Just Because

For the third time that day, Harry had taken to hiding in the library to think. It wasn't as though he was avoiding Ron, really. There was just a lot to think about. And in his defense, he hadn't really had all that much time to think over the last 24 hours, his mind preoccupied by the Tri-Wizard Tournament as it was… and now *this*. What was he even supposed to *think* of *this*? Harry leaned back in his chair with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling of the library, distracting himself by seeing if he could balance on only two legs, then one. He stopped when he almost toppled over, swallowing a curse as he regained his balance.

In all honesty, thinking had been the last thing on his mind when Dobby'd shaken him out of his nightmare that morning. He'd been dreaming about mermaids or something, all part of a metaphor for not being able to figure out the second task, but then Dobby had poked him awake, scrambling about as usual, muttering incoherencies about the task that were more confusing than helpful. In fact, it wasn't until he started going on about "his Wheezy" that Harry had even bothered to pay complete attention to the elf, the task already long lost in his mind.

"Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy!" He'd said, all concern and impatience, as Dobby usually tended to be. "Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!"

Those words had been all Harry'd needed for his world to come crashing down around him, warning sirens blaring in his head. "What?" He remembered gasping, feeling suddenly detached from the situation, the task, the mermaids, that damned egg suddenly miles away. All he'd known, all he'd cared about, was that his best friend was in danger. He'd shot to his feet, heart pounding in his ears. "They've got… They've got Ron?"

"The thing Harry Potter will miss most, sir!" Dobby had squeaked in reply, reciting a bit from the poem shakily, " 'But past an hour-' "

"---'the prospect's black,' " Harry'd continued for him out of reflex, starring, wide eyed and horror-struck, at the elf. " 'Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.' " He swallowed, literally sick to his stomach, the severity of the task suddenly quadrupling in size, every fiber of him desperate to find Ron and rescue him, no matter that he'd had shit luck figuring out how to breathe underwater. It didn't matter. He'd hold his breath for an hour if he had to. "Dobby," He'd demanded, suddenly impatient himself, a complete one-eighty from ten seconds ago. "What've I got to do?"

It had been more than a lucky break that Dobby new exactly what he needed, his idea to use the gillyweed saving not only Harry's ass, but Ron's as well. And it helped Harry swing a first place tie with Cedric for the third and final task a few days from now. But in all honesty, he hadn't cared about any of that at the time. Not the win, not the task, not the time limit. None of it.

Just Ron.

And now Harry couldn't even be in the same room with the guy, his best friend, without getting nervous, uncomfortable, and finding some lame excuse to leave. It was like he didn't know whether to be angry at him for agreeing to be Harry's "precious object" in the first place, or happy that he was safe, or confused that he was still thinking about it… Confused seemed the most involuntary, at least. And annoyed. And frustrated. Yeah. Those too.

Harry pushed his glasses up onto his head to run his hands over his face, groaning softly to himself, the sound still unnervingly present in the too quiet library. He rubbed roughly at his eyes for a moment, then let the glasses fall back down onto the bridge of his nose, crossing his arms and propping a knee up onto the desk in front of him.

Ron wasn't making this any easier, either, what with how ungrateful he'd seemed when Harry'd rescued him. In fact, he'd looked less than enthused when he'd realized Harry hadn't saved just him. "What did you bring her for?" He'd mumbled, damn near whining like a little prat. It was almost as if he'd seemed hurt… maybe even jealous. But then, that was impossible, of course, because two seconds later, he was back to himself, laying it on thick for a kiss from Fleur. Too thick, in Harry's opinion, the whole ordeal sitting heavily and uncomfortably in his stomach. While he hadn't said anything at the time… it still hurt.

Which led Harry, once again, back to his thinking, his questioning.

Why did he react so fiercely when Dobby'd told him it was Ron underneath the lake? *Well, because he's your best mate, of course.* But even Harry couldn't deny it had been more than that. More important, more nerve-wracking, more demanding of him than he even realized at the time. Harry shook his head, still reeling from the memories of seeing Ron down there, lifeless and frozen, tied to the bottom of the lake's floor. He distracted himself with more questions instead.

