiction.

That was it. He was hooked.

Other than reading slash, Ron used the computer for his writing. It was really easier than a Dict-A-Quill, and used a lot less parchment. It surprised him how easily he had taken to the machine. Harry so loved all of his Muggle devices, and the house was filled with them. Ron still didn't understand why they needed that microwave oven thing. A good heating charm always did the trick, and took up a lot less counterspace.

He was in the process of writing his first story, which featured Aragorn and Boromir. He'd completed a few chapters, but hadn't shown them to anyone but Harry yet. Percy was continually asking to see what he had written, but for some reason, Ron wasn't ready to share them. He wanted to complete the story first, before letting his brother read it. Harry thought the entire process was rather odd. He had dutifully read Ron's first chapter, pronouncing it to be "Interesting." Ron found that he enjoyed writing more than he ever would have thought. He shook his head, smirking, as he recalled how, in fourth year, Trelawney had divined that he would write someday.

"That makes two predictions she got right," he said to himself.

As he took another sip of his drink, Gandalf stalked into the room, winding himself about Ron's feet and purring a mile a minute. Lifting the small gray feline up, Ron sat the young cat in his lap. Gandalf blinked sleepily before curling into a tight ball. Ron opened the little file thing that held copies of what he had written. Pointing at the little folder named 'four', he used the hand-thing to move the capital 'I' indicator whatsit down to where he had left off the night before. He started typing, slowly at first, gaining speed as he went. He was an amazingly good typist. Percy said so, anyway.

Ron had actually set up a computer in his office at The Ministry. Carswell continually made sport of Ron typing away at it in every spare moment. He would thank Merlin when the day came that he would have his own cubicle. Besides being a total git, Carswell favoured Puddlemere, and hated the Cannons. He and Ron had been partnered for just under a year now. It wasn't bad being an Obliviator. Not nearly as glamorous as an Auror, but just as important. At least, that's what his Mum said. Repeatedly.

Too bad his father hadn't lived long enough to see Ron make it into The Ministry. Or Charlie. Or Fred. Or Ginny, Neville, Malfoy and Tonks for that matter. So many had fallen in the final battle with that psychopath Riddle. It had been nearly ten years, and it still shocked Ron that the gaping, painful hole inside him hadn't healed the slightest bit. At least he had managed to carry on with some semblance of normalcy. Others hadn't been so fortunate.

One in particular had never been the same. The One he loved more than anything. The One that he desperately had tried to help, Only to fail miserably. Ron took another drink as Gandalf stretched and yawned languidly in his lap.

Turning back to his story, he noted a few mistakes and made to correct them.

His Mum had closed up The Burrow, preferring to spend most of her time with Remus and Bill in Egypt. After their marriage broke up, Bill and Fleur had remained civil, friendly even. She had accepted the reality of Bill's undeniable attraction and love for Remus with a quiet sort of grace. Both his brother and the werewolf had never been happier, and Ron was ashamed to admit to the slightest bit of envy at their relationship. Right now, the twins were spending six months in Cairo. Nearly seven years old, Arthur and Aria were a handful. Bill had invited Ron and Harry to visit this weekend, more likely for babysitting duty than anything else. Maybe he would go. He wanted to. But he didn't want to go alone.

Finished correcting his errors, Ron began reading the chapter again, from the beginning.

He had received an Owl from Hermione earlier in the week. She had been promoted to Deputy Headmistress at Durmstrang. She was still teaching Transfiguration while Krum now taught DADA and coached the Quidditch team, of course. The couple had just celebrated their fifth anniversary. Good old Herm. She'd probably make Minister of Magic by the time she was forty. Krum kept pushing Hermione to have children. Poor guy. He didn't realize he was up against a force of nature. How long had it been since he had seen them? Two, three years?

Finding another mistake, Ron sighed as he attempted to correct it. He slipped with the hand-thing, making a huge portion of his chapter go gray. Wide-eyed, he watched in horror as it disappeared.

