Stormfront

My response to the First Lines Challenge at harry_and_ron. The prompt was #7, 'It was because of the summer heat'.

Post HBP.

Beta work by koshweasley & Evil AUntie Snape. Any remaining mistakes are my own.


~~~~~STORMFRONT~~~~~Part One~~~~


Tuesday, 1 July, 1997


It was because of the summer heat, Ron told himself. Yeah, that was it. Had to be.

He shifted about slightly, attempting to make himself more comfortable.

He'd promised himself that he wouldn't wallow about like this any more. It had been two years since that night in the garden shed, and while so much had happened since then, while so much had changed all around them, there was one part of his life that was exactly the same. All the wishing and hoping and re-hashing of events had been for naught. So despite his renewed vows otherwise, here he was again, staring and sighing like a love-struck first year, all the old feelings welling up again, every bit as fresh and annoying as ever.

Yeah, just too bleedin' warm out. Probably getting a bit light-headed. Cool drink'll help.

He reached for the nearly empty pitcher of pumpkin juice, not even bothering with a cup. He drained it in a few gulps, the ice cold juice sending a sharp spike of pain through his forehead.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, sitting up and crossing his legs in a effort to squelch the increasingly insistent pressure straining his cut-off shorts.

"What was that?"

His head jerked up, suddenly remembering that he wasn't alone. Ginny lounged a few feet away, toying with the few remaining crisps on her plate. She smirked knowingly, looking completely pleased with herself. More so than she had rights to. She'd certainly recovered quickly after her break-up with Harry. And she acted more and more like Hermione with each passing day. With a sigh, he cocked his head to the side, squinting slightly as a bit of bright sunlight made its way through the shade of the old oak they were sitting under.

"Oh, nothing, just thinkin' out loud," he muttered in response.

Ginny sniggered, rolling her eyes as she hoisted herself up from the huge quilt they'd spread out for their lunch. "You? Think? Good one, that. Must be the heat, Ron." She smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes as Ron swiped for her legs, missing completely and falling over, nearly landing in the decimated bowl of potato salad. "Nice swim'll cool you off," she shot back, trotting away toward the pond, giggling all the while.

"Thanks!" he shouted in response as she splashed into the water. "Hope the Siren nibbles your toes," he added.

But it wasn't the heat. Nice idea while it lasted, though.

"Bollocks!"

It had been a rotten summer. Death Eater attacks everywhere, his Dad always working late at The Ministry, Percy being a total prat, Bill struggling with his injuries, Fleur and his Mum flitting about like nervous bumblebees, fussing and fretting and worrying over every little thing. Charlie was due to be released from St. Mungo's in the next few days, and the twins had been busy repairing The Wheezes after the firebombing. Hermione had been predictably buried in her books, having just left The Burrow to spend a week with her parents.

And on top of all that, there was Harry.

He'd been unusually dour and quiet, isolating himself as much as possible. Sometimes he'd be so completely lost in his thoughts he'd barely be able to manage an intelligible response. Other times, he'd lash out at the slightest provocation, locking and warding himself away for hours at a time. Everyone kept their distance, and even though Ron understood Harry's need for space, it was becoming increasingly difficult to leave Harry be. It absolutely ripped his insides apart to see his best mate alone, apart, so clearly devastated and somewhat lost.

And why no one else saw this was a complete mystery.

It was plain as the nose on a house elf's face.

He’d been thrilled when Harry refused to return to the Dursley’s. With Dumbledore gone, there had been no one to force him to do so. There was never any doubt that he’d come to The Burrow; it was as safe as anyplace else. The Ministry had posted at least a dozen operatives in and around the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Scrimgeour had grumbled a bit about Harry’s decision, somehow thinking Grimmauld Place to be a more logical choice. Harry’d basically told the old fart to get bent; using those exact words, actually.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that having Harry at The Burrow was a blessing and a curse. He felt like some sort of Muggle rubber band (his Dad loved the things). Stretched one way and then another as Harry would one day cling to him, and the next ignore him. And it was a rather small house, virtually impossible to truly avoid anyone. He couldn’t count how many times he’d barged into the bathroom while Harry was in the shower, or just getting out of it. One such instance was most memorable: his cock was at attention in an instant at the sight of Harry standing there, dripping wet, grinning from ear to ear. They snogged themselves right into Christmas, with Harry pushing down Ron’s boxers and stroking him to the point of meltdown. Harry’d left him standing there, starkers, and he’d finished himself off under the spray of hot, soapy water.

They’d had plenty of encounters over the last couple years of course, sleeping in each other’s beds countless times. But they’d never really done it, or ‘gone all the way’ as Seamus liked to call it.

Ron growled, folding his arms and wincing immediately. He held them out, observing the thin traceries of scars entwined all around his forearms and lower biceps. His little gift from the brains at the Ministry were still amazingly sensitive and tender, especially when he got a bit of sun. The narrow, puffy lines of scarred flesh were an angry pink, and he'd have a restless night's sleep, that was certain.

He murmured the incantation Pomfrey had taught him, and the burning sensation abated almost entirely.

He shook his head, recalling that horrible evening in the Department of Mysteries. As awful as it had been, he knew without doubt that he'd do it all over again if he had to. He'd follow Harry straight into the bowels of Muggle hell if need be. And they'd probably have to do just that. Ron knew Harry wasn't keen on hunting up Snakeface's horcrux things, and really, who would be? For some reason, though, the prospect wasn't as terrifying as he'd first thought.

Whatever happened, whatever they'd have to face, he knew he'd be with Hermione and Harry.

As long as someone didn't do something foolish and go off on his own...

McGonagall remained in constant contact, never relenting in her quest to convince Harry to return to Hogwarts in September. Ron thought his Head of House was uncharacteristically gentle in her dealings with Harry, but her visits agitated him nonetheless.

He hadn't a clue what he'd do if Harry didn't return to school for the fall term.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Ron knew he'd do what he always did: stick by his mate. His parents would pitch a fit if he didn't go back to Hogwarts, but he was of age now, and he could do as he liked.

And what he liked...well, that was the problem, wasn't it? What he needed, loved more than anything, actually. The one person that so far this summer, he'd been unable to reach.

Ron blew out a breath, absently watching as Ginny taunted Fred and George.

That was the way of it, wasn't it? No matter how close he and Harry were, there was always this distance, this space between them, some sort of no-man's land that neither could cross. Sure, they could say how much they loved each other, they could hold each other from time to time, exchange knowing glances or snog once and a while...but that was it.

By now, Ron knew exactly what he wanted. And deep down, he was positive Harry wanted the same thing.

So what was the bloody problem? Sometimes he thought that Harry was perhaps ashamed of being into blokes. Or maybe he entertained some ridiculous vision of his image as the Boy Who Lived and was attempting to live up to it. They'd both even gone so far as to date girls, with predictably disastrous results.

The outcome was always the same, though: come here, now go away.

And Ron wasn't sure how much more he could take before going completely off the trolley.

He'd tried to talk to Harry about how he felt after Dumbledore's funeral. He'd rehearsed and practised his monologue most carefully. Looking back, he realised that his timing had been abysmal. The instant he started talking, he'd forgotten everything he'd wanted to say, standing there stuttering and babbling like a fool. Harry had stared at him blankly, simply nodding and Apparating away after he'd finished.

He'd held out the tiniest bit of hope that something might change after that, but Harry had resolutely pushed him away again, as he had with everyone else.

