HP: H/R: G/PG: Queasy
Title: Queasy
Author: Gibson_fic
Requestor: sucuri
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: 3,482
Warnings: None
Summary: Harry takes Ron in after his relationship with Hermione ends.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and the Bloomsbury Group. No profit is being made from these characters.
A/N: From a request/prompt at slashfest: “After Ron and Hermione split, Harry is there for Ron. Sex optional.” sucuri: I took you at your word-I hope you enjoy the fic.; it sort of wrote itself.
Many thanks go to reni_days, solstice_muse and recs_fics for their assistance on this. All mistakes remain my own.
Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome.
Harry was expecting Ron. He just wasn’t expecting him to stumble into The Dancing Muggle like he was braced for a brawl.
“What in blazes happened to you?” It was a perfectly valid question. When they’d made plans via firecall this afternoon, Ron was fine.
“Can I stay in my old room?”
Well, that explained it.
“You and Hermione had another fight. Look, why don’t you go home, tell her that you love her, and make up?”
“Can I stay in my old room?” Ron’s mouth was set.
“Well, yes, you know you’re always welcome, but--”
“Fine, I’ve got my stuff with me.”
Ron’s face was stony and his lips were tight; Harry could tell that there was no point in convincing him to go home to Hermione. Ron had the Weasley temper, and nothing would change his mind until he decided to let it be changed.
Harry ordered them each a pint and dropped the subject. The most stressful thing they talked about for the next hour was how poorly the Cannons were playing with Brannigan as Seeker.
Ron was well into his fourth pint when he said, “Can’t go back.”
Harry, for all that he was trying to pace himself, was on his third, and took a moment to piece together what Ron meant.
Hermione.
“Why?”
“Said it’s over.” Ron sounded rather mournful and Harry began to wonder if he was going to start crying in the pub, in public.
“Still, you can talk to her. What happened?” Whatever Ron had done, Hermione would forgive him-she was uniquely understanding of his awkward expressions of feeling and his crazy-stubborn streak. Once she cooled off, she’d accept his fumbling apology, and Ron would Apparate into Harry’s small flat and shrink his stuff into a compact bundle, slide it into his pocket and crack out of sight with a cheery “Thanks, mate!”
Harry needed another drink.
“Said I don’t love her.” It took Harry a moment to gather his thoughts; Hermione didn’t think Ron loved her. That didn’t make any sense.
“What did you do?”
Ron glared at him. “Why do you always think that I did something? Why can’t Hermione ever be the one who did something wrong?” His words were angry and clipped.
“When has she ever been wrong?”
That seemed to startle him into a laugh, and when Ron picked his glass back up, he was still chuckling.
“Well,” he said, “She’s wrong about this.” Harry just looked at him, waiting for some explanation.
When Ron simply gazed into the amber-coloured liquid in his glass, Harry ventured, “But she must have some reason for saying that.”
Wrong move.
“Look, Harry. I didn’t do anything. I went home after work and she said we needed to talk. We sat on her couch, and she told me it was time for me to start seeing other people, that we were finished. I asked her why, and she said she I didn’t love her.”
Harry looked at him. Ron’s knuckles were tight and turning white around the glass in his grasp. His lips were thinned, and his eyes were sad. He looked up and caught Harry’s gaze, his eyes dark and clouded.
“I don’t know what I did wrong. And, the worst part? She didn’t seem upset, just kind of sad. Resigned, actually.”
Harry knew that Ron and Hermione had their ups and downs, but this didn’t sound like one of their usual spats. Maybe Ron wouldn’t be Apparating as soon as he'd thought.
“I’m sure she’ll come around, mate. Now. What are the chances of the Cannons making it to the Cup?”
Quidditch was always a good topic.
%^%^%^%^
Ron laid his re-engorged bag down on his bed. Technically, it was Harry’s bed now, but this would always be Ron’s room, Ron’s bed, and Ron’s closet to Harry-no matter how long it had been since Ron had shrunk his things into his trunk and headed for the Floo (safer when transporting belongs as well as people-it wasn’t a good thing to Splinch oneself and one’s belongs together) and Hermione’s flat.
Harry’s flat wasn’t large; two smallish bedrooms, a galley kitchen and a medium-sized lounge. It’d never bothered him. He’d chosen the smaller of the two bedrooms for himself, but he wondered, watching Ron fill the small space in the second the bedroom, if maybe the small flat was too small for Ron, and that’s why he’d been in such a hurry to leave.