"Bollocks! What the hell!"

Scowling at the screen, he poked at a couple of buttons with no effect. He couldn't remember how to get the lost portion back.

"Fucking Muggle thing!"

He gave the side of the screen a sharp smack with his hand. Gandalf started, his eyes half-closed. With a tiny trill, he returned to his fetal position.

"Damnable device!"

He would ask Harry about it when he got home. Whenever that would be. He was already two hours late. Shrugging, Ron collapsed that window thing and went to hunt up some juicy Faramir slash.

He had stopped by to see George at the shop earlier in the day. Ron had already been in London, so the detour to Diagon Alley wasn't that much out of the way for him. Weasley's Wizard Wondershad moved to a much smaller space just off the main drag. After Fred was killed, George just wasn't up to keeping the Wheezes going as a joke shop. Now, it was almost entirely what Muggles would call and 'adult bookshop.' Porn, actually. Ron had to admit that George stocked an amazing amount of magical sex toys. The Talking Dildo was his favourite.

The shop had been rather full this morning. George smiled bravely, per usual. They chatted about mundane subjects. Ron invited George to come to Godric's Hollow for dinner. As always, his older brother declined. If the shop wasn't open, George stayed cooped up in his tiny flat. Ron couldn't remember the last time George had left the premises. After awhile, the standard, awkward silence fell between them. It tore Ron's heart to pieces every time when he saw that look on his older brother's face.

Choking back his tears, Ron had hugged George fiercely, barely able to croak out "Love you, mate," before turning away and losing himself in the crowded street. He had Apparated back to the Hollow as huge, retching sobs tore at his chest. By the time he had burst through the front door and collapsed onto the sofa, he was nearly blinded with tears. Great, rasping wails escaped from him. An hour later, spent, wheezing and bleary-eyed, Ron cleaned himself up and cast a few charms to clear up his eyes and soothe his raw throat. He had been desperate to talk to someone, anyone, but as usual, he was alone.

A little later in the afternoon, he had placed a firecall to Oliver and Percy's, but no one answered. It was already the middle of the night in Cairo, so it was too late to try to contact Bill. So Ron had lost himself in his reading and writing, and, after a few hours, had managed to replace his facade of normalcy. Taking a break, he had decided to make the flatbread pizzas that Harry liked. His husband was usually hungry when he arrived home, so Ron thought it might be cool to have the fresh ingredients ready to go. It only took a minute to assemble the pizzas and pop them in the oven.

Hell, if he was lucky, Harry might even be slightly horny.

Ron located a new Faramir/Frodo story on a site called Scribe. It looked interesting. Alternate Universe. Graphic Language, Violence and Sex. Adult Rating. Life was good sometimes!

He and Harry had gotten together a few months after they consigned Riddle to Hell. Harry had been completely devastated at Malfoy's death. Ron never knew what Harry ever saw in the little ferret. Apparently, Harry had always been attracted to Draco, even since as early as fourth year, but he never acted on it until seventh year. After the night in the garden at The Burrow. After Ron left Harry alone in the rain. Yeah, he could definitely understand how someone could fall in love with Harry Potter.

Ron had fallen for him approximately seven seconds into their first meeting on The Hogwarts' Express. At the time, it had been inconceivable for Ron to admit, even to himself, that he favoured blokes, let alone his best friend. His parents would have had none of it. Plus, he was only eleven at the time. But deep down, he knew what he wanted. He kept it hidden for years. Eventually, he fooled about with Lavender, and then Hermione.

You couldn't get anything by Granger. She knew. She knew everything. Even though she had been hurt and disappointed, Hermione had embarked on a rather involved research project. She gave Ron a reading list to aid him in coming to terms with his sexuality and how to deal with the stigmas attached to it. Merlin bless her, she just couldn't resist a challenge when she saw one. Sometimes it actually frightened Ron how clinically detached Hermione could get once she put her head down. From that point on, Ron had to watch in agony as Harry and Malfoy cooed and stroked each other for the next year.