Ron hated things this way. Knowing how Harry felt about him, that his best mate really loved him but was purposely keeping his distance, was nothing but sheer, unadulterated torture.

And Charlie was the only person Ron could talk to about Harry. Charlie knew; he understood everything. But most of the time he was in sodding Romania, and not exactly accessible at all hours. It was only by sheer chance that his older brother hadn't been more seriously injured, or worse, when the Wheezes was attacked.

A breeze rustled through the leaves, and he glanced up at the bright, blue sky. A few puffy clouds had moved in, and behind those he could see a much thicker, darker wall of clouds moving toward them. The Wizarding Wireless had forecast showers and thunderstorms for later in the evening. He hoped they'd get a good storm out of it. Might cool things off a bit.

And Harry just loved thunderstorms…

Sighing, Ron glanced up in time to see Harry on George's shoulders, his hair plastered to his head, laughing.

Actually laughing as Ginny splashed him mercilessly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Harry do that. Most likely before what had happened to Dumbledore...

And Harry was just plain gorgeous; pale, smooth skin, still on the slim side but toned and just beginning to fill out nicely. Ron realized he was smiling as he noticed that Harry's swim trunks had slipped down, exposing a fair amount of his abdomen and hip. They were an old pair of his own, now too small, yet they fit Harry almost perfectly.

Just then, Fred lunged out of the water, colliding directly into George's chest. Harry toppled over, his arms frantically flapping about as he disappeared beneath the water with a loud slap. Harry popped above the surface an instant later, spitting water, giggling and spluttering all at once. Fred and George fell upon him immediately, sending showers of cool water his way. Ginny attempted to divert the twins' attention, but to no avail.

Ron grinned widely, chuckling. He loved seeing Harry enjoy himself. No one deserved some good times more than his best mate, that was a certainty. Merlin knew, he'd tried to help over the last few weeks. Sometimes he'd succeeded in making Harry smile, or even chuckle a bit. And a few times Harry even let Ron hold him, gently, quietly, but never for very long.

Harry always threw up his barriers, his 'I'm-The-Boy-Who-Lived-and-I'm-in-this-alone'nonsense.

But today, right now, he was just Harry, jumping about and having a grand time.

And Ron had never seen anything more beautiful than when Harry smiled.

Like he was doing right now.

"Ron! Oy! Could use some help here!"

Harry waved wildly in the thigh-deep water just as Fred tackled him and pulled him under. George was engaged in chasing Ginny about in the shallows, bellowing like a boarhound in heat.

"Shite," Ron muttered, pulling at the crotch of his already too-tight shorts. He'd grown so much lately absolutely nothing fit correctly anymore, and his Mum had commented earlier that day on how his favourite cut-offs now looked as though they'd been painted on. Having a raging hard-on didn't help matters much. Shrugging out of his Chudley tank top, he dashed for the pond, hoping everyone else would be sufficiently pre-occupied to notice the rather large bulge in his shorts.

He gasped slightly as he entered the relatively cool water, taking a few clumsy steps before diving under the surface.

Opening his eyes, he could barely make out the shadowy forms of his brothers and Harry in the murky water. The bright sunshine improved the visibility underwater immensely; the next instant, he picked out Fred's stocky legs looming ahead, with Harry's flailing about right next to them. He kicked as hard as he could, reaching out and grabbing at Fred's calves, pushing off the muddy pond bottom and wrenching Fred off balance. He broke the surface to a chorus of yells and whoops and splashing. He stood up in the waist deep water, still grasping Fred's legs and pushing them away. He turned in the direction of Ginny's laughing just in time to see George whirl about and dive at him, a wicked grin plastered to his face.

The next instant, he felt someone leap on his back, legs wrapping about his waist, arms around his chest.

"Yes!" Harry bellowed triumphantly. "Now the odds are a bit more even," Harry breathed in Ron's ear, barely nuzzling it with his whiskered chin. "Watch out, infidels!" he hollered with gusto.

Ron struggled to balance himself, at once mindful of the impending attack of the twins and the feeling of Harry's warm breath against his cheek. Harry shifted slightly, pressing closer, the feeling of Harry's wet skin against his own nearly making him swoon.

Sweet Merlin, that felt bloody good!

Ron's arousal twitched as Harry wiggled against him; he could feel Harry's own hardness pressing against the small of his back. Taking a deep breath, he braced for George's impact.

"Don't let go!" Harry cried out just as Fred burst from the water right behind them.

"Never!" Ron replied as George rammed them from the side. Fred grabbed Harry by the shoulders, pulling him backward. The force of George's impact coupled with Harry clutching him so tightly forced him under the surface.

During the brief underwater tussle, he felt Harry's hands fall away. George fought to drag him toward the deeper water. He thrashed about, but George hugged him tightly. A moment later, Ron pushed to the surface, gulping for air, George still clasping him about the waist.

Harry and Fred were laughing and splashing up a storm nearby while Ginny stood at a safe distance, offering commentary. George grinned widely, his long fringe nearly covering his eyes completely.

"Hah!" he spluttered heartily. "Now I've got you, Ronniekins!" He adjusted his grip, confusion slowly working its way across his face. "What?"

Ron just stood there, not struggling in the slightest, hunkered down so that his lower body was still underwater.

"Um, well, erm..." he mumbled, glancing down at the murky water. Fred and Harry had turned on Ginny, cornering her near the swampy shallows. She was yelling something, but Ron was to embarrassed to care.

"You okay, little bro?" George asked, looking up. They were still pressed close together, and there was no mistaking the wide-eyed expression on George's face when he finally felt Ron's state of arousal.

"Circe's tits!" George exclaimed, swiftly releasing his grip and moving away. "What in blue blazes are you packin' in there, anyway!?"

Ron blushed, sinking down even lower, his chin touching the surface. "Blimey, just keep it down, will ya? Why not take out an advert in The Prophet so everyone can know?" He threw a glance in Harry's direction, immediately noting a wicked grin creep across George's face.

"Ahhh, I get it now," George said softly, nodding. "The Harry Problem. For a minute there, I thought you were starting to fancy me."

Ron made a gagging sound, sticking his middle finger down his throat. "That was a nice lunch. I'd rather not see it go to waste, if it's all the same to you."

"Huh!" George replied, clearly wounded. "And what's wrong with me, I'd like to know? I've been told I'm rather handsome." He stood up fully, striking a pose and puffing out his broad and rather furry chest, flexing his arms. "Not to mention articulate, witty, and enormously creative." He waggled his eyebrows, tossing his head and shaking out his shoulder-length ginger locks.

"Oh, hell," Ron muttered miserably, the sounds of Ginny's cries for assistance barely rising above the nearby splashing.

George sniggered, his arms falling to his sides. "Snap out of it, little bro. You really need to loosen up a bit. Wound much to tightly, I daresay." He offered a hand, and Ron reluctantly took it, slowly standing up. "Better, yeah?" he observed, nodding at the front of Ron's shorts.

Ron groaned. "Oy, give it a rest, okay?" he hissed. "Let's just change the subject."

"Ronnie, Ronnie," George sighed, shaking his head. "I submit that's part of the problem. Face things head on, that's what Fred and I always do. Works for us." he peered around Ron, grinning as Fred held Ginny upside down over an especially mucky portion of the pond. "Sort it out, bro. You know what to do. First step is always the hardest, but it gets easier after that. Trust me." He reached out and lifted his brother's chin. "He's having a rough go. Be patient, yeah?"

Ron stared at George, suddenly wondering who had replaced his git of a brother with this impostor. "Uhhh, yeah. Sure," was all he could manage in response.

George brushed his fringe away from his face. "Right. Now I reckon we'll head on back to the house and leave you two alone for awhile." He looked up, smiling crookedly. "Ya know, you're really not lookin' half bad yourself. Nice, actually. I like 'em tall." He trailed his finger down the centre of Ron's chest. "Now, if you weren't my post of a little brother..."