Hermione’s flat only had the one bedroom, but it was what one properly called a Master bedroom. The room was large and airy, and she had a large bed, one clearly big enough for two. Harry’s own bed was a small twin.
Shaking his head, he turned back to Ron, “The sheets are clean. You need anything? I could make a cuppa if you’ve a mind.”
Ron laughed, “Harry, mate, I lived with you almost a year, I know where the sheets are and if I need a cuppa, I ‘spect that my cup is still in the cupboard and you haven’t moved the tea on me.”
Harry looked at him sheepishly, “Well, g’night then.”
“G’night. Thanks again, mate.”
Harry walked across the small hall to his own room, and stripped off his robes and jeans, wondering why he was so flustered by the sight of Ron stripping off his shirt.
%^%^%^%^%^
Ron was halfway through a bottle of Old Ogden’s when Harry Apparated into the flat. He wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there drinking one glass after another, staring at the Floo grate. Harry suspected he was such a neat, quiet drunk because he knew how much his mother and Hermione would disapprove of his drinking at all-his excessive thoughtfulness when drunk was an attempt to balance the scales.
Harry didn’t say a word, merely walked down the hall to his room, pulling his old Firebolt out of the closest. Opening the door to Ron’s room, he saw a pile of orange pictures and posters, a duvet and another small trunk that probably held clothes. Opening the closet, he found Ron’s Firebolt-Harry had given it to him when he'd received his Order of Merlin. Ron had argued at first, but finally accepted the gift when Harry reminded him that he deserved something for saving Harry’s skin.
Walking back into the living room, he saw Ron reaching to refill his glass.
“Come on, git, we’re flying.”
Ron looked up, startled. Harry wasn’t certain he’d noticed him come home. Waving the brooms, Harry said, “Come on. You and me. Flying.”
Ron started to shake his head.
“You’re flying with me, it’s been ages.”
Ron looked at him, his eyes bleak. For the first time, Harry wondered whether he’d be able to fix this.
“Come on, Ron.” Defeated, Ron shrugged; it was easier to give in than attempt to argue with Harry.
Standing, he accepted his broom from Harry and went to the Floo, “Waltmore Park?"
“Yes.”
Ron grabbed a fistful of the powder in the jar on top of the mantle and threw it into the fireplace, muttering “Waltmore Park” before stepping into the green flames.
%^%^%^%^
Flying always seemed to settle Harry, and he thought that it helped Ron as well. That first day, it was a bit dodgy. Ron had, after all, drunk half a bottle of Ogden's before they ever got on their brooms.
Harry spent most of the time inconspicuously keeping an eye on his friend. It wouldn't do to have him fall off his broom and irreparably break something like his neck. Hermione wouldn't appreciate it either when they finally made up.
After an hour of so of steady flying, Ron started doing lazy flips and rolls, and Harry knew that he was finally settled again.
They Flooed home, and Harry didn't say anything as Ron capped the bottle and placed it back in the cupboard before joining Harry on the couch to listen to the Wizarding Wireless.
%^%^%^%^%^
Ron laughed when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, “You ever going to stop falling out of the fire?” he joked, as Harry righted himself. His mood had steadily improved over the preceding week. Harry thought the flying they did nearly every evening made a difference.
“I hope so,” Harry muttered, feeling every inch a Muggle-born because he still could not Floo without faltering and half-falling out of the fireplace.
Ron grabbed his broom, and headed down the hall to their rooms, “Fancy a curry for dinner?”
Harry laughed. Ron would eat curry for every second meal if he wasn’t stopped. Harry’d introduced him to it when they'd first started living together, and it was lucky that Harry liked the dish nearly as much as Ron did.
“Sure, tea first?”
“Sounds good.”
Harry went into the kitchen and started the kettle. He took down their cups and poured the requisite splash of milk into the bottom of the cup, along with two teaspoons of sugar. Ron preferred his tea sweet and milky.
They sat across from each other at the small table, sipping their tea and chatting. Ron’s longer legs on the outside, where he could stretch, Harry’s shorter ones in between--the positioning determined from long practice at this.
Harry was still waiting for Ron to tell him about the additions in his room.
Ron hadn't said a word about Hermione or their split, but they were both falling back into their old habits, ones left over from the days when this was still their flat, and not just Harry's.