And then fate intervened and handed Ron what he had always wanted: The Boy Who Lived.

His Mum had barely batted an eyelash when Ron announced their Joining. All the fight had gone out of Molly Prewett Weasley. Ron supposed that burying your husband and three of your children in a six-month span would have that effect on a person. The losses were nearly unbearable for him. Ron could only imagine what his Mum had gone through.

Harry had insisted that they move into Godric's Hollow. The only other alternative had been Grimmauld Place. Ron would rather have eaten live skrewts than live in that dingy hellhole. So the Hollow is was. Ron was certain that Harry had used magic to charm the old cottage away from the Muggles that had owned it for so many years. The middle-aged couple had vacated the house in less than forty-eight hours after Harry had approached them.

Harry had gotten into the Ministry, of course. Department of Special Operations. Personal appointment by Scrimgeour himself. The rat bastard.

It was a great position for Harry. Good pay, which was quite relevant now. A good number of Goblins had gone over to The Dark in the final days of the War, and nearly every Wizard had lost all or part of their money that they had had in Gringott's. Harry was one that lost everything. Ron was used to living on a budget. It took Harry a few years to become accustomed to the idea of a rather limited money supply. Of course, Ron had the unenviable task of balancing the monthly accounts. One more way to be the bad guy.

Ron snorted as he read through the sex scene in his fic. It had been going well, quite hot and erotic. Frodo as a top? That was different. But then the inevitable squick. He didn't know what it was about the word 'pucker,' but it made Ron's stomach go all lurpy every time he read it. Gah! Double whammy! The author used his second squick pick, 'fleshy channel.'

Oh well. Other than that, five stars!

So everything seemed to have worked out perfectly. Ron was shacked up with the most famous, powerful and desirable Wizard in the world. Not to mention the most supremely gorgeous Wizard in the world. Aside from the fact that their house was the site of Harry's parents' murders, it should have been idyllic.

Wrong answer.

Ron wanted children. Harry didn't. Ron tried to reason. He tried to discuss. He pleaded. In the end, he begged. Harry flatly refused. No big deal, right? There were lots of childless couples in the world, Ron rationalized. Then Harry decided to cancel the Joining ceremony. He didn't need a piece of paper from The Ministry to validate their relationship. OK, no big deal. Ron reasoned that it really wasn't that important to have the ceremony after all. Not everyone took that step, right? He loved Harry, and that was all that mattered. They were a legal couple under Wizarding Common Law, anyway.

It was amazing how one little rationalization led to another and another and another.

Harry's career took off. He was promoted quickly. After a year, he had become Senior Operative. Which was great, except that it meant that Harry was on assignment for days, sometimes weeks at a time. And the assignments weren't social calls. Ron stopped counting all the times he had been summoned to St. Mungo's, finding Harry sedated, wrapped, bandaged, comatose, boneless, hexed, or worse. Ron was on a first name basis with all of the Mediwitches in the Trauma Ward. Harry even had his own 'special' room. Ron wondered if he had a special bedpan as well.

He had just finished the Faramir/Frodo story when Gandalf's head popped up. Ron heard the familiar whooshing sound of the flames rising in the hearth as someone Flooed into the house. Picking the cat from his lap, Ron set the protesting feline onto the floor. Grabbing his empty glass, he stepped into the hallway. Harry's duffel bag was leaning against the banister. Ron glanced down the hall just in time to see the door to the loo click shut.

Never fails! The first thing Harry did upon arriving home was to visit the loo. You could count on it. Every time.

Ron crossed over to the counter and began preparing the pizzas. He had them almost done when he heard his husband tell the toilet to flush. The lav wall mirror said something. Ron could just make out its muffled voice through the wall. Then the door opened, and Harry stepped into the kitchen.

Uh oh.