Why did Ron seem so disappointed that Harry'd rescued him and Gabrielle? *Because you could have won if you hadn't! You'd have been the first one up if you'd just snagged Ron alone as planned. Dumbledore wouldn't have let anyone drown down there. Common sense, Potter! You just wanted to be the hero. Again. Of course, Ron was pissed.* But as believable as that seemed, Harry couldn't shake the sound of Ron's voice when he'd realized he hadn't been Harry's only rescue. He'd seemed angry, childish. Let down…

"Harry?" a voice jerked his attention back to reality so harshly that this time Harry really did lose his balance, not only stumbling backwards but also rocking out of his chair completely and into a discombobulated jumble on the floor. "Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron half scolded half laughed, the sight of Harry falling on his ass too amusing for even the restraints of an avoidance induced quarrel. "I just came to see if you were eating dinner or not. No need to have a heart attack on my account." He paused, his amusement softening as he scratched at absently at the back of his neck, reaching his other hand out in Harry's direction. "Here, let me help you-"

"No thanks. I got it." Harry interrupted quickly, pulling himself haphazardly to his feet and standing the chair back up. Ron let his arms fall slowly back to his sides, the silence thick and unpleasant. He brushed his already too long, red hair out of his eyes and looked away. It was like crabgrass, that boy's hair. But even so, Harry'd always found himself admiring it. Or maybe it was just the way Ron held himself with it, not caring that it was one batch of redhead in a matching set of seven. Naw, Ron was all his own. No matter that he was branded one of many Weasleys, he'd always managed to be his own person. Too aware all of a sudden of where his thoughts had strayed, Harry felt his cheeks get hot. So, hastily, he looked away too, grabbing a book off of one of the random, unused piles on the desk to distract himself, letting the bookshelf float it out of his hands and back into its proper place. Ron, surprisingly, and somehow disappointingly, took the hint.

"Yeah, right. Fine." He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I see you're busy. I'll let you… Be busy then." Sparing a final glance that Harry pretended not to see---and most specifically not to feel guilty about---Ron turned away and left, disappearing behind one of the many bookshelves. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, leaning against the desk heavily, not even bothering to sit back down. What was he doing? Ron was his friend! At the very least he should be able to talk to him about this awkwardness, right? He deserved that much. They'd talk, figure it out, and then Harry could get back to thinking about other things. Like the third task. Right. For the sake of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Harry knew it was a half assed motivational attempt, but it was all he had. And if he didn't patch things up with Ron soon… Well, he wasn't exactly looking forward to a repeat of their fight from right before the first task. That had been headache enough. Maybe this was one of the things Dumbledore had been talking about when he mentioned the Tri-Wizard Tournament's various "dangers." Who really knew with Dumbledore sometimes?

Taking a second to stare absently into the space where Ron had left, Harry took a deep breath through his nose, mouth set in a hard line. Talk to Ron. Not a problem. He talked to Ron all the time. Nothing to worry about. Okay.

After pepping himself up as much as he could, repeating those words like a mantra, Harry forced himself to leave the library, heading instead for the Great Hall where he assumed Ron would be. To his dismay, however, Ron seemed to have already left.

"I'd try the Gryffindor Common Room." Hermione offered, ripping apart a piece of her roll and popping it into her mouth with a shrug. "What's going on with you two, anyway?" She added, frowning up at him in true Hermione style. "You just got over a fight and now you're at it again? Come on, Harry!"

"You two are like an old married couple," Ginny added with a devilish smirk, at which Harry only glared. A glare that was cut off quickly by Fred and George's additional, and agonizingly simultaneous, "It's because they're in loooooooove." The word was practically sung, Harry's jaw dropping of its own accord.

"We're wha-?" Harry blanched. "No! I… How could you even…?" He stammered, sure his face was red. He turned towards the door, gritting his teeth and spitting out a clipped, "J-Just… Bugger off," before heading out of the Great Hall. He knew it wasn't exactly a denial, and it would hardly be an end to their teasing, but their accusation, however false and ridiculous it was meant to be, had still shot his heart up into his throat. In fact, it still seemed to be pounding furiously against his adam's apple by the time he got to the Common Room, his chest tight with what he could only assume was nervousness. Though for what, he had no idea. Not really, anyway.

Ron wasn't in there, Harry's tension spiking. That left… well, pretty much all of Hogwarts to search, if he was determined to talk to him tonight. Harry sighed, heading up the stairs to grab his invisibility cloak, just in case he needed to search the grounds for whatever reason. When he walked in the room, however, Ron was sitting cross-legged at the center of his four-poster bed, leafing through the pages of the Daily Prophet, clearly not reading it as he did so. Harry felt himself stumble, halfway through the door, squeaking out a startled, "R-Ron!" Before he could stop himself. Ron looked up at him, and then back down at the Prophet.