Harry needed to know if this was going to last. Every night, he Apparated home and expected to find Ron, with a huge smile on his face, tossing his stuff into his trunk, thrilled to be going home. Harry was beginning to realize exactly how much he'd missed having Ron here on a daily basis. He didn't want to get too used to this again, it just emphasized the loneliness when Ron inevitably left.
"Have you talked to Hermione yet?"
"Not since the day she dropped my stuff off."
"How are you going to fix this if you're not talking to her?"
"If you don't want me here, all you have to do is tell me. I can go to the Burrow, you know. Or to Wheezes." Ron's voice was angry, hot; he stirred his tea so forcefully it splashed out of the cup and onto the table.
Harry waved his wand and the spill disappeared.
"That's not it. You know you're always welcome here, but it almost seems like you aren't trying to fix this."
Ron started slow. “She dropped my stuff off just as I got back from work. Said since it was over, I’d need my things. She said I didn't love her, at least not the way she needed me to."
Ron stopped, looked at Harry, "I don't know what in Merlin has gotten into her and she won't tell me. Harry, I can't fix it because I don't know what in blazes is wrong!"
Harry looked at him, seeing the frustration on his face and dropped it.
"We'll get it sorted. Ready for that curry?"
%^%^%^%^%^
"I thought you'd be coming to see me."
"Hermione, what's wrong? You know Ron loves you, you're the only girl he's ever really been interested in. Well, except for Lavender, but that doesn't count. He wasn't interested in her, just in what they were doing."
"Thanks for that reminder, Harry."
"Come on Hermione, what is it?"
"Harry, he really doesn't love me."
"What in Merlin's name do you mean? Of course he loves you!"
"Well, I guess I should say that he doesn't love me enough, or maybe in the right way. Harry, he loves me like he loves the Cannons--because he's always loved me, and he's too bloody loyal and refuses to give up."
"What's wrong with that?"
"He loves me because I was his best friend, because we went through a lot together. He loves me as a friend, not as a woman or a lover."
"What? Hermione, you're not making any sense."
"He doesn't love me like he loves you. You're what he'd miss most Harry."
%^%^%^%^%^
Harry didn't want to think about what Hermione had said. He definitely didn't want to think about the fact she seemed to think that Ron loved Harry--not just that, but that she thought he loved him in a way he didn't or couldn't love her.
Though, it did make sense. After all, blokes couldn't love each other the way they loved girls. Blokes were about beer and slaps on the back, about being there to watch out for you. Not kisses and cuddling and all the stuff that girls wanted. Blokes were simple.
Ron was his best mate. They watched out for each other, they played Quidditch, and fruitlessly cheered on the Cannons. That was all.
And, Harry didn't know what she was thinking. He was what Ron would miss most? That didn't even make sense. Didn't she realize how miserable Ron was without her? Well, okay, he didn't seem all that miserable when they were flying, or getting curry, or listening to the Wireless, but that was just Ron. He didn't show emotion well. Well, not love anyway.
Harry studiously avoided thinking too much about what Hermione had said. It made him a bit queasy and confused. He suspected it was dangerous to think too much about it.
%^%^%^%^
Harry knew the day that Ron gave up on Hermione.
They'd been sitting on the couch, reading the prophet. Ron had the Quidditch pages and Harry was reading Luna's column. Ron looked over at him and said, "I'll get the rent to you on Friday
"What? What are you talking about Ron? You don't pay rent."
"I can't live here without contributing my share. Either take the rent or I'll Floo Fred." Ron's eyes were hard and he looked braced for a fight.
"Fine."
They'd both returned to their papers then, but it was settled. Ron was staying. Harry knew that the only reason he felt like he could do twelve Wronski Feints in a row was that it was nice to have Ron around. It was nice to have some to listen to the matches with as they shoveled curry into their mouths for the second time that week.
What else could it be?
%^%^%^%^
Harry knew the day that he stopped pretending that the queasy feeling in his stomach had to do with sour milk or too much flying. He knew the day that he realized the roiling in his stomach was because of his best mate.
They'd gone flying and come home. Ron had jumped in the shower first and Harry was waiting on him to get his own shower. Ron's hair had got longer without Hermione around to nag him to cut it, and he came out of the shower toweling it dry, another towel wrapped around his waist.
Harry realized with a bit of trepidation that the queasy feeling in his stomach was accompanying an inconvenient hard-on, and that he was mesmerized by the play of muscles across Ron's chest and stomach as he vigorously rubbed his hair.