He had that look. The I'm-tired-so-I-don't-want-to-be-bothered look. Harry had black smudges under his eyes. His long, unruly black hair had been shorn to stubble length. His lightning bolt scar looked redder and angrier than usual with the concealing hair gone. No doubt the nosy mirror had made a comment about the haircut. Harry didn't even spare Ron a glance as he stepped over to the table to sort through two week's worth of Owl Post.

"Hey," he said to the floor.

Ron sighed and moved towards his partner. He summoned as much cheerfulness as he could manage. He failed miserably.

"Hey yourself. Welcome home, love," he purred softly, pressing up against Harry from behind and snaking his arms around Harry's waist. Ron nuzzled the side of his lover's neck, his hands ghosting over the taut muscles of Harry's stomach.

Gods, he's lost more weight.

Harry tensed instantly, going stiff as a board. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, as if under attack. Then, he moved his head away from Ron. Dropping his hands to his sides, Harry sighed loudly.

"Um, I really need a shower, so you may not want to get close to me right now. Besides, I need to work through this Post, yeah?"

Harry turned his head just enough to lock one emerald eye on Ron. He froze in that position until Ron released him with a chaste peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, sure, love. But really, you smell fine to me. At this point, I wouldn't care if you smelled like a thestral paddock at high noon. And as far as a shower goes, I just might be able to help you out, if you catch my meaning."

Ron wagged his eyebrows suggestively, but Harry had already turned back to sorting the Post in his hands.

"Well, I stink. And I'm quite capable of washing myself, thanks."

Tossing half of the un-opened envelopes onto the table, Harry banished them with a wave of his hand. Handing the rest to Ron, he yanked on the fridge door, extracting a green bottle of Muggle beer. Twisting off the cap and flicking it neatly into the trash bin, he took a deep pull of the clear, amber liquid.

Ron set the bills on the counter and returned to his pizza assembly. Without turning around, he sighed deeply.

"I like the new 'do. Makes you look sexy. More sexy than usual, I mean."

Plastering a smile onto his face, Ron turned around.

Harry had opened the refrigerator again and was rooting about inside it. He pulled out a bowl of left-over spaghetti sauce. Yanking open the cutlery drawer, he pulled out a large spoon and began eating the sauce directly from the bowl. Ron harrumphed.

"I, uh, I was making those flatbread pizzas here. They'll be ready in a few minutes. But if you'd rather, I could boil you some pasta for that sauce."

Harry shook his head as he wiped a drop of sauce from his chin.

"I'm fine. Stop fussing. If I wanted noodles, I'd get them myself. I was just hungry, OK?"

Ron sighed again, waving a hand. "OK, OK, whatever. Like I said, these will be ready in ten."


Turning back to the pizzas once more, Ron slopped the grated cheeses on them. Pulling open the oven door, he plopped the sheet with the pizzas onto the rack, allowing the door to shut with a louder than normal slam. Reaching for the bottle of Quinn's Olde Reserve, he filled his glass to the brim. Turning to look at Harry, he took a deep swig, spluttering slightly as the firewhiskey burned its way down.

Harry snorted and set his bowl down roughly.

"Well, I see someone's in one of their moods again. I'm not in the house twenty minutes and you're already giving me attitude. Wonderful."

Well, scratch the welcome home sex.

Shaking his head, Harry grabbed his beer and strode from the kitchen. Ron followed, the familiar heat rising up through his collar. He'd been on edge all day, and if he wasn't careful, his patented Weasley temper would be making yet another appearance. He followed Harry into the living room. The shorter Wizard had already plopped down in the center of the sofa. He grabbed the little plastic control thing and pointed it at the Muggle television. It popped on, and Harry immediately began clicking through the channels. Ron hated that damned thing. He could understand why Muggles called it an idiot box.

Skirting around the back of the sofa so as not to cross Harry's view, Ron sat down heavily next to his husband, gently laying his hand on Harry's thigh. He traced his fingers over the surface of the tight, warm denim, barely caressing the prominent bulge of Harry's crotch. The contact sent shivers of electricity through Ron, as always. The feel of Harry always did this to him. It was intoxicating. Ron leaned in, giving the shell of Harry's ear a tiny lick with the tip of his tongue.