Ron groaned again, slapping his hands to his ears. "Not listening! Not listening!"

George whooped loudly, giving Ron a smart slap to the arse as he lunged across the pond towards Fred and Harry. Ginny had escaped them and was attempting to wash the muck from her hair and face.

Ron lowered himself down, lazily paddling over to where the other three were bobbing about, George and Fred chatting in low voices while Harry floated on his back a few feet away. The twins turned in unison, shooting him a knowing glance. George winked while Fred jerked his head in Harry's direction, waggling his eyebrows. They moved away toward the shore, where an extremely bedraggled Ginny was already charming away their lunch leftovers. Ron watched as the twins reached the water's edge. They turned as one, gesturing towards Harry and sporting identical wicked smiles.

Ron growled, changing course and heading for Harry. The water gradually deepened, so that by the time he was close to Harry, the water was up to his collarbones. Harry's eyes were closed as the flotation charm allowed him to remain just above the surface without any physical exertion.

He didn't know how long he stood there, just watching Harry. He sighed, struck at how handsome his best mate was.

As gorgeous as his green eyes were, Ron thought that Harry was even more beautiful when asleep.

He looked completely peaceful, serene, all of his waking cares and worries temporarily forgotten. His lips were parted slightly as he dozed, and Ron made out the light dusting of dark whiskers along Harry's chin. Ron moved closer, restraining himself from reaching out and running his hand down the middle of Harry's chest and stomach, imagining what the trail of small, black hairs would feel like.

Soft? Silky? Bloody wonderful, no doubt.

He felt his erection swell again in its confines, and his Harry was right before him, perfect, lovely, his best mate, the only one he'd ever wanted.

"Aww, Harry," he breathed, suddenly startled by a loud clinking and voices from the shore. He turned to look, noting that his siblings were involved in some sort of intense debate as they trudged off toward The Burrow.

"Hey."

Ron whirled about with a splash to find Harry smiling at him.

"Where'd everyone go?" Harry asked quietly.

"Back to the house. Ginny's got to fix her hair before she spontaneously combusts, I expect."

"Probably," Harry replied with a small grin. "Feels so bloody good to just float here. I don't think I ever want to get out."

Ron moved closer. "Well, we don't have to then."

Harry giggled. "We'll need to at some point, before we get all pruney."

"Wouldn't bother me," Ron answered, barely a few inches from Harry's head.

They were silent for a few moments. A cloud passed over the sun, throwing everything into shade. Ron shivered and saw that Harry did the same.

Harry sighed. "Suppose we should get back. Your Mum will send Fleur out after us if we stay too long." He rolled his eyes. "Nothing for it, I reckon. Finite Incantatem."

The charm ceased, Harry's feet and lower body dropping below the surface. He'd apparently floated further out into the pond than he'd thought, and the water was now just over the top of his head.

His smile faded the instant before he went under. Ron reached out, grabbing Harry under the arms and pulling him up and over.

Harry spluttered and shook his head, his fringe plastered to his forehead.

"Shite! I didn't realize the water was so deep." He blinked, wiping the hair from his face. "Thanks, mate," he said quietly.

Ron took a few steps backward, pulling Harry in close. He gasped slightly as their bodies made contact in the cool water.

"No worries," was all he could manage. His nose was barely an inch from Harry's.

"I'm still not used to you being so much taller," Harry offered softly.

"Sorry," Ron murmured, slowly shifting his grip and snaking his arms around Harry.

"Don't be," Harry said. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah." He smiled then, wrapping his arms around Ron.

"Harry," Ron began, "I just want you to know that--"

"I know," Harry cut him off. "I know." He leaned his head on Ron's shoulder, hugging him tightly. "Just hold me, okay?"

Ron merely nodded in response, at once certain that he'd be unable to formulate any other sort of answer. Harry squeezed him firmly, wrapping his legs about Ron's hips.

He nuzzled the side of Harry's head, his heart feeling as if it were going to burst right out of his chest. He never wanted to let Harry go. He just wanted to keep on holding him until all the crap had gone away. All the death and war and evil. He'd hold Harry until all that was over, and longer if need be.

Whatever needed to be done, he gladly do it. For his Harry.

"Ronnie, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Ron squeaked in response.

"I've been a total arse lately, and--"

"S'alright, s'alright," Ron interjected. "Don't need to apologize. I understand. I'm sorry I haven't been much help."

Harry lifted his head, his green eyes even brighter without the glasses. "Don't say that, yeah? You're the best mate I've ever had. Without you...without you always there..." He paused a moment, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Ron sniffed, suddenly terrified that he was about to burst into tears.

"You, Ron. You keep me going. You're my strength. You're the everything. And I can't lose that. Ever. Without you..."

"Right, right, sure." Ron felt the angry flush, rising up his neck and straight to his cheeks.

"It's true."

Ron drew in a deep breath.

Merlins balls! Here we go!

"Then why do you keep shoving me away? Why won't you let me in?"

"Ron," Harry said, lifting his head up.

"You say all those things, how important I am to you, and when you need me, I'm your everything..."

"Ron, you don't understand..."

"...and then you just cut me loose, push me away, and I don't want that..."

"...how things are. You are important to me..."

"...anymore. I want to be with you. All the time.."

"...and I need you, always, but..."

"...and I love you so much, Harry..."

They both stopped talking at the same time. Harry stared at him, a supremely sad expression on his face. Ron felt his stomach lurching about, his lunch suddenly interested in seeing daylight again.

Harry seemed about to speak, but at the last second he mashed his lips to Ron's.

At first, Ron pulled away, but the feeling of Harry's mouth on his was too lovely, too wonderful, too bloody fantastic to resist. He kissed back hungrily, tightening his grip about Harry's waist, thrusting his tongue past Harry's teeth and into his mouth.

Harry moaned softly into Ron's mouth, bringing his arms up and wrapping them about Ron's neck. He rubbed his erection into Ron's stomach with increasing intensity, pushing his own tongue over and around Ron's.

Ron slowly slid one hand down the back of Harry's trunks, his tingling fingers caressing the silky smoothness of Harry's wonderful arse. Harry groaned in response, grinding his hips much more forcefully. Ron staggered slightly, struggling to maintain their balance while at the same time taking small steps toward the shore.

Harry broke their kiss, his lips red and puffy, his breathing somewhat ragged.

"Damn, I'm such an arse. Why you'd want anything to do with a tosser like me..."

"Poor taste, I suppose," Ron answered smoothly. "Now shut it and kiss me again."

Harry paused only a moment before he complied, Ron finally succeeding in bringing them to the shallows. The sun was completely hidden behind the cloudbank, the now constant breeze decidedly cool against the damp skin of their torsos. They hugged each other tightly, revelling in the comparative warmth of each other's bodies. Harry was nearly writhing in Ron's embrace, panting and groaning with abandon. Ron's aching arousal was begging for release, his own hips bucking slightly as Harry slowly slid downward.

"Hairrree! Ron! Time to get out of ze water!"

They froze instantly, the shrill voice slicing through their ardour like a knife. The pair pulled away, both turning in the direction of Fleur's voice.

"Bloody hell," Harry hissed, releasing Ron and dropping into the water with a splash. They exchanged a glance, both plopping down in the shallows to conceal the obvious bulges in their shorts.

Ron fumed, his expression predatory.

"I just hate Veela."

Fleur strode into view, all smiles, her crisp, blue floral print sundress swishing smartly from side to side. She came to a halt just at the water's edge, planting her hands on her hips and cocking her perfectly coiffed blonde head to one side.

"You're muzzere is wanting boze of you back at ze house. Now, don't make me come in zhere and get you!"

Harry and Ron turned to each other in unison, nodding slightly, wicked grins forming on their faces.