Harry told Ron that his low moan was a sudden stomach pain. Harry didn't tell Ron that he was the cause of the queasiness.
%^%^%^%^
Harry tried to tell himself that he wasn't aroused by the sight of his best mate coming out of the shower, or flying, or drinking tea. He tried to tell himself that he just enjoyed flying, or it was a good cup of tea (he still hadn't figured out a reason why he got hard when he heard the bathroom door open and smelled the moist air that escaped).
Unfortunately, Harry believed in a fairly high level of personal honesty, and he eventually had to admit that he was attracted to his best mate.
'Course, he didn't know what to do with the information. He was fairly certain that sharing it with Ron was a bad idea, and Hermione was out of the question.
He knew it was a very bad idea to wank to thoughts of Ron. He knew because any time it happened, he found himself getting inconvenient erections in Ron's company.
It didn't help that he couldn't get Hermione's words out of his mind. What if he really was the thing Ron'd miss most?
Not that that meant that Ron loved him. Well, of course Ron loved him, but not in that way, not like he'd love a girl. A girl that he'd marry, and have children with.
Harry heard the crack as he snapped the handle off the cup he was holding. Casting a quick Reparo, he realized he was in even more trouble than he'd realized
%^%^%^%^
Harry didn't know when Ron started acting funny. He thought that Ron might have guessed why he hid in his room whenever Ron was in the shower. Or why he hadn't wanted to go flying quite as much (he'd have had to have changed nationalities if he stopped drinking tea, so he didn't think Ron had caught that one).
Ron kept asking him if he was okay. Ron kept asking him if he was upset. Ron kept asking him what was wrong.
He didn't think Ron wanted to know the truth.
But he didn't know what'd gotten into Ron. Ron volunteered to do the washing up (even though his housekeeping charms were crap), and he'd get pissy if Harry wouldn't let him.
Ron kept asking him if there was anything he wanted when he went to Diagon Alley. He didn't come home without, at least, a box of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans. He let Harry have the first pick of the Chocolate Frog cards, even the day they found an Agrippa.
Harry wondered if Ron got hit by a weird charm at work. Or if he'd fallen off his broom lately. There was no explanation for his behaviour.
%^%^%^%^
"Oi, Harry."
Harry looked up from the Prophet.
"Ron. You're home kind of late."
"Yeah, stopped by to see Hermione. Had to ask her a question."
Harry felt his stomach drop, and he felt the snarling monster from sixth year, the one that wanted to dismember Dean for kissing Ginny, growl and flex its claws. Ron was going to tell him that they'd made up. Ron was going to leave him. Again.
"Congratulations, mate! You guys will be great together."
Ron looked at him for a minute. Then laughed. "She said you'd act like this. And, I do think we'll be great together. After all, we already are."
The monster was defeated. It went slinking back into its cave. Harry couldn't be jealous of Hermione because Ron loved her. That wasn't fair to Ron.
"Well, that's terrific then. You leaving now?"
"I'm not leaving, Harry."
"Why not? I thought you just said you made up."
"No, you said we made up. I said I needed to talk to her."
"Oh. But, you said you were great together."
Harry couldn't take much more of this. Why didn't Ron just get his stuff and leave already?
"I had to ask her about why she kicked me out. I had to ask her why she didn't think I loved her."
"Merlin's beard, Ron, I told you to do that months ago!"
"Yeah, well, I'm a stubborn git, you knew that already."
"So, what did she say?"
"I had to ask her about some things that'd been going on. Some things I didn't understand."
Harry didn't think he could stand to hear this. He was afraid he might get sick on his shoes.
"She said that you were the thing I'd miss most. And, that she'd known it for a while."
Harry felt a burning behind his eyes, and realized he'd stopped breathing.
"Come on mate, you know I'm pants at this stuff. I've been trying to show you, but you just keep asking me if I'm okay. She said you'd understand if I said that. But you haven't said anything." For the first time the confidence in Ron's voice seemed to slip.
Harry took a deep breath, and realized what was going on.
"Giving me Bernie Botts was your way of telling me that loved me?" The incredulity was in his voice.
Ron flushed. "I offered you the Agrippa too."
Harry burst out laughing. "I guess this means we need a new flat."
Ron looked confused.
"There's too much space in this one."
Ron still looked confused.
"Since we're only going to need one bedroom."
Ron looked nervous, but smiled anyway, "About that, Harry. Can we go slow?"
"Slow seems to be the only speed we have" Harry laughed.