Harry jerked his head away as if stung.

"Hey, I'll clean my ears in the shower, yeah? I'm trying to watch telly."


Click

Ron swallowed another sip of whiskey. "I can remember when you liked that sort of thing."

Click

"I still do. Just not right now."

Click

"Why not right now? You've been gone nearly two weeks without so much as a firecall. The only way I knew you'd be home tonight is because Percy mentioned it to me yesterday."

Click

"How many times to I have to tell you that I can't always call you when I'm on assignment? I'm trying to watch this, Ron."

Click

"Really? Not watching anything, by the looks of it. I don't see the point of all these channels when you never watch anything for longer than thirty seconds. And the Wizarding stations are no better. The Divination Channel? Really."

Click

Click

"I know there's a replay of the Puddlemere vs. Manchester match on somewhere..."

Click

"Great. Monday Night Quidditch. Oh joy and rapture."

Click

"I know it's here...

Click

...yes! Here it is!"

Harry dropped the remote as the replay of the day's match was just beginning. He took a swig of beer and scrunched down into the cushions, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Ron gulped down more Olde Reserve. "So, how was your assignment?"

"Fine"

"How did it go? Smoothly?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's great, Harry. Thanks for sharing." Ron shook his head, sighing.

Harry looked at him, frowning. "You know I can't really tell you anything. Classified, remember Ron?"

When Ron remained silent, Harry continued.

"So, how was your week?" he said flatly.

"Avocado," Ron snorted.

"What?"

"I said, avocado."

Harry's brow furrowed as he glared at his partner. "I asked you how your week was, Ron."

"I know what you asked me," Ron said dryly. "You always ask me the same way. If I answer that my week was good or great, you say 'Brilliant.' If I say that it sucked, you say 'Sorry.' Always the same two responses from you. Nothing more. So this time I threw a new answer into the mix: avocado."

Harry was staring at him as if Ron had flobberworms for eyebrows.

"You know, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. Make some sense for a change."

Shaking his head, he took another drink of beer. Puddlemere just scored a goal. They were winning.

"Well, at least I got more than a one word answer this time," Ron drawled smoothly.

Harry rolled his eyes before turning back to his TV match. "Bloody mental, that is."

Ron watched the Quidditch game for a few moments. It used to be his favorite sport, especially when he had captained the Gryffindor House team in seventh year. Anymore, it failed to hold his interest. Hardly anything held his interest these days. He watched as the Puddlemere Keeper blocked yet another quaffle from entering his hoops. He was good. Lorien Downey. Had a nice arse, too. Ron took another gulp of his drink.

"Odd seeing Pubblemere play without Wood as Keeper."

"Yeah."

"Oliver accepted the Head Coach position with the Cannons. Percy thinks he's off his bird, but I can't wait to see how he whips them into shape. Should be interesting to see how he does, yeah?"

Harry was engrossed in the match. "Yeah, can't wait."

"Got an Owl from Hermione this week. She's been promoted to Deputy Headmistress."

"Uh-huh," grunted Harry.

Ron pressed on. His neck was now very hot, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"I stopped by to see George today at the shop."

"Uh-huh."

"He looked awful. Lost some more weight, too. I'm really worried about him."

"Yeah." Harry's eyes never left the TV screen.

"Percy is worried, too. He thinks we should feed George to a dragon."

"Yeah, sure."

"And then, after I left George's shop, a mob of Orcs cornered me and gang raped me in the middle of Diagon Alley. It was cool."

Manchester managed to score. Harry swore under his breath.

"What did ya say, Ron?"

"Oh, just that Gandalf needs some more kibble."

"Uh-huh."