~~~~~~~~~


Ron didn't understand a word of French, but he supposed he really didn't have to. He and Harry barely contained their giggles on the way back to the house, Fleur squawking and ranting like a drenched hen. Well, she had been completely soaked until she cast a drying charm on her self. Her hair, though dry, was a tangled mess, as was her sundress, which was now hopelessly wrinkled. She stomped on several paces ahead of he and Harry, muttering in French and waving her arms. Ron caught a few words, mostly his name and Bill's.

After a bit she calmed down, the three walking along the narrow path in silence.

"Doesn't like the water much," Ron whispered.

"Guess not," he replied flatly, never glancing up.

Ron noted Harry's blank expression with a sigh. Yep. He'd retreated behind his walls again. Ron briefly debated trying to talk some more, but in the end he decided to just let it go. He was actually the slightest bit miffed at this point, both at Fleur and now Harry, and the last thing he wanted was for his patented Weasley temper to make an appearance.

No, that wouldn't help things at all...

Fred and George burst out laughing as they trooped into the kitchen, with Molly shooting him a withering stare as Ginny escorted Fleur upstairs. Harry made a dash for the stairs, and Ron attempted to follow

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" his Mum roared.

Ron winced, turning about slowly to face his clearly agitated mother. Even though he now towered over her, she was still an intimidating presence as she stood there, flushed, jabbing a ladle menacingly in his direction.

"Yeah, Mum," he replied quietly. "Sorry. Just a bit of fooling about."

Fred and George sniggered, leaning closely to each other, whispering. Molly peered about Ron, pointing her ladle at the twins.

"That'll be enough out of you two," she snapped. "Haven't you work to do at the shop?"

The twins sat up immediately, clasping their hands together on the tabletop. Fred smiled, nodding to George. "Yeah, might be heading over there later. After tea, though, if that's okay." George batted his eyes at Molly, who furrowed her brow slightly. "Need to keep our strength up, ya know." He returned to scrutinizing the parchment Fred was scribbling on.

Ron groaned slightly, steeling himself for the imminent barrage of maternal admonishment.

Molly took a deep breath, her round cheeks flushed the deepest pink. "I should think there's enough going on without you and Harry antagonizing that poor girl!"

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied flatly.

Fred sniggered.

"And now the wedding's postponed indefinitely, Bill's off with Remus, Merlin knows where..."

"Yes, Mum," Ron repeated.

George cleared his throat, very loudly.

"...Death Eaters lurking about, your poor father at his wit's end..."

"I know, Mum," Ron mumbled. Fred and George whispered something, both giggling softly.

"...and all the business with the shop and Charlie..."

"Yeah, I know all that! I'm not completely daft, you know!" Ron's voice was nearly a shout by the time he finished. He raised himself up, folding his arms across his chest. "I've got problems of my own, in case you haven't noticed."

Molly lips formed into a thin line as she allowed her ladle arm to drop to her side. She plucked at the top of her apron with her free hand, absently smoothing out the paisley fabric. When she spoke, her tone was low, but steady. "If I'd ever taken that tone with my Mum, you'd be talking to a woman with a thirteen-inch maple wand sticking out of her forehead."

"Mum," Ron began.

"And don't forget, you're not so tall that I still can't turn ya over my knee. Could use a good swift smack in the arse, truth be told." She sent the ladle over to the sink, where it joined the other dishes and cutlery in a miasma of soapy water. "All I'm asking is for you to not make things worse than they already are. I really don't need the grief, Ronald."

It was all Ron could do to maintain his composure. He was fully aware that his Mum was under tremendous pressure. Everyone was, even the twins, except they never showed it. But he'd done nothing but have a bit of fun, for the first time in ages, and she was making a Ministry case out of it. He hated how he always seemed to be singled out in this way; Ginny was younger, yet she was rarely, if ever, publicly humiliated as he often was.

Molly was staring at him, awaiting a response.

He nodded, blowing out a breath.

"Right. Great, thanks for all that," he said softly, almost a whisper. "Don't mean to be such a burden. I'll do my best to be completely invisible from now on. I'll stay out of everyone's way, and leave poor Fleur alone. And I'll sort things out myself. Wouldn't dream of putting you out."

Molly's eyes widened during his rant, her mouth falling open slightly. "Now, that's not what I meant, and you know it, Ronald..."

Ron waved his hand. "No worries, Mum. You wouldn't understand anyway."

Molly took a step closer. "Ronald, whatever it is that's troubling you..."

"I'll work it out," he replied tersely, cutting her off. “May I be excused?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Molly nodded once, her fingers twisting her apron into knots. Ron whirled about, heading for the stairs. Fred and George were staring at him, slackjawed.

"Charlie's just been released from St. Mungo's. A mediwitch will be floo'ing him here any minute," Molly called after him. "And tell Harry that Minerva firecalled while you were at the pond. She'd like Harry to call her back when he can."

Ron never turned around or answered, mounting the crooked, creaky stairs two at a time. As he reached the fifth landing, he frowned when he noted his bedroom door was closed. He tried the latch, but it was locked and no doubt warded.

"Damn!" he swore, rapping on the door firmly. "Harry, open up! Charlie's gonna be here any minute, and Mum says McGonagall wants you to firecall her."

There was no response; he hadn't really expected one, but he kept knocking anyway.

"Harry, c'mon, mate! Let me in! We need to talk, okay!?"

He pounded on his door a few more times, finally giving up and leaning his forehead against the scarred wood.

"Fuck. Damn it, Harry."

He tried the latch once more before turning around and heading down to Percy's room. His older brother's extremely Spartan bedroom was a far cry from his cluttered yet comfy one, but all he really was concerned about was that it had a bed. He flopped down on it heavily, rolling over on his back and staring at the Muggle model of the solar system suspended from the sloped ceiling. It wasn't even charmed, so the tiny planets simply hung there, barely swaying to and fro in the light breeze blowing in through the open window. He watched them move for a long while, the faded little globes following the same, tired paths, always apart, unchanging.

He could hear voices wafting up from downstairs: his Mum, Fleur's shrill tones, the twins, and then the unmistakably deep voice that could only be Charlie.

He smiled, incredibly happy that Charlie was finally home. He'd managed to hide how deeply distraught he'd been when Charlie was injured. Next to Harry, there wasn't anyone he felt closer to.

And Charlie knew him, understood him, like no one else. Yeah, things would get better now that Charlie was home. He'd know what to do...