:Terminus:
Author: Gibson_fic
Requestor: sucuri
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: 3,482
Warnings: None
Summary: Harry takes Ron in after his relationship with Hermione ends.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and the Bloomsbury Group. No profit is being made from these characters.
A/N: From a request/prompt at slashfest: “After Ron and Hermione split, Harry is there for Ron. Sex optional.” sucuri: I took you at your word-I hope you enjoy the fic.; it sort of wrote itself.
Many thanks go to reni_days, solstice_muse and recs_fics for their assistance on this. All mistakes remain my own.
Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome.
Harry was expecting Ron. He just wasn’t expecting him to stumble into The Dancing Muggle like he was braced for a brawl.
“What in blazes happened to you?” It was a perfectly valid question. When they’d made plans via firecall this afternoon, Ron was fine.
“Can I stay in my old room?”
Well, that explained it.
“You and Hermione had another fight. Look, why don’t you go home, tell her that you love her, and make up?”
“Can I stay in my old room?” Ron’s mouth was set.
“Well, yes, you know you’re always welcome, but--”
“Fine, I’ve got my stuff with me.”
Ron’s face was stony and his lips were tight; Harry could tell that there was no point in convincing him to go home to Hermione. Ron had the Weasley temper, and nothing would change his mind until he decided to let it be changed.
Harry ordered them each a pint and dropped the subject. The most stressful thing they talked about for the next hour was how poorly the Cannons were playing with Brannigan as Seeker.
Ron was well into his fourth pint when he said, “Can’t go back.”
Harry, for all that he was trying to pace himself, was on his third, and took a moment to piece together what Ron meant.
Hermione.
“Why?”
“Said it’s over.” Ron sounded rather mournful and Harry began to wonder if he was going to start crying in the pub, in public.
“Still, you can talk to her. What happened?” Whatever Ron had done, Hermione would forgive him-she was uniquely understanding of his awkward expressions of feeling and his crazy-stubborn streak. Once she cooled off, she’d accept his fumbling apology, and Ron would Apparate into Harry’s small flat and shrink his stuff into a compact bundle, slide it into his pocket and crack out of sight with a cheery “Thanks, mate!”
Harry needed another drink.
“Said I don’t love her.” It took Harry a moment to gather his thoughts; Hermione didn’t think Ron loved her. That didn’t make any sense.
“What did you do?”
Ron glared at him. “Why do you always think that I did something? Why can’t Hermione ever be the one who did something wrong?” His words were angry and clipped.
“When has she ever been wrong?”
That seemed to startle him into a laugh, and when Ron picked his glass back up, he was still chuckling.
“Well,” he said, “She’s wrong about this.” Harry just looked at him, waiting for some explanation.
When Ron simply gazed into the amber-coloured liquid in his glass, Harry ventured, “But she must have some reason for saying that.”
Wrong move.
“Look, Harry. I didn’t do anything. I went home after work and she said we needed to talk. We sat on her couch, and she told me it was time for me to start seeing other people, that we were finished. I asked her why, and she said she I didn’t love her.”
Harry looked at him. Ron’s knuckles were tight and turning white around the glass in his grasp. His lips were thinned, and his eyes were sad. He looked up and caught Harry’s gaze, his eyes dark and clouded.
“I don’t know what I did wrong. And, the worst part? She didn’t seem upset, just kind of sad. Resigned, actually.”
Harry knew that Ron and Hermione had their ups and downs, but this didn’t sound like one of their usual spats. Maybe Ron wouldn’t be Apparating as soon as he'd thought.
“I’m sure she’ll come around, mate. Now. What are the chances of the Cannons making it to the Cup?”
Quidditch was always a good topic.
%^%^%^%^
Ron laid his re-engorged bag down on his bed. Technically, it was Harry’s bed now, but this would always be Ron’s room, Ron’s bed, and Ron’s closet to Harry-no matter how long it had been since Ron had shrunk his things into his trunk and headed for the Floo (safer when transporting belongs as well as people-it wasn’t a good thing to Splinch oneself and one’s belongs together) and Hermione’s flat.
Harry’s flat wasn’t large; two smallish bedrooms, a galley kitchen and a medium-sized lounge. It’d never bothered him. He’d chosen the smaller of the two bedrooms for himself, but he wondered, watching Ron fill the small space in the second the bedroom, if maybe the small flat was too small for Ron, and that’s why he’d been in such a hurry to leave.