"What?" He said, voice cold, as he flipped to another page. "You're talking to me now, are you?"

Harry tried his best to swallow back all the awkward tension, choosing instead to go on the defensive, frowning. "I never said I wasn't."

"That's right," Ron replied, looking up now, the hurt in his eyes masked poorly by his indifference. "Because you never said anything." He looked away again, adding in a tight lipped mumble, "All well and good, that is, then, isn't it?"

"Oh shut up, Ron!" Harry fumed. This wasn't his fault! He didn't even know what this was! "I don't even know what I'm doing here!" With an exasperated sigh, Harry turned back towards the door, running his fingers angrily through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he continued, not looking at Ron. "I just wanted to figure out what was going on with you, and with me, and what happened at the lake with that sodding task and… You know what? Forget it." He took a step forward, more than prepared to leave, wait out this insanity on his own until it fixed itself, but Ron's almost inaudible mumble had him lingering in the doorframe, dumbstruck. He turned back around, slowly. "What did you say?"

"I said," Ron repeated, louder this time, as he got off the bed and took a few steps in Harry's direction. "You're bloody thick, you know that?" Harry wanted to frown at that, but was too confused to try. Especially when he noticed Ron gripping lightly at his wand. He watched as his best friend raised his arm, pointing the wand just inches from his face, then a good foot or so to the side, now focused on the door at his back. The spell he used wasn't one they'd learned yet, but it was one Harry'd read about in passing, probably thanks to Hermione. It was a spell that concealed, meant for things like soundproofing, or hiding. Locking people out of a room. Or in one.

Harry took a step back out of reflex, his heel pressing into the now closed and most likely locked door of their room. Harry swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close Ron was, his wand already tucked away in his back pocket again. This wasn't happening… This was Ron! His first friend, best friend Ron! What was he doi-?

The thought vanished against the feel of Ron's mouth on his, lips soft and wet and determined, waiting for a response Harry was too stunned to give. Except that, as stunned as he was, he felt himself react anyway, his body responding of its own accord, no matter how impossible the situation was. No matter that this was Ron's mouth, Ron's lips, Ron's hand snaking across Harry's waist and to the small of his back, pulling him closer. This was Ron, his best friend Ron, and he was kissing him. That thought alone, the realization of it, was enough to chisel away what was left of Harry's hesitance, the boy reaching involuntarily for the back of Ron's neck and finally deepening the kiss.

Ron seemed to sigh in relief, his hands touching more forcefully now, his knee sliding in between Harry's legs to offer electrifying friction to his growing arousal. Harry groaned at the contact, Ron taking the opportunity to slip his tongue between Harry's now parted lips, exploring that wetness, that heat, that taste that was so uniquely Harry. Ron chuckled softly to himself at the weight of it, the understanding that Harry Potter was, finally, right where he wanted him to be. But when he finally broke the kiss, as obviously turned on as he was, the shock was still evident on Harry's face.

"R-Ron, I…" He stammered, wanting to say something, if only just to understand how his had happened, while secretly wondering why it wasn't continuing. "I don't… When did you, I mean… Hang on." Ron smirked, pulling away from Harry slowly but leaving his hand firmly at the small of Harry's back. He raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. Harry frowned, pinching at the bridge of his nose, struggling with what to say, what to ask. The most important question he could come up with for now, unfortunately, was, "Really?"

At that, Ron laughed, the sound vibrant and warm, making Harry blush against his will. Ron took a step closer, hardly a centimeter of space between them, and drew Harry in for another kiss, breaking apart just long enough to say, "Oh shut up, Harry," before delving back into that moist heat, tongue massaging Harry's back into full, desperate response.

Tentatively, but with as much restraint as a horny teenager could have, Ron slipped his hand beneath Harry's shirt, trailing greedy fingers along pale, shivering skin, letting his thumb brush over one hardened nipple, then the other. Harry's breath caught at the sensation, magnified by the fact that it was Ron's hands doing the wandering, traveling now away from his chest and lower, motions getting more demanding, more eager. It made Harry's heart race, his mind on overload. This wasn't possible… It couldn't be… But *oh gods, yes, touch me there, oh bloody fucking hell, yes please* it was happening right now.