Ron sighed and snuggled closer to Harry, slowly moving his hand up and over the wonderfully large bulge in his husband's jeans. Ron gently rubbed Harry's groin, shivering slightly at the feel of it. Ron was growing hard as his breath became laboured. He felt the usual flush as he turned and pressed his lips to Harry's cheek. His partner didn't pull away this time, so Ron pressed harder, moving down and across Harry's jawline to the soft, warm skin of his neck. Sucking and laving the flesh there, Ron struggled to set his drink down on the table without spilling it.

Harry sat impassively, as if Ron were merely reading the paper. Ron's cock was now rock-hard, straining against the confines of his jeans. He moaned slightly as he began to nibble at the skin where Harry's neck joined his collarbone. One of his hands was grasping at one of Harry's nipples through his t-shirt; the other was worshipping Harry's stiffening jean-clad prick. Ron's breath was now shallow and raspy as he nibbled fervently on Harry's neck.

As his passion escalated, Ron took a tiny portion of his husband's skin between his teeth, biting steadily harder. At first, Harry ignored it. Riding on a hot heat wave of passion, Ron bit down hard on the flesh of Harry's neck. The startled Wizard yelped and tried to pull away, but Ron shifted and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, holding his arms firmly at his sides. Harry exerted a bit more effort to break free, but Ron was much larger and stronger than his husband. Holding him easily, Ron pushed Harry down onto the cushions. He bit down harder, and Harry cried out, his voice laced with panic.

"What the fuck, Ron! That hurts! Get off me!"

Ron bit down even harder on Harry's neck, slowly moving his teeth back and forth as he climbed on top of Harry, who was openly struggling to get away. The smaller Wizard had started to thrash his legs, but Ron sat on them with his own, easily holding Harry on the couch. Ron was panting through his clenched teeth now, and Harry was screaming for him to get off. Ron quickly moved one of his hands to scrabble at the button fly of his Harry's jeans. As he ripped them open, Harry's free hand curled into a fist and began striking Ron's head.

Ron released his bite, mashing his lips over Harry's open mouth as his hand grabbed at Harry's throbbing erection. Harry's muffled cries vibrated into Ron's mouth as the now frantic smaller Wizard was flailing blindly with his fist. Ron was growling loudly, his breath hitching in his chest as he neared climax. Harry connected with the side of Ron's head, dazing him slightly and breaking the rough kiss. Ron grunted as he attempted to kiss Harry again, this time catching the smaller Wizard's lower lip. Biting with all his might, Ron came as Harry screamed and somehow managed to push the redhead off to the side.

Harry slid off of the couch and onto the floor as Ron slumped into the cushions. Harry jumped up and began swinging at Ron with all his might.


"Mother fucking bastard! Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

Ron just laid there as Harry struck him countless times. After a few minutes, Harry ceased his onslaught. Wheezing, he slumped on the coffee table. Ron could see that Harry's bottom lip was bleeding. There was a rather ragged bite mark on his neck that was also bloody. His glasses were bent and askew.

The Quidditch crowd on TV cheered as Puddlemere scored yet again. Ron took a deep breath.

"Merlin, Harry. What happened to us? How did we end up like this?"

Pulling off his glasses, Harry muttered the repairing charm. He stared at the floor, refusing to meet Ron's gaze.

"More like what the fuck happened to you. I've had it with your emotional nonsense. You'd better get some help."

Ron sniffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I need something, all right. At least I have emotions, though."

"What does that mean?" Harry's tone was threatening.

"I don't know what's happened to you, Harry. You used to be so full of life. You practically radiated energy, warmth, excitement. Now, it's like, like you're not even there. Anymore, when you look at me, it's like there's nothing behind your eyes. It kills me to see you like this. What happened, Harry? I love you, you know. Tell me what to do to help."

Harry's cheeks had flushed bright red. He stood up, his hands on his hips. There was a moment's silence and then Harry whirled on Ron, his eyes wild.

"Everything! That's what fucking happened to me, Ron, everything! From the start I was pushed and manipulated. That prick Dumbledore used me like a golem! The Ministry, The Prophet, even the Twins fucking used me! For years that's all I was, some kind of tool. And I did my bit. I killed Riddle. I did my job like a good little robot. I murdered the madman and saved the world. But do you want to know something really funny, Ronniekins?"

Harry leaned down, his face inches from Ron's.

"I saved the world for everyone else. But I lost it for me. I found out that I didn't belong any more. I was used up. Spent. I had served my purpose, and now I didn't have one anymore. Good joke, huh?"

Ron raised his head for the first time. Harry looked on the verge of flying apart. Ron sighed. He could taste blood on his lips.

"You're not the only one who has suffered, Harry. We all have."

Harry blew out a breath and waved his hand.

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

"I do understand, Harry. I know exactly what you're doing. You're holding on to your pain because you're afraid to let it go. Because once you let it go, then it's all up to you again. You couldn't blame all your failures on your pain and suffering as the Boy Who Lived. Once you let go of all that, then it would be all up to Harry Potter. And you're not ready to take that responsibility for yourself. It's easier to blame everything on everybody else."

Harry stared at him, his bloody bottom lip trembling. After a few moments, he turned and stared at the television. Puddlemere had just caught the Snitch and won the match. The TV crowd was going wild.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Ron."

Ron sniffed again, cursing silently as he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"I can't go on like this, Harry. I want to help you, but you won't let me. I sit here in this blasted house, alone, every night, constantly waiting. Waiting for you. Waiting for something so that we can get on with living. That's all I'm doing, Harry. Waiting. Existing. I'm not living. Eight years of it, with no end in sight. I can't take it anymore, really, I can't. Give me something to grab onto, Harry. Give me a little hope."

Harry scowled and sat down in the armchair next to the couch. Grabbing the remote, he began to click through the channels again.

"You sound like a fucking broken record, Ron. If I had a knut for every time I've heard you whine about this. A few classes at University and you think you're a sodding psychologist. You'd better work on solving your own issues before you preach to me."

Click

Ron sat up, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes.

"I don't have to be a professional to see what's going on with you. If you won't talk to me then, how about Hermione? Merlin, Harry, just talking might help."

Click

"I'm tired of talking," Harry hissed quietly. "I've just busted my arse for two weeks and all I want right now is to be left alone."

Click

Ron sniffed and wiped his nose. His bottom lip was stinging, and his right eye was twitching.

"It's partly my fault, I guess. If I hadn't been so screwed up when I was younger. If I had only accepted the fact that I was gay earlier on, maybe we could have helped each other. Supported each other. Like that night in the garden at The Burrow just before seventh year. You found me standing there, and it was you I was thinking about. And then you hugged me, and kissed me for the first time, and that's when I knew exactly what I was and who I wanted. It was wonderful. But I buggered it all up. I was scared, and I walked away. And sent you right into Malfoy's arms. If I could change one thing, that would be it. How do we get back to that place Harry? Can we?"

Click

Harry snorted, his voice rough. Ron could see that he was
trembling.

"You're such a drama queen, Ron. We were just stupid kids then. We didn't know anything. You've been reading too much of that Muggle crap on the computer. None of that matters now, anyway."

Click

"Yeah, Harry, whatever. I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I just, well, I..."

Click

"Uh-huh"

Click

Ron hoisted himself up off of the sofa. Picking up his empty glass and Harry's empty beer bottle, he padded down the hall and into the kitchen. A slightly burnt aroma greeted him as he rushed towards the oven. Quickly sitting the glass and bottle on the counter, he grabbed a pot-holder and wrenched the oven door open. A puff of grey smoke wafted into the air. Ron peered inside and pulled out the slightly smoking pizzas. Dropping the pan on the stove burners with a clatter, he inspected the damage.

Shit! Pretty well singed. Probably still edible. Damn!

Turning the oven off, Ron crossed over to the refrigerator and pulled out another beer. Twisting off the cap, he let it fall to the floor. Gandalf watched him from under the table, purring. Ron walked down the hall into the living room. Harry was slouched in the armchair, clicking away with the changer thing.

Ron moved towards him, offering the beer bottle. Harry took it without comment. Ron stood for a moment longer, watching as Harry took several long gulps.

Click

Click

Click

His head pounding, Ron turned and headed into the hall and up the stairs to their bedroom. His still open duffle lay on their bed. Opening the top drawer of the dresser, he scooped out the remaining clothes and stuffed them in the bag. He grabbed a couple of framed pictures from the dresser top and packed them as well. Crossing to the closet, he pulled out his leather cycle jacket and shrugged into it. After a final glance around the room, Ron slung the duffle over his shoulder and went downstairs.

Harry was still watching the television. Looked like some science fiction program. It was the one with the bald guy in a maroon and black jumpsuit. Harry loved that show. Sighing, Ron headed towards the lav. The light clicked on the moment he entered. The wall mirror gasped in shock.

"Oy, what have ye done now? Ye better get tha' looked to, ye know! Lawd o'mercy!"

Ron chuckled. He was a mess. Harry had split his bottom lip. It looked like he would have a black eye very soon. The right side of his face was puffy and swollen. Smirking, he opened the cabinet and pulled his toiletries off the shelves, stuffing them into the side pocket of the duffle. Closing the mirror, it clucked at him sullenly as he took his toothbrush from the holder and slid it into his back pocket.

Stepping into the kitchen, Ron saw that Gandalf was still sitting under the kitchen table.

"I'll come back tomorrow for you, OK?"

The cat began licking one of his paws in response.

Ron sniffed once more, Apparating away with a loud crack.

He reappeared in the hallway of the apartment block where Percy and Oliver lived. He had ended up at the wrong end of the hallway. Turning about, he stumbled down the hall towards the door to his brother's flat. Every step was harder than the last. Ron's eyes were blurring rapidly, and he was having trouble drawing breath. By the time he reached the door with the letter 'D' on it, Ron was nearly sobbing. He leaned his forearm on the door frame while he pounded repeatedly on the heavy mahogany door.

It seemed like hours before Ron heard the tumblers of the various locks turn. A loud click sounded as the final bolt was pulled, and the door opened a crack to reveal a rather bleary eyed Oliver. When he saw who it was, Oliver flung the door open wide. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a concerned expression.

"Ron? Circe, what's wrong?"

When Ron looked up, Oliver's eyes went wide.

Ron let his duffle bag slide from his shoulders to the floor. The unadulterated look of caring and worry on Oliver's face was the last straw. Ron slumped towards the Quidditch champion, who caught him easily. Ron threw his arms about Oliver's shoulders blindly, the sobs wracking his entire body. Oliver hugged him tightly, drawing small, gentle circles on Ron's back with one hand while the other patted and smoothed the back of Ron's head.

"Oh, Ronnie. Let it out now, it's OK. Let it all out, love."

Ron tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. With a harsh intake of breath, Ron began to cry, a rasping horrendous sound from deep within. Each breath in and out was punctuated by a loud moaning wail.

Oliver caught the strap of Ron's duffle with his bare foot and dragged it into the flat. Then he managed to kick the door shut just as Percy flew out of their bedroom, frantically trying to wrap his robe about him.

Percy let the robe fall open as he took in the sight of his lover holding and rocking his stricken little brother. Oliver gave Ron a gentle kiss on the side of his head.

"Ronnie's here, Pom."

Percy sighed as he crossed the small living room, hugging them both and sandwiching the still sobbing Ron between them.

"We're here, Ronnie. Oliver and I are here and we love you, baby," Percy said, his voice unsteady as a tear trickled out of the corner of his eye.

Oliver smiled bravely.

"Everything is going to be fine, Ronnie. Right, Pom?"

Percy looked back at him with rapidly tearing eyes. He buried his head next to Ron's and hugged them both as tightly as he could.

It was the only thing he could think of to do.