Hermione’s flat only had the one bedroom, but it was what one properly called a Master bedroom. The room was large and airy, and she had a large bed, one clearly big enough for two. Harry’s own bed was a small twin.
Shaking his head, he turned back to Ron, “The sheets are clean. You need anything? I could make a cuppa if you’ve a mind.”
Ron laughed, “Harry, mate, I lived with you almost a year, I know where the sheets are and if I need a cuppa, I ‘spect that my cup is still in the cupboard and you haven’t moved the tea on me.”
Harry looked at him sheepishly, “Well, g’night then.”
“G’night. Thanks again, mate.”
Harry walked across the small hall to his own room, and stripped off his robes and jeans, wondering why he was so flustered by the sight of Ron stripping off his shirt.
%^%^%^%^%^
Ron was halfway through a bottle of Old Ogden’s when Harry Apparated into the flat. He wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there drinking one glass after another, staring at the Floo grate. Harry suspected he was such a neat, quiet drunk because he knew how much his mother and Hermione would disapprove of his drinking at all-his excessive thoughtfulness when drunk was an attempt to balance the scales.
Harry didn’t say a word, merely walked down the hall to his room, pulling his old Firebolt out of the closest. Opening the door to Ron’s room, he saw a pile of orange pictures and posters, a duvet and another small trunk that probably held clothes. Opening the closet, he found Ron’s Firebolt-Harry had given it to him when he'd received his Order of Merlin. Ron had argued at first, but finally accepted the gift when Harry reminded him that he deserved something for saving Harry’s skin.
Walking back into the living room, he saw Ron reaching to refill his glass.
“Come on, git, we’re flying.”
Ron looked up, startled. Harry wasn’t certain he’d noticed him come home. Waving the brooms, Harry said, “Come on. You and me. Flying.”
Ron started to shake his head.
“You’re flying with me, it’s been ages.”
Ron looked at him, his eyes bleak. For the first time, Harry wondered whether he’d be able to fix this.
“Come on, Ron.” Defeated, Ron shrugged; it was easier to give in than attempt to argue with Harry.
Standing, he accepted his broom from Harry and went to the Floo, “Waltmore Park?"
“Yes.”
Ron grabbed a fistful of the powder in the jar on top of the mantle and threw it into the fireplace, muttering “Waltmore Park” before stepping into the green flames.
%^%^%^%^
Flying always seemed to settle Harry, and he thought that it helped Ron as well. That first day, it was a bit dodgy. Ron had, after all, drunk half a bottle of Ogden's before they ever got on their brooms.
Harry spent most of the time inconspicuously keeping an eye on his friend. It wouldn't do to have him fall off his broom and irreparably break something like his neck. Hermione wouldn't appreciate it either when they finally made up.
After an hour of so of steady flying, Ron started doing lazy flips and rolls, and Harry knew that he was finally settled again.
They Flooed home, and Harry didn't say anything as Ron capped the bottle and placed it back in the cupboard before joining Harry on the couch to listen to the Wizarding Wireless.
%^%^%^%^%^
Ron laughed when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, “You ever going to stop falling out of the fire?” he joked, as Harry righted himself. His mood had steadily improved over the preceding week. Harry thought the flying they did nearly every evening made a difference.
“I hope so,” Harry muttered, feeling every inch a Muggle-born because he still could not Floo without faltering and half-falling out of the fireplace.
Ron grabbed his broom, and headed down the hall to their rooms, “Fancy a curry for dinner?”
Harry laughed. Ron would eat curry for every second meal if he wasn’t stopped. Harry’d introduced him to it when they'd first started living together, and it was lucky that Harry liked the dish nearly as much as Ron did.
“Sure, tea first?”
“Sounds good.”
Harry went into the kitchen and started the kettle. He took down their cups and poured the requisite splash of milk into the bottom of the cup, along with two teaspoons of sugar. Ron preferred his tea sweet and milky.
They sat across from each other at the small table, sipping their tea and chatting. Ron’s longer legs on the outside, where he could stretch, Harry’s shorter ones in between--the positioning determined from long practice at this.
Harry was still waiting for Ron to tell him about the additions in his room.
Ron hadn't said a word about Hermione or their split, but they were both falling back into their old habits, ones left over from the days when this was still their flat, and not just Harry's.