The breeze picked up, flapping the faded Puddlemere United curtains flanking the window. The tiny planets jiggled and bobbed about, and Ron's eyes grew heavy, finally closing.


~~~~~~~~


He runs down the dimly lit corridor, his footfalls echoing loudly in his ears. Far off shouts and yells lie dead ahead. He sees the end of the corridor and pumps his aching legs still faster. The sounds of the battle grow louder, as do Harry's cries for help. Harry's calling for him by name, his Harry is in trouble and needs him, and he tries to move faster, and the more he tries, the slower he seems to go. He attempts to call out, but there's something wrong with his voice; it's barely a scratchy whisper. He strains to let Harry know he's on his way, to hold on, hold out, don't give up. Bright flashes of green light illuminate the end of the corridor, and he finally reaches it, rounding the corner at top speed.

He stares as Harry stands alone at the bottom of the steep stone steps. The chamber is empty and silent. The thin, gauzy Veil wafts to and fro within the portal. He stumbles down the steps, his chest aching, his legs on the verge of collapse. Harry looks up, his robe in tatters, his shirt and jeans torn and bloody. Harry opens his arms wide, his palms upturned. He smiles slightly, his face bruised, a tiny trail of blood trickling down his cheek. Harry stares at him, cocking his head to one side.

"Finite," Harry says softly as he turns around and walks toward the portal.

He tries to call out, to tell Harry no, to tell Harry that he loves him and needs him and that he can't survive without him, but no sound comes out, only a ragged moan. And still he flies down the stone steps, never getting closer as Harry now stands before the Veil, the thin, transparent fabric seeming to curl about him, wrapping itself about his arms and legs.

And he's trying to scream now, his throat raw and sore even though he hasn't made a sound, and he finally reaches the bottom of the steep stairs. Harry turns his head slightly, a wan grin forms on his lips.

He reaches out, straining to touch Harry, grab him, even a ragged piece of robe, to stop him, to pull him back. Harry turns away again and steps through the Veil...

He tries to lunge forward, but the tentacles from the brains coil about his arms and shoulders, restraining him, their cold, echoing thoughts weaving their way into his head. He finally manages to scream Harry's name then, a wide tentacle sliding across his mouth as Harry disappears beyond the Veil...

"Harry!" Ron gasped, sitting up and swatting at the strong hands on his shoulders.

He blinked repeatedly at Charlie, who stared back, concerned.

"It's okay, kiddo," Charlie offered quietly. "Just a dream. You're fine." He smiled widely, squeezing Ron's shoulders.

Ron took a few deep breaths, throwing his arms around his older brother and hugging him fiercely. Charlie winced, sucking in a breath and groaning. Ron released him instantly.

"Sorry, Charlie," he gasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "So bloody good to see you, I just forgot..."

Charlie smiled, shaking his head. "No worries, little bro." He straightened himself up stiffly, wincing again. "I'm pretty much healed up, but I'll be sore for quite some time." He reached up and brushed a few stray locks of ginger hair away from Ron's eyes. "Bad dreams again?"

Ron shrugged, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. "Only one. And not about monsters under my bed, either."

"Wanna talk about it?”

Ron shook his head, turning to glance out the window. "No. It's nothing. Just the usual, boring angsty stuff." The small patch of sky visible was rather grey and dark. Sharp gusts of wind whipped Percy's Puddlemere curtains about. Thunder grumbled off in the distance.

Ron turned back to find Charlie scrutinizing him, as if waiting for something.

"What?" Ron asked warily.

Charlie smirked, reaching out and gently running a finger along Ron's forearm, slowly tracing the thin mass of scars there. "Back at the Department of Mysteries, I expect. Completely understandable, Ronnie. Something like that is hard to shake. No shame, really." He took Ron's hand, squeezing it firmly. "And Harry's in there somewhere, or I'm not a Master Dragon Handler. You know you can talk to me about anything, love."

Ron felt the lumps rise instantly to his throat. That was the problem with someone knowing him as well as Charlie did. He never failed to cut directly to the heart of the matter. Saved a lot of time and moaning and groaning to be sure, but still. He took a shuddering breath, leaning his head on Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie hugged him, rocking him back and forth.

"Balls," Ron murmured. "Are you doing some post-graduate Divination studies or something? Sometimes you frighten me, you really do." He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Charlie chuckled. "I've known you my whole life, Ronnie. I'd be a piss-poor brother if I couldn't tell what's up with you." He nuzzled against Ron, leaving a light kiss on the top of his head. "Might do some good to just talk. Usually better to get things off your chest."

Ron growled. "But it's the same old shite. Harry. I love him, Charlie, I really do, and I want him, and I know he wants me, but he just...he just..."

"Keeps pushing you away," Charlie finished for him. "Right?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, hugging Charlie tighter. "And I don't know how much longer I can stand it. I just look at him anymore, and blam! Instant hard-on. One of these days I'm going to explode, I just know it."

He shifted down a bit to a more comfortable position.

"Oooh, well, what happened to poor old Ron?" He adopted his falsetto voice, usually reserved for tormenting Ginny. He shifted his tone up and down, simulating a conversation.

"Ron? He exploded, obviously. Right in the middle of his bangers and mash. Worst case of Confundus Orgasma I've ever seen!"

"Confundus Orgasma?"

"Oh, yes, happens all the time to redheaded poofs when they're attracted to their best mate for extended periods with no shagging."

"Oh, what a shame!"

"And his mum, poor woman. She'll never get all of him off of the walls. Pity!"

"Pity!"

Ron snuffled some more as he finished, at once aware of his brother shaking with barely controlled laughter. He looked up at Charlie, who was flushing red and holding a hand over his mouth.

“S’not funny, Mr. Dragon Handler,” Ron pouted, pushing away from Charlie and sitting up.

Charlie cleared his throat, taking a few breaths. “I know, I know, I’m not laughing at you…”

Ron folded his arms, cocking his head to one side.

Charlie held up his hands. “Fine! But that was funny, little bro. Really! Reminds me of this old Muggle television programme Dad showed us a long time ago. Monty something. You sound just like the blokes in the show.” He shook his head. “Bloody hell, you slay me sometimes.”

Ron harrumphed. “Lovely. I’m so pleased that I’m a constant source of amusement for you.”

“I think I understand how tough this all is,” Charlie began, still grinning widely. “You’ve gone through so much together, but there’s a lot more ahead to be dealt with. After that, it should be easier to sort through. Just be patient, okay, kiddo?” He reached out and ruffled Ron’s hair.

Ron growled again, pushing off the bed and stalking over to the window. A line of nearly black storm clouds were moving in, flashes of lightning hidden deep within them.

“I’ve been patient,” he said softly. “For nearly two years, Charlie! I haven’t pushed, I haven’t forced, just like you said. And that would be fine, if we can’t be together like the way I want, but he won’t even let me help him. He won’t even talk to me. I’ve never seen him like this, and I’m worried he’s going to do something rash. And it gets worse every day…”

He heard the floorboards creak as his brother moved across the small room. A second later, he felt Charlie’s strong arms wrap about his waist, his calloused hands making tiny scratching noises against the fabric of his tank top.

“I know it’s not easy,” Charlie said, burying his head into Ron’s shoulder blades. “You’ve done an amazing job, Ronnie, really. So honest and brave, marching right into The Ministry and facing those Death Eaters. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

“Yeah, smashing job I did with the brains. Nearly got myself killed, and Sirius wasn't exactly lucky, either…”

Charlie hugged him tighter. “Now don’t take on what happened to Sirius, too. Nasty things happen in War, kiddo, and that’s a reality you have to face. It’s rotten, but there’s nothing for it. Just hang on and keep your head up. You’re stronger than you know. And Harry needs you. Don’t give up now. Remember our talk just before the Tri-Wizard Tournament?”

“Yeah.”

“And do you remember how confusing everything was then?”

“Yeah.”

“But you got through it. You told Harry exactly how you felt, and he did the same. Things work out, Ronnie, really they do. Mum and Dad are okay with it, just like I said." He paused a moment, hugging Ron a bit tighter. "And you love him, right?"

Ron nodded, turning around and hugging his brother fiercely. He had to bend down quite a bit to nuzzle his head against Charlie’s; he was now a good head taller than his older brother.

“Merlin, don’t you dare ever go away,” he rasped, losing his battle to control his emotions. A pair of hot tears trickled down his cheeks. “I’d die if anything happened to you…”

Charlie gently patted Ron’s back, making soft shushing sounds. “Now that’s enough of that. You’re gettin' yourself all worked up over things that might not even happen.” He held Ron until his soft sobs subsided.

Outside, thunder cracked loudly.

Ron pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. Just your typical emotional poof here,” he said sullenly.

Charlie punched him in the shoulder.

“Oww!” Ron wailed, rubbing the sore spot. “Prat!”

Charlie simply smirked, folding his muscular arms across his chest. “Rule number four, remember?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Really? I thought four was ‘say something stupid, get a pinch’?”

Charlie shrugged. “Pinch, punch. Whatever.” He winked. “Now, enough wallowing, mate! Get down there and just talk to him, yeah?”

Ron blinked. “What, Harry’s downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “He came down for tea. Unlike some people.”

Ron planted his fists on his hips. “I missed tea? Thanks, that.”

“I thought you could use the sleep,” Charlie replied. “Besides, Harry and I had a nice chat over afters.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. “You talked to him?”

Charlie poked Ron in the ribs. “Yeah, we talked, just like regular people do. Git.”

Ron glared at his older brother, taking a deep breath as he noted the fresh scar running down the side of Charlie’s face, from his temple to his whiskered chin. And there was something decidedly off about his left eye...that was what his Mum and Dad had been talking about. He squinted, absently reaching out and running his finger along the puckered, pink flesh of Charlie's scar.

“Blimey, Charlie,” he breathed. The wound had to have been horrendous, cursed or both for a scar like that to remain. The staff at St. Mungo’s could work miracles, but they weren’t always able to erase everything. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been so wrapped up with my problems, I didn’t even give you a second look! Your face, and your eye!” He paused, feeling the lumps rise once more. “Shite!” Ron hugged him again, tightly.

Charlie winced, returning the embrace. “That‘s my boy. Always ready to take on the weight of the world.” He lifted Ron’s chin slightly, smiling. “You’re bloody lovely, you know that? Just don’t worry about the ‘coulda beens’ okay? I’m fine, still got one eye left, we’re all here, so just enjoy it.” He stretched up, brushing his lips to Ron’s.

Ron returned the kiss, pressing against Charlie and bringing his hands up to frame his brother’s face.

A second later, Charlie pulled away, looking down and placing his forehead against Ron’s chest.

“We need to go down before Mum comes looking for us,” he said quietly.

“Charlie,” Ron began in a shaky voice.

Charlie looked up, shaking his head. “No worries, love. There’s a certain someone in this house who needs you. Badly. Not the time for this, right?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve missed you. And we’re...well, us...it’s different.”

Charlie patted Ron’s cheek before turning away and walking toward the doorway.

“C’mon, little bro. There might be a bit of raspberry tart left,” he said over his shoulder.

“Charlie!” Ron called out.

“Me too, Ronnie,” Charlie replied without turning or stopping, disappearing through the door and into the hall.

Ron took a few steps toward the doorway, his arms dropping to his sides. He stood there a moment before turning back to the open window. The storm was getting closer, thunder rumbling almost constantly. He rubbed his forehead fitfully.

Charlie was right, as always. Just talk to Harry. Lay everything out, plain and simple.

Yeah.

Easy.

“Bollocks,” he murmured, kicking off his trainers and rooting through his pile of clean clothes. His bloody cut-offs were killing him.


~~~~~~


After a quick shower, Ron felt one hundred percent better. The mirror over the sink admonished him repeatedly for not casting a sunscreen charm; his freckles stood out prominently on his definitely sunburned face and shoulders. Yanking on a pair of jeans and shrugging into a fresh tank top, he padded down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Fleur looked up, rolling her eyes before returning to the catalog she was studying with Ginny at the table. His sister didn’t spare him a glance, for which he was grateful. Charlie was seated at the small writing desk in the corner, his quill scratching away over a large sheaf of parchments. Dishes washed themselves lazily as stiff gusts of wind flapped the frilly curtains over the sink. He could hear Fred & George giggling in the parlour, listening to Urial Uffgoode on the Wizarding Wireless.

His Dad, Mum and Harry were nowhere to be seen.

He shoved his hands into his front pockets, stepping behind Ginny to peer over her shoulder. She and Fleur were analyzing table centerpieces for the perpetually postponed wedding.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a loverly one there,” he sneered, pointing to a gaudy thing with hovering cherubs pouring sparkles over a spray of glowing flowers of some sort.

Ginny didn’t even look up. “Mum!”

“Leave them be, Ronald,” Molly warned tiredly, exiting their small pantry with a canvas sack. She dumped it out on the chopping block, immediately banishing the sack away. “And there’s not much left to eat.” She summoned a large crock from a shelf. “You know the rules.” She began plucking the large, brown kingsfoil leaves from their stems, dropping them into the crock. “I managed to save a bit of stew from last night.” She waved her hand at the cold box. “And the plate is for your father. Working late again.” Her fingers were nearly a blur as she worked.

“Mum, I’m sorry,” Ron offered softly.

Fleur snorted as demurely as possible.

Molly blew a stray curl out of her eyes. “Words. Show me you mean it but acting responsibly next time.” She glanced up at him, her eyes tired and rimmed with red. “I saved a slice of tart. Right next to the stew.” She held his gaze for a moment before returning to the kingsfoil.

“Thanks, Mum,” he mumbled. “Um, where’s Harry?”

A few shakes of her head were her only response.

Well, Harry was most likely back up in his room by now. He’d grab a quick bite and then head up there and set things to rights. Or a least that was the plan. His stomach grumbled as he walked across the kitchen, reaching inside the small cream coloured cold box.

It was a rather large bowl of stew and a respectable wedge of tart. Ron grabbed a bottle of butterbeer as well, carefully balancing everything as he moved to the table, sitting as close to Charlie and as far away from Fleur as possible. He warmed the stew and tucked in, suddenly famished. He polished off the stew and tart in no time flat, downing the butterbeer and plopping the empty bottle down with a loud clank. He rubbed his belly, belching loudly.

“Disgusting,” Ginny commented dryly, turning a page.

“I try,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face. Charlie sniggered quietly, taking a drink of his own butterbeer. A second later, he belched as well, even deeper and louder.

Ron giggled as Fleur muttered in French.

Molly huffed, clinking the crock against the chopping block. “Charles Iago Weasley! Don‘t encourage him!” Molly shot Ron her ‘if-I-weren’t-so-tired-you’d-be-in-big-trouble’ look. “Never a moment’s peace,” she finished with a sigh.

“Aww, Mum,” Charlie soothed. “You need to take a break and relax. A nice, long soak in the tub’ll do wonders. I’ve got some bath salts that’ll take the soreness right out of you.”

Molly looked up, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nice idea, but I’ve got so much to do...”

“Well, I’m sure Fleur and Ginny would be thrilled to finish that up for you, right ladies?” He turned to Fleur, who was already staring at him menacingly. Charlie grinned. “That’s the ticket. There, it’s settled. What’s left to do on your list, Mum?”

Ron barely contained his giggles as Ginny sighed loudly. Molly shrugged.

“Oh, I’ve got to get those dishes dried and away; there are a few baskets of laundry that need taken care of; and there’s a stack of files on your father’s desk that need sorting...”

“Right, then,” Charlie said. “You two gals take care of the dishes and laundry, and I’ll handle the files. Ron? You’ve got that project to work on, right?”

Ron stared for a moment before nodding vigorously. “Yes, right, thanks for reminding me,” he stammered.

“I’m almost done with this kingsfoil,” Molly said wistfully. “I think a good long soak is just the thing. Thanks, Charlie. A lovely idea.”

Grinning, Ron sent his dishes to the sink, grabbing another bottle of butterbeer from the cold box. He twisted off the cap, expertly flipping it into the dustbin. He raised his bottle to Charlie, who winked and returned the salute.

After a long drink, he stood behind Ginny again.

“Wedding’s on again, I take it?”

Ginny sighed, looking supremely put out. “Of course!” she snapped, scrunching up her nose in distaste. “It’s never been cancelled, just delayed.”

“Right,” Ron said, taking another sip of beer.

“Got an owl from Remus,” Molly added, grinding away at the kingsfoil leaves with a pestle. “He and Bill will be in Slovenia a few more days at least. Working with an old friend of Remus’ from school. Yuri something. Werewolf expert. And werewolf.”

Ron nodded as a bright flash of lightning lit up the windows. A moment later, the thunder roiled loudly, rattling the window panes.

“I think I’ll head upstairs and get to that reading, then,” he offered brightly. Molly nodded while Ginny and Fleur ignored him. Charlie winked again before returning to his parchments.

“Good luck, kiddo.”

Ron peeked into the parlour before heading up the stairs. Fred was making notes on a parchment while George snored softly, his head on Fred’s shoulder.

His stomach began doing flip flops as he neared the top of the stairs. This was it. He was going to lay his cards on the table once and for all. He’d make one last effort to get Harry to understand that he wasn’t alone, that he wouldn’t have to deal with Snakeface by himself.

He’d keep it simple and to the point: He loved Harry with all his heart and he'd stand by him no matter what. Child's play.

Balls!

The door to his room was open a few inches. He stood there, suddenly hesitant to go inside. Once he opened that door, things would change, one way or another. He hoped they’d go his way...

“Bloody hell,” he murmured, draining his butterbeer and pushing open the door.

It was well before sunset, but the thick storm clouds had brought dusk early. His room was shrouded in shadow. Lightning flashed, accompanied by rolling thunder. The ghoul in the attic thumped and bumped about a bit; it hated thunderstorms.

Ron peered about the gloom, drawing his wand and casting a Lumos.

There was a flapping of wings and a harried squawking. Pigwidgeon fluttered about his head in circles, chirping away excitedly before settling on his shoulder. The tiny owl twittered away improtantly as Ron moved over to his nightstand and ignited his lamp. Both beds were empty. Hedwig hooted softly from her perch by the window, flying over and landing on the bedframe. Ron continued to stare about, absently setting down his empty bottle and rooting about in his top drawer for some owl treats.

He found them finally, and Pigwidgeon chittered happily while Hedwig gave him an appreciative nip in thanks.

Another flash of lightning caused Ron to gasp. Harry’s trunk was gone from its spot in the corner. Suddenly short of breath, he ran to the battered wardrobe, Pigwidgeon chirping in alarm and fluttering along right behind him. He flung it open to see one side, Harry’s side, empty. Ron's heart sank as his stomach nearly leaped out of his mouth.

“Please god, no,” he whispered to himself. “Harry...”

The Quidditch players in his Chudley Cannons poster had ceased their never-ending practice to hover on their brooms at the edge of the frame, watching intently and whispering amongst themselves. Hedwig hooted loudly, stretching her wings. Pigwidgeon landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his ear for a moment before flapping away and landing on his dresser.

Harry was gone. He’d waited too long.

“Fuck!”

How could he have been so daft? Wailing and moaning and feeling sorry for himself, when he should have been thinking of Harry. He felt the sting of tears, but he fought the impulse, clenching his fists and digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms.

He had to think. Harry couldn’t have been gone for very long...and where would he go?

Ron’s mind was racing as he sprinted down to Percy’s room. He threw on his trainers, grabbing the few sickles he had and ramming them into his pockets. He nearly flew down the stairs, wracking his brain over where to search first.

Grimmauld Place? Godric’s Hollow? Hogwarts? Should he tell McGonagall? And Charlie?

He shot through the kitchen, straight past Ginny and Fleur who were arguing over the proper way to fold socks. He burst through the rickety screen door and sprinted across the backyard. His Dad had insisted that they install security wards surrounding The Burrow, so he’d have to wait until he was well past the pond before he could Apparate.

The wind had picked up, the air moist and heavy, smelling of imminent rain. Lightning flashed continuously as thunder thumped and rolled across the sky.

Ron was nearly to the perimeter of the garden when another flash of lightning illuminated a shape standing underneath the roof of the garden shed. He blinked, his eyes unable to adjust to the constant lightning flashes of the approaching storm.

He tried to skid to a halt, his feet sliding right out from under him on the dewy grass.

He landed on his arse, cursing as the first fat raindrops spattered the ground.

“Shite!”

“Ron! What’s the matter?”

Charlie bent over him, reaching out an yanking him back to his feet.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He placed both hands on Ron’s shoulders.

Ron’s chest tightened to where it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“Harry,” he croaked out. “It’s Harry. He’s...”

“Right here.”

Ron whirled about, his eyes wide. Harry stepped out from under the low roof, flashes of lightning illuminating his sheepish grin. Ron swallowed hard, taking deep breaths. Charlie patted his shoulders, gently steering him toward Harry.

“Right. I think I’ll head on in and tackle those files,” Charlie said. He gave Harry a ‘thumbs up’.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Harry replied with a lopsided grin.

The heavens opened up then, a deluge of cool rain pouring down. Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed as Charlie waved and ran for the house. Ron took a step, stopping a few feet from Harry.

“I thought you’d left. I thought you were gone.”

Harry looked about, shivering. “Let’s get out of this rain.” He held out his hand, and Ron took it. They moved under the shed’s low overhang, Harry leaning against the doorjamb of the open double doors. They were both rather soaked.

Ron just stood there, his arms folded tightly to his chest, staring. Harry looked away, obviously uncomfortable under Ron’s gaze. Ron took a few steps closer.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Harry paused a moment. “I was leaving. That was the plan, anyway.” He gestured to his rucksack just inside the doorway. “But then I ran into Charlie, and we had a nice little chat.”

Ron moved toward Harry, who turned away to disappear into the shed. A moment later, a lantern flickered to life. Ron stepped through the doorway to find Harry on the edge of the old bench that used to sit just inside the kitchen door. Harry was staring at Molly’s old pink and purple jumper, which was draped over a wheelbarrow.

“She still wears this,” he murmured softly.

“Yeah,” Ron answered, slowly sitting on the bench but careful to keep his distance. “Gnomes fear that jumper.”

Outside, the storm increased in intensity, the lantern swinging to and fro on its hook. Bits of grass, leaves and straw blew in through the open doors.

“Good storm,” Ron offered.

Harry nodded, reaching under the bench and pulling out a half-empty bottle of Ogden’s. “Courtesy of the twins,” he said, spinning off the cap and taking a healthy swig. Ron’s eyes went wide as Harry took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.

“Now that’s smooth,” he breathed, holding the bottle out. “Have some?”

Ron took the firewhiskey, upending the bottle as he’d seen Harry do. He nearly gagged, the amber liquid searing him all the way down. He spluttered and coughed, gasping for breath.

“Cheers,” he rasped, handing the bottle back to Harry. He watched Harry intently, noting every movement. The way Harry’s pale lips parted, the way they seemed to almost caress the mouth of the bottle; the way his rather thick fingers gripped the neck of it. Ron slid a bit closer to Harry, marvelling at the creamy paleness of Harry’s neck. It looked so smooth. And then the dusting of dark whiskers on his cheeks and chin. Merlin, he looked great even when he needed a shave...

Harry sat the bottle down on the bench between them. He looked over at Ron for a moment, before turning away and staring at the storm raging just a few feet away.

Ron picked up the Ogden’s, sliding right next to Harry and placing the bottle between his own legs. He tried to smile, but failed miserably.

What was the matter with him? He knew that this was the time to clear the air. But every time he tried to open his mouth, it refused to cooperate.

Bollocks!

Sighing in frustration, he took another large gulp of firewhiskey. It went down smoother this time, with no coughing or hacking. He looked at Harry, who had apparently been watching him. He put the nearly empty bottle back under the bench.

Shite! Might as well get on with it...

They both started speaking at once. Ron put his hand up, barely resisting the urge to place his finger on Harry’s lips. The mere thought of Harry sucking on his fingers was incredibly arousing...

“Harry, I need to talk to you,” he blurted out much louder than he had intended. “It’s important.”

“Ron,” Harry began.

“Please, let me get this out.”

Harry nodded. “Fine.”

Ron took a deep breath. “You need to know that I’m here for you, Harry. No matter what, I’m here. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll be with you.”

“Ron, you’ll always be with me, mate...”

Ron shook his head. “No no no, I mean with you. By your side, right next to you. Whatever you have to do, horcruxes, Snakeface, scrubbing the toilet, I’ll be there. I want you, Harry.”

More lightining and thunder outside as gusts of wind buffeted the little shed. Harry shook his head ever so slightly.

“And I want you, Ron. You don’t know how much, but I just can’t allow it. I can‘t have anything happen to you because of me.”

“I don’t care about all that. Please, listen...”

“You don’t understand…” Harry sighed.

“I understand more than you think.”

Harry stared at him, his bright green eyes nearly luminous.

“Charlie told me a few things, but I don’t think that you really do. You've never lost anyone, that way. I’ve seen...the things I’ve seen. Death, Ron. Right in front of me. Cedric. Sirius.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Dumbledore. I saw them die, and because of me...”

“Harry,” Ron interjected, clamping his hand over his mate’s. “You didn’t kill them. It’s not your fault, or even because of you...”

Harry was shaking his head.

“Listen,” Ron pleaded. “That sick bastard is responsible for all this. Him and his bloody followers. Not you. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I should’ve left long ago,” Harry murmured. “Look what happened to The Wheezes! That was because of me, you know. How many innocent people died in there? Four, right? When I think about what could have happened to Fred and George, and Charlie losing his eye...and then your Dad a few years back." He reached over, running a finger over Ron's scarred forearm. "And do you think that the attacks on your family will stop? They’re trying to get at me through the people I care about most. It’s too much, Ron. I can’t risk it any longer. I have to do this alone.”

Harry made to stand, but Ron gripped his arm firmly.

“I love you, Harry,” he blurted out. “I...love...you.”

Harry winced as if wounded. “Damn it, Ron, I know, and I love you too! More than anything. I’ve known it for a long time now...ever since the Second Task.”

“Then that’s where we start.”

Harry waved a hand. “I can’t lose you, mate. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you...I couldn’t bear it...”

“And I can’t live without you,” Ron cried out, grabbing Harry by his shoulders. “All I want to do is be near you, to go to sleep next to you and wake up beside you. I don’t want to eat unless you’re there. I don’t want to laugh unless you’re there. And whatever path we have to follow, I’ll do it gladly, because I‘ll be with you.”

Harry snuffled and closed his eyes. “Ron...”

“I won’t let you go off alone. You’ll have to hex me or stun me. And even if you do, I’ll still find you. I need you.” He released Harry’s shoulders, running a hand through Harry’s mane of damp hair.

Harry leaned into Ron’s hand, eyes still closed.

“I’m so fucking tired of all this,” he whispered. “I have no idea what to do anymore. I just want it to be over.”

“It will be, sooner or later,” Ron offered softly. “All the more reason to have me along. Two heads better than one, yeah?”

“But what if something happens?” Harry opened his eyes, staring at Ron hungrily. “What if...”

Ron grinned. “Right. What if, who knows, whatever. Even the best Divinators aren’t much good at predicting the future. We just have to take it as it comes. All the more reason for us to grab all the good stuff we can, while we can, right?”

Harry stared at him, his expression unreadable.

“Whether it’s a day or a week, six months or fifty years, it doesn’t matter. I just want to live my life with you, Harry, to be there, through thick and thin, battling Snakeface or running a flower shop or whatever we decide to do. For as much time as the Fates give us. Let’s not waste it any more.”

Harry pulled off his glasses, wiping his eyes roughly. “Bloody hell.” He looked over at Ron and smiled.

“What?” Ron asked nervously.

“You. Why do you have to be so bloody gorgeous?” Harry reached over caressed Ron’s cheek. “And now you get all rational and logical on me, making it impossible to refuse you. It’s most unfair, really.”

“Charlie’s rubbing off on me, I reckon,” Ron replied, blushing. “He’s the best.”

Harry nodded. “You’re lucky to have him.” He slid his glasses back on.

“We both are,” Ron added. “He really cares about you, you know. They all do.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, maybe not Ginny quite so much right now.”

“Eh, she’ll get over it. She’s been owling Neville at least twice a week.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Stranger things.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

They sat there in silence, the sound of the rain a gentle rhythm on the roof. Thunder grumbled off in the distance, a few weak streaks of lightning arcing through the clouds.

“Storm’s over,” Harry observed. “Missed it.”

“There’ll be more.”

“Sure.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we right?” Ron reached over, clasping both of Harry’s hands in his.

“Yeah. I think so.” He sighed. “There’s just one thing, though.”

“Oh? What‘s that?” Ron asked warily.

“Well,” Harry began gravely, “whether we face Voldemort or not, there’s no way...I mean I just couldn’t...”

Ron’s expression grew dark. “Harry...”

“Sorry, but...I’d never own a flower shop.” He paused for a moment, somehow keeping a straight face. “I could see us selling Quidditch supplies, or doing broom repairs, but it's just not in me to be a florist. Too bloody poofy, anyway.”

Ron’s mouth fell open as Harry broke down into light giggles. He growled, reaching out and giving one of Harry’s nipples a wicked twist.

“There’s your flower shop!” Ron yelled, immediately falling into Harry and tickling him mercilessly.

Harry cried out, trying in vain to shield himself from Ron’s onslaught. Laughing uncontrollably, they rolled off the bench and onto the straw lining the floor of the shed. Ron wound up on top of Harry, his legs astride Harry’s waist.

“That’ll show ya to mess with a Weasley,” he said, slightly winded. He smiled down on Harry, who grinned back, slowly grinding his hips into Ron.

“Actually, I was counting on messing with a Weasley.” He pulled Ron down to him, both rolling onto their sides so that they faced each other. “The handsomest, bravest, sexiest Weasley, as a matter of fact.” He leaned in for a kiss, but Ron backed away slightly at the last second.

“Oh, right,” he nodded. “I’ll just go firecall Percy for ya then.”

It was Harry’s turn to growl as he mashed his lips to Ron’s, their tongues easily swirling about each other in delicious exploration. They hugged each other tightly, their legs intertwining, their erections grinding together in a wonderful friction.

Ron moaned, pulling away slightly.

“Never want to be parted,” he breathed, nuzzling and nibbling Harry’s ear.

“Never,” Harry responded, shivering slightly in the cool breeze blowing into the shed.

“So much for the heatwave,” Ron murmured, reaching for the fly of Harry’s jeans.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut it and kiss me again.”

Ron smiled.

And then he did.

~fin~


A/N: Charlie's middle name, Iago, is Welsh for 'James', meaning 'god's gift'