Harry only barely registered the sound of Ron unzipping his own uniform pants, the noise followed seconds later by the feeling of his own pants being unfastened. So that's where this was going… Not that he wasn't sure, or that he wasn't hoping for it, but it was still so surreal, feeling Ron's hand slip below his waistband to wrap almost tenderly around the hard, hot, needy flesh of his erection, pulling it out into the cold air of their room. But even more arousing than that, Harry was surprised to discover, was the sight of Ron's cock, already released from his pants and bobbing almost impatiently, waiting. Harry swallowed, feeling a rush of heat shoot straight from the center of his chest to his groin, dick twitching in response.

Ron moved his lips to Harry's neck, biting not harshly, but enough to make the boy groan. With it, he offered a teasing, far too slow stroke of Harry's length, relishing in the feel of his whole body shuddering under the sensation. He bit again, stroked again, chuckling against the worried flesh of his neck. When Harry made no move to reciprocate---still overwhelmed by Ron's forwardness, no doubt---Ron loosened one hand from where he'd tangled it in Harry's hair, and placed it on the back of Harry's hand, leading that hand to his own member, and wrapping those fingers around it, hissing blissfully at the contact. At the same time, he moved both his hand, and his and Harry's along their arousals, both boys breathing heavy just from that simple touch, that all too perfect and taboo and completely unexpected touch.

Almost instantly, as per the way of The Boy Who Lived, Harry caught on, taking to stroking Ron's cock of his own accord, thankfully met with Ron's similar touches, hand jerking similar rhythms along the wonderfully sensitive flesh. It wasn't long before both boys were panting heavily into not quite kisses, teeth clanking and lips barely brushing as their hands worked each other just a little quicker, just a little rougher, pressed together so closely it was like they were one person. Finally, Ron leaned in, biting at Harry's bottom lip at the same time that he ran his thumb over the precum covered head of his need, Harry bucking up into that fist as he came, "Ro-Nngh-Ahh!" escaping his lips.

Ron panted, admiring the sight of Harry's flushed face and parted lips, his eyes closed from the intensity of it. The vision was enough to leave him teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, so Ron wrapped his hand around Harry's now lax grip, reminding him of Ron's closeness by pumping their connected fists along his own length. A few more quick jerks had him tensing beautifully, spurts of white, hot seed spraying over Harry's hand, the boy still too wrapped up in the afterglow of his own climax to care. Carefully, Ron let go of Harry's hand, both of them propping each other up against the door, panting and shaking, eyes closed and hearts waiting to return to normalcy.

Harry was the first to recover, wiping his hands on his shirt, and resting his head on Ron's shoulder as he fixed himself back into his pants, grunting at the feel of the now too sensitive skin against the rough fabric. "That was…" He started, but Ron pulled away before he could think up an ending, the sudden distance making him stumble. He looked up, eyebrow raised, watching as Ron tucked himself back in as well, zipping up his pants with a childlike grin.

"Yeah, it was." Ron stretched. "I'd say you're much less tense now, huh? Probably even right to start thinking about that final task, then?"

Harry merely gaped at him. "Hang on!" He fumed. "So what was that, then? Some sort of half assed relaxation technique to get me back on track?"

"It wasn't half assed," Ron smirked, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "And yes."

"Of all the…" Harry hissed, closing his eyes and rubbing circles at his temples, a headache surely forming. "So then… You don't… You were just-"

"Seriously, Harry," Ron interrupted, suddenly back in front of him, an arm propped against the door beside his head. "You think too much." He leaned in and kissed him for emphasis. "I want you to win the tournament, Harry. We all do." He said simply. "And you can't do that if you're thinking about me all the time, now can you?" He grinned evilly, Harry blushing through his frown.

"I was not…" he tried to say, but it came out forced, and he knew it. So Ron just smiled, pulling back.

"For now, consider this your tension reliever to keep you on your game," Ron nodded, crossing his arms. "If you want it," he added sheepishly, but obviously certain that Harry wasn't about to turn him down.

Harry cleared his throat. "And after the tournament?" He mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets, the subtle remnants of Ron's cum still sticky between his fingers. Ron chuckled softly, looking Harry up and down, his grin so very Ron, eyes bright with a warmness Harry liked to think he'd saved only for him. With one last kiss, Ron backed away, grabbed his wand from his back pocket and released the spell over the room, smiling.

"Well then," He replied, eyes knowing and full of still untapped desire. "It'll just be because we want to."