Harry needed to know if this was going to last. Every night, he Apparated home and expected to find Ron, with a huge smile on his face, tossing his stuff into his trunk, thrilled to be going home. Harry was beginning to realize exactly how much he'd missed having Ron here on a daily basis. He didn't want to get too used to this again, it just emphasized the loneliness when Ron inevitably left.
"Have you talked to Hermione yet?"
"Not since the day she dropped my stuff off."
"How are you going to fix this if you're not talking to her?"
"If you don't want me here, all you have to do is tell me. I can go to the Burrow, you know. Or to Wheezes." Ron's voice was angry, hot; he stirred his tea so forcefully it splashed out of the cup and onto the table.
Harry waved his wand and the spill disappeared.
"That's not it. You know you're always welcome here, but it almost seems like you aren't trying to fix this."
Ron started slow. “She dropped my stuff off just as I got back from work. Said since it was over, I’d need my things. She said I didn't love her, at least not the way she needed me to."
Ron stopped, looked at Harry, "I don't know what in Merlin has gotten into her and she won't tell me. Harry, I can't fix it because I don't know what in blazes is wrong!"
Harry looked at him, seeing the frustration on his face and dropped it.
"We'll get it sorted. Ready for that curry?"
%^%^%^%^%^
"I thought you'd be coming to see me."
"Hermione, what's wrong? You know Ron loves you, you're the only girl he's ever really been interested in. Well, except for Lavender, but that doesn't count. He wasn't interested in her, just in what they were doing."
"Thanks for that reminder, Harry."
"Come on Hermione, what is it?"
"Harry, he really doesn't love me."
"What in Merlin's name do you mean? Of course he loves you!"
"Well, I guess I should say that he doesn't love me enough, or maybe in the right way. Harry, he loves me like he loves the Cannons--because he's always loved me, and he's too bloody loyal and refuses to give up."
"What's wrong with that?"
"He loves me because I was his best friend, because we went through a lot together. He loves me as a friend, not as a woman or a lover."
"What? Hermione, you're not making any sense."
"He doesn't love me like he loves you. You're what he'd miss most Harry."
%^%^%^%^%^
Harry didn't want to think about what Hermione had said. He definitely didn't want to think about the fact she seemed to think that Ron loved Harry--not just that, but that she thought he loved him in a way he didn't or couldn't love her.
Though, it did make sense. After all, blokes couldn't love each other the way they loved girls. Blokes were about beer and slaps on the back, about being there to watch out for you. Not kisses and cuddling and all the stuff that girls wanted. Blokes were simple.
Ron was his best mate. They watched out for each other, they played Quidditch, and fruitlessly cheered on the Cannons. That was all.
And, Harry didn't know what she was thinking. He was what Ron would miss most? That didn't even make sense. Didn't she realize how miserable Ron was without her? Well, okay, he didn't seem all that miserable when they were flying, or getting curry, or listening to the Wireless, but that was just Ron. He didn't show emotion well. Well, not love anyway.
Harry studiously avoided thinking too much about what Hermione had said. It made him a bit queasy and confused. He suspected it was dangerous to think too much about it.
%^%^%^%^
Harry knew the day that Ron gave up on Hermione.
They'd been sitting on the couch, reading the prophet. Ron had the Quidditch pages and Harry was reading Luna's column. Ron looked over at him and said, "I'll get the rent to you on Friday
"What? What are you talking about Ron? You don't pay rent."
"I can't live here without contributing my share. Either take the rent or I'll Floo Fred." Ron's eyes were hard and he looked braced for a fight.
"Fine."
They'd both returned to their papers then, but it was settled. Ron was staying. Harry knew that the only reason he felt like he could do twelve Wronski Feints in a row was that it was nice to have Ron around. It was nice to have some to listen to the matches with as they shoveled curry into their mouths for the second time that week.
What else could it be?
%^%^%^%^
Harry knew the day that he stopped pretending that the queasy feeling in his stomach had to do with sour milk or too much flying. He knew the day that he realized the roiling in his stomach was because of his best mate.
They'd gone flying and come home. Ron had jumped in the shower first and Harry was waiting on him to get his own shower. Ron's hair had got longer without Hermione around to nag him to cut it, and he came out of the shower toweling it dry, another towel wrapped around his waist.
Harry realized with a bit of trepidation that the queasy feeling in his stomach was accompanying an inconvenient hard-on, and that he was mesmerized by the play of muscles across Ron's chest and stomach as he vigorously rubbed his hair.
Harry told Ron that his low moan was a sudden stomach pain. Harry didn't tell Ron that he was the cause of the queasiness.
%^%^%^%^
Harry tried to tell himself that he wasn't aroused by the sight of his best mate coming out of the shower, or flying, or drinking tea. He tried to tell himself that he just enjoyed flying, or it was a good cup of tea (he still hadn't figured out a reason why he got hard when he heard the bathroom door open and smelled the moist air that escaped).
Unfortunately, Harry believed in a fairly high level of personal honesty, and he eventually had to admit that he was attracted to his best mate.
'Course, he didn't know what to do with the information. He was fairly certain that sharing it with Ron was a bad idea, and Hermione was out of the question.
He knew it was a very bad idea to wank to thoughts of Ron. He knew because any time it happened, he found himself getting inconvenient erections in Ron's company.
It didn't help that he couldn't get Hermione's words out of his mind. What if he really was the thing Ron'd miss most?
Not that that meant that Ron loved him. Well, of course Ron loved him, but not in that way, not like he'd love a girl. A girl that he'd marry, and have children with.
Harry heard the crack as he snapped the handle off the cup he was holding. Casting a quick Reparo, he realized he was in even more trouble than he'd realized
%^%^%^%^
Harry didn't know when Ron started acting funny. He thought that Ron might have guessed why he hid in his room whenever Ron was in the shower. Or why he hadn't wanted to go flying quite as much (he'd have had to have changed nationalities if he stopped drinking tea, so he didn't think Ron had caught that one).
Ron kept asking him if he was okay. Ron kept asking him if he was upset. Ron kept asking him what was wrong.
He didn't think Ron wanted to know the truth.
But he didn't know what'd gotten into Ron. Ron volunteered to do the washing up (even though his housekeeping charms were crap), and he'd get pissy if Harry wouldn't let him.
Ron kept asking him if there was anything he wanted when he went to Diagon Alley. He didn't come home without, at least, a box of Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans. He let Harry have the first pick of the Chocolate Frog cards, even the day they found an Agrippa.
Harry wondered if Ron got hit by a weird charm at work. Or if he'd fallen off his broom lately. There was no explanation for his behaviour.
%^%^%^%^
"Oi, Harry."
Harry looked up from the Prophet.
"Ron. You're home kind of late."
"Yeah, stopped by to see Hermione. Had to ask her a question."
Harry felt his stomach drop, and he felt the snarling monster from sixth year, the one that wanted to dismember Dean for kissing Ginny, growl and flex its claws. Ron was going to tell him that they'd made up. Ron was going to leave him. Again.
"Congratulations, mate! You guys will be great together."
Ron looked at him for a minute. Then laughed. "She said you'd act like this. And, I do think we'll be great together. After all, we already are."
The monster was defeated. It went slinking back into its cave. Harry couldn't be jealous of Hermione because Ron loved her. That wasn't fair to Ron.
"Well, that's terrific then. You leaving now?"
"I'm not leaving, Harry."
"Why not? I thought you just said you made up."
"No, you said we made up. I said I needed to talk to her."
"Oh. But, you said you were great together."
Harry couldn't take much more of this. Why didn't Ron just get his stuff and leave already?
"I had to ask her about why she kicked me out. I had to ask her why she didn't think I loved her."
"Merlin's beard, Ron, I told you to do that months ago!"
"Yeah, well, I'm a stubborn git, you knew that already."
"So, what did she say?"
"I had to ask her about some things that'd been going on. Some things I didn't understand."
Harry didn't think he could stand to hear this. He was afraid he might get sick on his shoes.
"She said that you were the thing I'd miss most. And, that she'd known it for a while."
Harry felt a burning behind his eyes, and realized he'd stopped breathing.
"Come on mate, you know I'm pants at this stuff. I've been trying to show you, but you just keep asking me if I'm okay. She said you'd understand if I said that. But you haven't said anything." For the first time the confidence in Ron's voice seemed to slip.
Harry took a deep breath, and realized what was going on.
"Giving me Bernie Botts was your way of telling me that loved me?" The incredulity was in his voice.
Ron flushed. "I offered you the Agrippa too."
Harry burst out laughing. "I guess this means we need a new flat."
Ron looked confused.
"There's too much space in this one."
Ron still looked confused.
"Since we're only going to need one bedroom."
Ron looked nervous, but smiled anyway, "About that, Harry. Can we go slow?"
"Slow seems to be the only speed we have" Harry laughed.
:Terminus: