(no subject)
Title: The Thaw
Author: Alice in Muggleland (alias magpye, aka magpyeeyes)
Rating: NC17
Challenge: Ron and Harry go to visit Hagrid on a snowy day and get stuck there (Hagrid is away!)
Summary: There is adventure to be had when Harry suffers hypothermia leading to Ron suffering hyperthermia, sweating over his feelings for Harry. Features icelolly!Harry, guilt ridden randy!Ron and a hot hut.
Warnings: A few choice swear words occur, and sexuality. This fic makes a mockery of safe winter trekking and I have good reason to believe this fic violates international standards for treatment of hypothermia. For Merlyn’s sake, do NOT try this at home!
“Hermione missed a good walk,” said Ron. It was late Saturday afternoon and with Harry he had skived studying in favor of a hike around the Hogwarts lake. “She ought to have come along. The sky is beautiful, the lake is pretty and the air is fresh.”
“We must not be on the same walk Ron.” Harry untied his heavy jumper from around his waist and pulled it on over his head. “Where I’m walking, the sky is turning darker by the minute, the lake is choppy and a half mile back the wind blew my hat away.”
“No worries Harry. The way the wind is picking up, your hat will reach the castle ahead of you.” Ron’s tone was defensive, and no sooner had his words left him than an ornery blast of wind sent his own cap flying. He ran a few steps and snatched his cap from the air. Their trek around Hogwarts lake was Ron’s idea and as the weather steadily worsened over the afternoon, his idea no longer seemed as good as it had earlier in the morning when the skies were sunny, cloudless and bright. “The weather was certainly nice enough when we set out, but it is getting a bit nippy.”
“A bit nippy,” said Harry, “You mean like a yeti is a bit hairy?”
“Yes, it’s just a bit nippy. You’re just too skinny with that seeker build of yours,” teased Ron. “You haven’t enough fat to keep a budgie warm. Ought to spend a month or two at the Burrow when we leave Hogwarts. When Mum’s done with you you’ll be able to handle gale force winds in nothing but your underpants and vest.”
It was true, Harry had always been a thin lad, even after he left the Dursleys for Hogwarts and was exposed to a healthy diet. Now at sixteen Harry was older, and taller but still wiry in build. Nonetheless, Ron, who was always a hardy lad, was himself growing cold. He unwrapped his jacket from around his waist and pulled it on.
“You know though, said Harry, back on the subject of their best mate. “Hermione always nags…. I mean, ‘advises’ us to take an extra cloak or jackets and gloves when we hike. This once I do wish we’d listened to her. It’s growing so damned cold all of a sudden. I’m freezing.”
“Well it was sunny when we left, wasn’t it?” Ron was again on the defensive. “Who knew it was going to cloud over like this. And besides, we’ve only a few miles to go - I think. Ron was tall and most of him seemed to be legs. He kept having to check his pace so as to keep Harry by his side. Ron. He walked along with his head down, looking to avoid tripping on the rock-strewn path. “You know Harry,” Ron looked up and saw he was alone and he looked back up the trail. Harry stood, standing stock-still, facing north. What Harry stared at was obvious.
“Look,” Harry called out. “The sky back to the north is as black as a cauldron!”
Ron too was startled by the view of the blackening northern sky and understood the full implication of what was headed their way. The sun that had shown so brilliantly at the start of their hike had been swallowed by dark clouds that racing by overhead. The fast drifting clouds reminded Ron of white sheep fleeing before the black storm. It dawned on Ron that the increasingly cold air temperature wasn’t just an illusion; the air temperature was indeed plummeting as the storm front approached.
Harry trotted to catch up with Ron. “I really wish we had listened Hermione and brought extra clothing.” Harry was noticeably shivering.
“I wish we’d altogether skipped this outing and stayed in the library studying for our N.E.W.T.S,” muttered Ron. “A blizzard is headed this way. If the storm hits before we can reach shelter, we may bloody well freeze to death. We’ll have to make a run for it back to the castle.”
“Ron,” said Harry calmly as he began to walking again, shivering with his hands jammed under the front of his jumper in an attempt to warm his cold hands. “If the storm catches up with us, we can charm up a fire with our wands. Put a warming spell on our clothing or…”
“Or freeze to death. As Hermione keeps reminding us, magic can’t do everything. Even a great wizard like Dumbledore can’t just flick a wand and make something out of nothing. And come to that, even if such things were possible, surely neither of us have skill enough to deal with a blizzard. What would we do? Transform pine cones into little cookers in the face of that bloody great storm?”
Harry looked upwards, and watched the dark clouds rolling by overhead. “Damn. You’re right. If Hermione were here she’d probably have a charm or two in reserve.”
“I am right,” said Ron. “And I wish I wasn’t!” He gripped Harry’s arm tightly and pulled him forward at a trot that headed not down the path but towards the Forbidden Forest. “The path we meandered in on will take too long, come on, we’ll cut through the Forbidden Forest to save time. We just have to keep our wands at the ready. Come on. We should be able to make it back before that blizzard hits. Run!”
The boy lit out into a dead run towards the thick trees of the Forbidden forest and beyond that, the castle. The winds that drew the blizzard nearer howled along side of them like a third runner.
“Sounds like a pack of werewolves doesn’t it?” shouted Harry panting.
“Save your breath, run!” shouted Ron. The boys were in good shape from Quidditch practice and they ran full out, not pacing themselves for the long distance.
‘This was all my stupid idea to skive off studying for a ‘lovely little walk’. Now we’re in for it,’ thought Ron. ‘My fault entirely; if anything happens to Harry…’
Ron realized he was again outpacing Harry, and he slowed down until Harry caught up.
“You’re a born runner Ron,’ shouted Harry pulling up even with Ron.
Born runner? Born a bloody fool is more to the mark.
The boys doggedly pelted headlong through the forest, crashing through thickets, skirting huge fallen trees. Ron tortured himself with thoughts of the various dangers housed in the Forbidden Forest, many of which he had had the unpleasant experience to view, face to face over his years at Hogwarts. But as they raced along, Ron quickly realized that an enraged werewolf had nothing over the storm to their back. The first herald of white flakes were blowing past his frozen cheeks. Even the warmth from their running could not counter act the frigid air that they sucked into their pumping hot lungs. With trepidation, Ron realized if they stopped moving the cold was capable of quickly making ice lollys of he and Harry. After covering enough distance to try the wind capacity of wild highland ponies, the boys crashed through a thick stand of shrubs and stumbled to a halt. They stood trembling, bent over with their hands on their knees panting in great gasps, as wind and snow pelted them from behind. Before them, high on the hill above the vast meadow sitting like a bit of heaven, was Hogwarts castle.
Harry attempted a loud celebratory whoop but failed; the cause of failure might have been any number of reasons - his lack of wind, his clacking teeth or his inability to stop his violent shivering.
“Harry, think of warm fires, hot food and Hermione yelling at us when we stumble into the castle all in one piece,” Ron panted. The wind seemed to eat through their clothing, freezing the very marrow in their bones.
“We made it.” Harry finally managed to spit out between pants, but the howling wind soaked up his whisper. He moved forward for a last desperate run towards the castle, but Ron grabbed him by the sleeve.
Ron held his mouth near Harry’s head yelled to be heard over the maelstrom wind. “No, it’s too late Harry, the blizzard is here!” The remark was unnecessary. The castle before them was already disappearing as if by magic, behind the deadly white veil of swirling snow. The forest they had just fled also had vanished. It seemed ludicrous that less than an hour earlier, they’d carried their jackets and had walked along in their bare sleeves. “You’re shivering worse than I am mate,” Ron observed with increasing fear, and he quickly pulled off his jacket.
“S-s-s-top that Ron, are you metal?” Harry was already suffering muddled thinking from the vicious cold. “I mean are you meddle… mental?” The icy snow stung the backs of their exposed necks and their hands felt brittle as icicles as the snow and hail that buffeted their exposed skin like bullets.
Frightened Ron took Harry’s arms, jamming them into the armholes of the jacket, shrugging off his own cold. Harry was too numb with cold to protest Ron’s forfeited jacket. He startled Ron by pointing to the lake muttering something about lying down on his four-poster for a little nap. Harry thought he was back in their dorm room.
“Come on Harry, we’ll stay with Hagrid, just beyond the lake’s edge over there. We can be there inside of five minutes!”
Harry managed a nod, but then, his entire body was wracked with jerks and trembles as his remaining body heat continued to ebb away.
“We’re nearly there, let’s go,” and again Ron pulled Harry forward and side by side with they struck off at a run towards where they guessed stood Hagrid’s home.
They were skirting a tiny extension of the lake now. The world seemed surreal, glaring white on white that made them feel disoriented. Visibility was a spare six feet. Worried, Ron considered they may have already bypassed Hagrid’s hut and were headed back toward the Forbidden Forest. There was a sudden splash of water and Ron swore as he realized they had run into the water of lake’s edge. “Come on, this way,” yelled Ron and quickly took his bearing and lit out towards where Hagrid’s hut should be standing.
“Ronnn -!”
Ron stopped dead in his tracks and span around into the onslaught of snow. In the space of mere seconds, Harry was no longer at his side. He was surrounded by swirling snow.
“HARRY!” There was no answer. Ron swore to himself because he had not held onto Harry’s arm. Now they were separated by the fury of a Blizzard. “HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU HARRY?”
There was no answering call. Ron panicked. He fought the wind, walking back in the direction he believed he’d come from. He quickly realized he had no idea if he was headed in the right direction. The swirling snow had buried his tracks in quickly accumulating snowdrifts.
Don’t panic. Don’t be a fool.
Ron trod forward. “HARRY!” Shaking now with fear as much as with cold, Ron continued calling, and carefully searched the space around him. Ron’s trotted and swore again as he smashed the toe of his wet trainer against one of the large rocks that dotted the lakeshore, but there was more.
Ron dropped to his denim-covered knees in the shallow frigid water alongside Harry. Frantically Ron pulled Harry onto his back. A nasty gash was on Harry’s forehead and a lump beneath it was already rising on, just above the legendary lightning bolt scar. Harry had tripped, striking a rock as he landed.
“Fuck!” Ron ranted at the unfairness of the situation. “This is too much. Harry, wake up!” Ron slapped Harry’s cold cheeks but there was no response.
Ron quickly pulled Harry to a sitting position. Leaning into Harry, Ron quickly hefted him over his shoulder and balancing Harry carefully, Ron struggled to his feet. The cold had affected Ron’s judgment as it had Harry’s and he was too cold to remember levitating spells even existed.
Now, where hell are we? Where is Hagrid’s hut?
But Ron did not forget everything. It came to him in an instance; the Four-Points Spell. With one cold hand and his back blocking some of the wind, Ron balanced his wand on the flat of his hand. There was a trying moment when the wind lifted his wand and he managed to snatch it before it flew off into the storm. But his heart thumping, Ron tried again.
“Point me!” He silently thanked Hermione for bullying him into learning the spell following the Triwizard Tournament.
“Right then,” said Ron. His teeth were chattered as he spoke words of encouragement to himself. “If that’s north, then Hagrid’s hut should be…. over there.” Determined and resolute, Ron lurched forward, and tightening his one one-handed grip on Harry. His feet wet and numb with cold, he had one focus - reaching the hut and seeing Hagrid’s face grinning down at him.
“Hello Hagrid,” Ron muttered to himself in practice as he walked rapidly along. “Fancy a couple of overnight visitors for nice chat while the storm buries all of our arses six feet under?”
~*~*~*~*~
The flames in Hagrid’s fireplace were the most beautiful thing Ron thought he’d ever seen. He squatted before the blazing logs and sighed with some relief as he felt the warm flames take the chill out of the air.
Great. We’re out of the storm. Hagrid is nowhere to be found and even though we’re out of the blizzard we’re not out of the woods. Bloody hell.
Dejected, Ron turned to face Harry, unconscious sopping wet and settled on one of Hagrid’s huge chairs. The cold had one good effect, having kept Harry’s head wound from bleeding much. Harry wore a plaster Ron managed from strip torn from one of Hagrid’s clean dry shirts. Ron knew he had to do something beside stand and watch Harry on the chair like a limp overlarge rag doll. Ron’s quandary was not in finding a solution to the situation; the solution was obvious - strip Harry of the sodden clothing, rub some warmth into him, and then use his own body, which had already returned to near normal temperature, to infuse warmth into Harry. In the solution lay Ron’s predicament.
“Why isn’t Hagrid here,” Ron fussed to himself. “Hagrid, how could you DO this to me? Where the bloody hell are you Hagrid? Up at the castle? Waiting out the blizzard in Hogsmeade? No doubt at the Three Broomsticks, chatting with Madam Rosmerta over two buckets of Ogden’s finest?”
Were Hagrid present, Harry would already be stripped, rubbed warm, bundled up and heating up like a slice of toast by the fire. But there was no second person and Ron wasted valuable time immobilized by thoughts and ideas that dwelt in his mind for as long as he had known Harry. Finally, Ron resolved that he couldn’t just stand around watching Harry lose body heat and die of exposure.
So, I’ll just nip off Harry’s clothing and warm him up a bit. That’s all. No worries.
“Except they’ll find me here with naked Harry Potter,” Ron fussed aloud. He made his decision. “All right, let’s be sensible, being found naked with live Harry, is hands above being found clothed with dead Harry.” Ron resigned himself to the fact there was nothing else for it but to take action.
“Harry,” spoke Ron apologetically as he quickly unlaced Harry’s shoes. “I’m sorry mate. This was all my fault, the hike I mean.”
The wet shoelaces could not be untied, and Ron carefully pulled the shoes from Harry’s feet and tossing them aside. Harry’s sodden socks followed and Ron quickly undressing Harry all the while keeping his eyes averted like a maiden nurse. Soon Harry’s dripping jumper - and Ron’s donated jacket - Harry’s shirt, trousers, vest and underpants lay in a sodden heap by the fire, a mist rising up from it. That Harry could only submit to the stripping, as helpless as a child touched Ron deeply. Harry’s skin was damp and clammy and his lips were clearly an unnatural shade of blue; matching blue ears, fingers and toes completed Harry’s deadly ensemble. Ron thanked the heavens that there was no sign of frostbite, but he did not let up on himself. He swore vicious punishments on himself if Harry came out of their ‘little hike’ with any damage whatever.
“We have to get you warm Harry.”
Soon the blankets and pillows from Hagrid’s bed were laid upon the floor in front of the fireplace, making up a nest of bedclothes. Ron quickly doffed his own wet clothing. Then, gently he lifted Harry from the chair and laid him on bedding. Kneeling by Harry, Ron began gently to rub Harry’s hands and arms until they began lost the ugly bluish tinge. He then turned his attention to Harry’s feet and legs, rubbing silently, until although still quite cold to the touch, Harry’s skin was no longer blue. Ron was no longer trembling as because he knew now that at least Harry would not need to quit Quidditch for the lack of fingers with which to nab the snitch. Bereft of his own wet clothing, Ron was now completely dry, and warm to boot.
“Please Harry,” Ron pleaded in desperation, and patted his mate’s face. “Wake up. Open those beaut… eyes.”
Again, there as nothing else for it but action. Standing over Harry, Ron knelt by his side, beseeching the heavens one last time that Harry wake, but it was no good. Ron spoke encouragement to himself.
“This is how Mum had us warm each other up when my brothers and I came in near frozen and blue nosed from building snowmen when we were tykes. And my Mum was never a perv,” said Ron. True, he and his brothers would bundle together naked under blankets in front the fireplace while their mother filled them up with hot chocolate and cider. This was a bit different but well within the pitch.
Ron cringed. His Mum would never approve of this sort of thing. Carefully, he lowered himself beside Harry and pulled the load of bedclothes over himself and Harry. He shivered as the felt the strange sensation of Harry’s chilled skin against his. Ron rubbed Harry’s chest and back, his legs draped over Harry’s. Ron tried to keep his mind anywhere but on his task, because however hard he tired, he could not stop enjoying his life saving actions in a non-platonic manner; in short, Ron was heated up only a few degrees below that of the raging fireplace.
Ron held his eyes shut and tried to imagine his mother standing them saying something like ‘Now you boys warm up there and here’s a nice cuppa to warm you up and biscuits hot from the cooker.’
Still, Harry remained chilly to the touch. Ron shut his eyes, fearing Harry was going to die and it was to be his fault entirely for falling down in his duty, for not protecting Harry properly. Why hadn’t he opted for a nice game of wizard’s chess instead of insisting Harry accompany him on a hike around the lake with no spare clothing or a thought for the weather forecast?
This will make a name for me all right - ‘Ron Weasley -The Boy Who Killed the Boy Who Lived’. No. I’ll be Ron, ‘The Boy Who Killed the Boy Who Would Have Lived if He’d Listened To Hermione and Stayed in the Castle to Review for His N.E.W.T. Level Potions Exam’
Tired and wracked by guilt, Ron buried his face in Harry’s glossy black hair. His hot breath stirred the small hairs on the nape of Harry’s cold neck.
Ron cringed as he realized his worse fear was happening - he had stiffened in an unspeakably boyish part of his anatomy. Still, he continued rubbing Harry, while liberally swearing himself the sort of harm that Dobby the house elf used to subject himself to for violating his master’s trust. The sensation in his wayward willie was all at once, the best and the worst feeling Ron had thus far ever been subjected to.
Harry’s dieing and I’m getting a hard on. I am pond skum. No, I’m the stuff living under rocks in the Forbidden Forest. No, I’m not even that - I’m the mess coating the floor beneath the owls in the School’s owl rookery
‘Wake up,’ Ron continued to beg. While still dutifully rubbing Harry’s skin, Ron gave in to a sudden idea of touching his rather hot tongue to Harry’s skin for a taste. Greedily he sucked in the scent of Harry’s skin. Then, acting on pure impulse, too guilt ridden to kiss Harry’s mouth, Ron allowed himself one boon - he set his lips to Harry’s neck and he kissed it. Ron kissed Harry’s neck the way he had always dreamed of kissing Harry, or nearly so. Had he kissed Harry the way Ron would have kissed Harry’s mouth, the result would have amounted to a tracheotomy for Harry. The kiss ended as Ron felt the further sensation of his penis willfully hardening against its owner’s wishes.
I’m a bloody perv!
His own body betraying him, Ron cringed with shame over the state of his privates. He tormented himself with some simple truths. Although he’d never thought of kissing Harry’s neck there was no denying that he, Ron Weasley, had always wanted to kiss whatever portion of Harry presented itself. Long had Ron dreamed of lying atop naked Harry Potter - his mate, who trusted him.
Harry loves me, and Hermione, but he loves us like a brother, a sister, in a noble sort of way. Harry loves me the way I love my brothers. Harry doesn’t love me in the despicable way I want him in a rub myself up against him sort of way.
Ron’s own description of his love for Harry was a pitiful lie that sold himself short and ignored the nobility of his unselfish love for Harry. Make no mistake about it; Ron loved Harry with his heart and had done so for years in graduated stages. They met years ago as ikle firsters at Kings Cross Station on their first day headed for Hogwarts when Ron watched a strange emaciated little boy dressed in oversized second-hand clothing such as those Ron wore. The bespectacled boy pushed a trolley in search of Platform 9 ¾. Perhaps it was the clothing, but whatever the reason, Ron immediately the spotted boy with untidy black hair as a kindred spirit. Now, in the glow of the fireplace, Ron hugged his ‘kindred spirit’ close and willed the warmth from his body to revive the love of his life.
There was an angry noise from Ron as he protested his rage at his own urge to grind himself against his unconscious mate. He tried to take his mind off of his persistent erection, continuing to reflect on his first time together with Harry on the Hogwarts Express. Fondly he recalled how Harry smiled happily as they sampled pumpkin pasties and shared the treats from the snack trolley. They chatted merrily on the train ride and later that night, at their destination, Ron cheered as Harry was sorted into Gryffindor and then, joy of joys, he and Harry were dorm mates. Later that night, Ron snuggled alone under his duvet, feeling the stirrings of what might have then been properly called puppy love.
It was a year later that Ron first began awakening in his dorm bed, wet from peculiar and wonderful dreams that resulted in the Hogwarts house elves changing Ron’s ‘soiled’ sheets. Although growing up with so many brothers Ron knew the dreams were natural, he kept his ‘queer dreams’ secret. The dreams were always precipitated by surreptitious peeks from behind bed curtains watching Harry in various states of undress, or those times Ron spent happy afternoons watching Harry soar above the Quidditch pitch, so handsome in his uniform - the youngest seeker in a century. The key to Ron’s waking to damp sheets and sticky pyjamas was always Harry. With each wet awakening, Ron was filled with self-loathing for his ‘unnatural’ feelings.
By their third year Ron made a habit of rising early enough to be done showering before Harry woke. And if by chance Harry showed up bundled in his robe, soap and towel in hand, Ron was sure to grab his towel, shout a hasty ‘Morning Harry’ and race from the showers. Afterwards, back in their dorm room, Ron cringed inwardly because Harry gave him reproachful stares. Ron lived in terror that Harry might choose a nearby tap and observe first hand the shameful evidence of Ron’s lust rising against his freckled stomach. In his worst moments, Ron worried that Harry was already aware of Ron’s ‘unnatural’ proclivities. That Harry was aware and yet was kind enough to hide his disgust at Ron’s ignoble impulses. On the worst nights Ron lay alone and awake in his bed, frantically stroking his penis, soundlessly mouthing declarations of love for Harry Potter, The Boy Who Thrilled His Best Mate.
One summer when Ron missed Harry terribly, the anguished boy risked broaching the embarrassing topic to his father. Ron explained to his father that he was trying to get information to help out a confused mate at Hogwarts - a fatherless boy from Hufflepuff. Told the sad tale of a boy’s unrequited love and unbearable urges, Arthur Weasley advised Ron to advise ‘his Hufflepuff mate’ that yes, some wizards were not attracted to witches, but instead to other wizards. The prevailing view of many of the wizarding world was that such ‘perversions’ were the cause of the low population of wizarding folk. Arthur told Ron to tell ‘the other boy’ that he, Arthur Weasley did not see the situation that way at all.
“Ron, you must understand… tell your classmate… that love is love, and no wizard - or for that matter, no witch - can reorder the nature of their heart on command. Were I you, I would advise my school mate that his heart is not capable of obeying the edicts of society. A heart is like a wild thing that cannot be told whom to love and when. Society cannot order a heart. No, that is not how love works Ron. So your mate has a tough road Ron. Make no mistake about that.
But there is a bit of a reward at the end of it. If your ‘mate’ is lucky, the object of his affection will return his love to him. And Ron, if a wizard can experience that miracle, your ‘schoolmate’ has the makings of a happy and fulfilling life.”
Red cheeked, Ron had nodded his head, thanked his father, and retreated to his Burrow bedroom. Ron knew he was not destined for a ‘happy and fulfilling life’.
Harry was not the kind of wizard that could ‘return the love’ of a wizard mate.
Ron knew for a fact that Harry fancied a witch, the seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. When Harry, Hermoine and Ron passed the girl in the school halls, Harry’s face inevitably grew peaky. Harry stared at the witch at meal times in the Great Hall and afterwards Harry would cease talking for hours, his mind in a whirl.
Ron was sure if anyone at Hogwarts received the gift of Harry’s heart, the recipient would be the sloe-eyed witch named Cho Chang. Neither was Harry destined for happiness, for the heart of Cho had once belonged to, still belonged to a deceased Wizard by the name of Cedric Diggory.
It was a cold February day when they were fourth years that Ron and Hermione joined Gabrielle Delacour and Cho to meet with the headmaster. Dumbledore himself told Ron that that he, Ron Weasley was what Harry would most miss upon separation. Ron recalled how his cheeks burned with embarrassment as he absorbed the stupefying news that the others seemed to not think was in any way unusual. For the short while Ron allowed himself to think his life’s happiness was assured, his love was returned, that he knew pure bliss. A spell was placed on Ron and he entered an enchanted stupor that allowed him to sleep beneath the waters of Hogwarts lake.
As Ron lay helpless in the grasp of the enchanted merpeople beneath the lake waters he dreamt of a lifetime of happiness with Harry Potter. In Ron’s wonderful dream he and Harry would take a beautiful home, free from the ongoing pressures of Harry’s battle with Lord Voldemort. Harry and Ron would wake each morning in each other’s arms and start each day with tender kisses and words of love. Their mate Hermoine would be their next door neighbor and she would be married to anyone other than Victor Krum, while Cho and Cedric would move to the other side of the planet never too be seen again. The dream ended. Ron woke sputtering as he slogged alongside Harry and Gabrielle at the surface of the lake, to the roars the cheers of the Triwizard Tournament crowd. Ron was jubilant as he heard the cheers of wizard folk who were obviously not bothered that he was the one Harry would most miss. Life was brilliant.
Then still dripping from the lake waters of the second task, both Harry was kissed by the beautiful silver haired Fleur. Ron shucked off the kiss he himself received from Fleur and saw Harry staring point blank at Cho, who sat with her Cedric. Ron’s insecurities returned in a flash. He rounded on Harry, demanding to know why he had rescued Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle. So Ron’s sank again beneath his despair.
Wizard’s chess. That was what Harry would miss. Someone to discuss Quidditch with. That was what Harry wanted. I was only wanted because Cho was already spoken for. Because Hermione was already spoken for by that git Victor Krum. If it was not for Diggory or Krum, Harry would have chosen Hermione and I wouldn’t have had to go through this.
“R-Ron….”
Ron jerked, jolted from his memories of his disgrace at the Triwizard Tournament. “Harry?” Ron’s heart thumped wildly.
“R-R-Ron….” Harry stammered as he struggled to gain conciousness. “R-Ron?”
“Harry…” Ron could feel Harry’s movement beneath him, the tensing and stretch of Harry’s awakening muscles. So startled and overwhelmed by the miracle of Harry waking was Ron that he momentarily forgot his nakedness and compromising position, his arms and legs wrapped protectively around Harry’s body.
“Ron, what…?” asked Harry in a voice so low Ron could barely make out the words.
“Harry, you’re awake! You’re alive. I thought you were dieing but you’re going to be all right, right as rain.”
Harry was no longer corpse still - he wriggled like a kitten seeking comfort and warmth, and weak as a kitten, Harry was too tired to speak any longer. There was the soft noise of Harry’s breathing and Ron realized Harry had fallen back to sleep. He wondered if Harry would eventually remember waking at all. Ron shut his eyes. Harry was alive and would remain so.
At least for now, the exhaustion from the afternoon’s activities and from stress overtook Ron. There was no room in Ron’s heart and mind for anything but gratitude. Soon both boys were peacefully snoozing, bundled in front of the blazing fireplace.
Late that night, Ron woke and lay on his side. His mind a bit muddled, he mentally mapped his physical position - his legs draped over Harry, his arms cuddling Harry’s torso and his long freckled nose touching Harry’s. Ron eased his eyes open. Starring back at him, were piercing green eyes, wide, wakeful, and staring into Ron’s own blue eyes.
“I’M SORRY HARRY!” Ron squealed and leapt up, onto his feet as quickly as he could. He stumbled over the blankets. Looking down at himself, Ron gasped and his hands flew down to cover his substantial and as yet unappeased erection, his ‘morning glory’.
“What?” said Harry startled. “Ron, are you all right?” Harry’s voice was full of concern and he sat up. Sitting up however gave him a full appreciation of Ron’s unmistakable condition. Harry’s eyes grew as large as remembralls and with an audible gasp, he quickly looked to the wooden floor in an effort to avoid looking at Ron. “OUCH!” Harry yelped and winced. He raised a hand to his forehead and made a sucking noise as he gingerly touched Ron’s makeshift plaster over the painful lump on his forehead. “My head is aching. And Ron, you’re… naked!” Harry sounded shocked within an inch of his life. Why were we sleeping here… NAKED?”
There was some explaining to do, but Ron was, so to speak, ‘up’ to the task. “You remember Harry, yesterday, our hike we were walking, quiet like and a humongous bigarse blizzard blew in! We had to run for it, and the snow whooshed in! You were freezing Harry! I gave you my jacket but you were stupid. Muttering nonsense like a nutter, and well we were running for our lives, then you were GONE Harry! Just like that, you were lost. So I had to find you didn’t I? And I thought, ok Ron Weasley, your mate is depending on you, now think. So I hunted everywhere and crikey! Found you! Got you here to Hagrid’s and damn me but Hagrid was GONE! Just you and me and you freezing to death!”
Ron looked hopefully down at Harry, to see if his incredible story of bravery and survival was making any sort of impression on Harry. “I said Harry, you were freezing to death!”
Harry looked up shyly. A large drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, and to the end of his nose. “Right. I was freezing.”
It was an act of pure faith that Harry believed Ron. In the course of the night, either the blazing fireplace, or the boys, had heated the bedclothes. Harry and Ron woke as hot and sweaty as if they had fallen asleep in a sauna bath at high noon in Ecuador during a tropical heat wave.
Ron continued. “So quick like, I lit a fire and there you were, soaking wet and cold Harry. I knew I had to pull your clothes off.”
Harry looked over to the pile of clothing that lay in a heap like dry autumn leaves. He noticed his y-fronts were a bit singed from the roaring fire. “Right Ron, wet, cold.”
“There was no choice Harry...” this was the part of the story that was the trickiest. Ron chose his words carefully. “I had to strip your arse naked as a doxie and warm you up. But I did not enjoy it, not one bit! Honest Harry!”
No doubt about it, for the most part, Ron’s story was dead convincing. There was the thing about his erection, but it was morning and with boys those sort of things did happen.
“Honest Harry. That is Merlyn’s truth by my wizard’s honor. Every word was true. I had to strip you naked or you’d have frozen to death. You were as blue as a Cornish Pixie, honest you were. What I did, I did proper like. No funny business. Uh… want a lovely cup of hot tea Harry?”
“Ron,” Harry looked around hopefully. “Is there any iced lemon squash?”
Even considering that Ron was standing in the firelight, he grew quite red faced. Just his luck. In spite of all of Ron’s hard work, Harry was probably going to die anyway - from heat stroke.
Harry spoke breathlessly, “We made it to Hagrid’s cabin then. I do remember running, and falling. Everything is muddled after that. All I can remember is…” Harry rolled his eyes upward, giddily piecing bits of information together. “I had a sort of queer dream. Don’t misunderstand Ron, I… I dreamt we were here - in front of Hagrid’s fireplace and you were… don’t misunderstand me, Ron. I mean, well, the strange thing was, you… you kissed me.” Harry raised his hand, touching his own neck. “It felt so real. Did you do that Ron? Did you kiss my neck?”
The kiss was not a dream. Ron felt ill. Now the nightmare would begin. Harry was the manly sort. There was no way he would overlook waking up naked with Ron wrapped around him like a helping of ‘toad in the hole’. Ron’s imagination went wild. Harry would have to report Ron to the Headmaster. The youngest male Weasley would be thrown out of Hogwarts before the end of his sixth year, Ron’s wand - the wooden one - snapped in two. ‘That perv Weasley’, would live out the remainder of his shameful days, selling apples on a street corner in Knockturn Alley.
“Me? Kiss your… kiss your neck?” squeaked Ron. “You mean with my uh… lips?”
Harry shut his eyes. “It must have been a dream. I was cold - as if a pack of dementors were closing in on me. I was like ice but I could feel you holding me and I thought…I thought I thought I would die - ”
Ron blurted, “I didn’t mean… Harry, I’m so sorry…”
“ - And through the cold I could feel your lips on me Ron,” said Harry. “I just thought I would curl up and die...”
“Harry, please, I - !”
“…I thought I would just curl up and die from happiness.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Your kiss Ron. Like a petronus only... no, no! No, your lips were sweet, warming like chocolate after I’ve faced a dementor. Your kiss spread in me, welled up feelings in me, warmed me. My dreams had come true.” Harry smiled shyly up at Ron. “You did kiss me, didn’t you?” Harry sounded like a child that wanted assurance that it was indeed Christmas day, and that Father Christmas had brought a sack full of lovely presents.
Life is too sweet, precious and wonderful to be true. Surely this is some wild dream and I’m actually asleep in the commons, snoring over my Transfiguration revision.
“Ron, “ said Harry. I’ve loved you for so long and I’ve dreamed of… Could you really love me? Love me the way I love you?”
“Make no mistake Harry. I love you.” Ron dropped to the bedclothes on his knees, his hand still covering his ‘shameful’ privates. “Yes Harry,” Ron moved carefully, least he jostle himself, causing the wonderful dream of Harry’s acceptance to come to a sudden end. Ron reached out a hand and cupped it on Harry’s cheek. Ron’s eyes were wide, the better to take in the miracle. Harry’s eyebrows were unfurling and the sparkling eyes peered through coal black lashes into Ron’s eyes, and the look was soft, loving, tender.
Then there was another miracle. Harry took Ron’s hand, held it to his lips and kissed it. Pressing Ron’s palm to his cheek Harry spoke his heart, crooning in a voice that Ron had never heard before.
“I love you Ron, I’ve always loved you from the first day I met you at King’s Cross, and you looked at me, so friendly and wanting to be my friend. You smiled at me and I felt all giddy and didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand for a long, long time. It took years for me to realize that only you made me feel like that, all giddy and stupid and sweaty. And I thought you knew I felt ‘that way’ about you. It nearly killed me when I woke every single morning realizing how much I disgusted you. But now maybe, maybe you really have forgiven me and maybe we can….”
“What?” sputtered Ron, as jolted as if Harry had slapped him. “What do you mean ‘you disgusted me’?” The idea was absurd. “You think I was disgusted by, by you Harry? What are you on about?”
“You know what I mean,” said Harry, his eyes again suddenly avoiding Ron’s. “Mornings. When I come into the shower room. The way you look at me, grab your towel and run away. And the way you always dress on the far side of your four-poster from mine, so I can’t stare at you. You can’t fool me. I know I’ve made you dead ill - wanting you the way I do. I know you are only letting me say things to you because you’re… so wonderful.”
Ron was still struck dumb with amazement.
Harry continued. “Do you know, I even tried to become interested in witches. There was Cho. She was sort of lanky like you - tall. Small tits. Pretty hair and dead keen on Quidditch…”
“Right Harry, Cho is very nearly my twin,” said Ron seriously. The world was too ridiculous. “No, you got it all wrong Harry. In the showers I didn’t want you to see..” Ron took a deep breath, dropped his hands from his ever swollen boy accoutrements and revealed himself in his full boy glory to Harry.
“Well,” said Harry shyly. “I guess you do fancy me then?” Harry shoved the dead weight of the heavy bedclothes back from himself, lay on his back and opened his arms, beckoning his lover - a lover, old and yet new.
Trembling, Ron pulled Harry’s glasses off tossing them onto the nearby pile of their rumpled clothes. Ron gently laid himself down by Harry’s side and kissed the lids over the myopic eyes. Soon Ron was licking, kissing the ears he had so often whispered into, saying such things as ‘Shush Harry, I hear someone coming,’ and ‘Quick, Harry, we can duck into that room…’ and jokingly, ‘this invisibility cape gets smaller every year Harry’. Things were different now though. Now Ron whispered what had always dwelt on the tip of his tongue each time his lips had chanced to fleetingly pause by Harry’s ears: ‘You’re mine Harry’, ‘I love you Harry’ and ‘your skin is heaven Harry’ and ‘Harry… my father told me, if a wizard… if I, was ever lucky enough to have my love returned to me by the one I love, it would be a miracle and I might just be happy and fulfilled for the rest of my days.’
Harry closed his arms around Ron’s neck and pulled him even closer so their skin was a soft tapestry of tan, and white and freckles.
”Yes Ron, there’s no choice but for us to be happy and fulfilled for the rest of our days, however long that may be.”
And Harry was right.
Author: Alice in Muggleland (alias magpye, aka magpyeeyes)
Rating: NC17
Challenge: Ron and Harry go to visit Hagrid on a snowy day and get stuck there (Hagrid is away!)
Summary: There is adventure to be had when Harry suffers hypothermia leading to Ron suffering hyperthermia, sweating over his feelings for Harry. Features icelolly!Harry, guilt ridden randy!Ron and a hot hut.
Warnings: A few choice swear words occur, and sexuality. This fic makes a mockery of safe winter trekking and I have good reason to believe this fic violates international standards for treatment of hypothermia. For Merlyn’s sake, do NOT try this at home!
“Hermione missed a good walk,” said Ron. It was late Saturday afternoon and with Harry he had skived studying in favor of a hike around the Hogwarts lake. “She ought to have come along. The sky is beautiful, the lake is pretty and the air is fresh.”
“We must not be on the same walk Ron.” Harry untied his heavy jumper from around his waist and pulled it on over his head. “Where I’m walking, the sky is turning darker by the minute, the lake is choppy and a half mile back the wind blew my hat away.”
“No worries Harry. The way the wind is picking up, your hat will reach the castle ahead of you.” Ron’s tone was defensive, and no sooner had his words left him than an ornery blast of wind sent his own cap flying. He ran a few steps and snatched his cap from the air. Their trek around Hogwarts lake was Ron’s idea and as the weather steadily worsened over the afternoon, his idea no longer seemed as good as it had earlier in the morning when the skies were sunny, cloudless and bright. “The weather was certainly nice enough when we set out, but it is getting a bit nippy.”
“A bit nippy,” said Harry, “You mean like a yeti is a bit hairy?”
“Yes, it’s just a bit nippy. You’re just too skinny with that seeker build of yours,” teased Ron. “You haven’t enough fat to keep a budgie warm. Ought to spend a month or two at the Burrow when we leave Hogwarts. When Mum’s done with you you’ll be able to handle gale force winds in nothing but your underpants and vest.”
It was true, Harry had always been a thin lad, even after he left the Dursleys for Hogwarts and was exposed to a healthy diet. Now at sixteen Harry was older, and taller but still wiry in build. Nonetheless, Ron, who was always a hardy lad, was himself growing cold. He unwrapped his jacket from around his waist and pulled it on.
“You know though, said Harry, back on the subject of their best mate. “Hermione always nags…. I mean, ‘advises’ us to take an extra cloak or jackets and gloves when we hike. This once I do wish we’d listened to her. It’s growing so damned cold all of a sudden. I’m freezing.”
“Well it was sunny when we left, wasn’t it?” Ron was again on the defensive. “Who knew it was going to cloud over like this. And besides, we’ve only a few miles to go - I think. Ron was tall and most of him seemed to be legs. He kept having to check his pace so as to keep Harry by his side. Ron. He walked along with his head down, looking to avoid tripping on the rock-strewn path. “You know Harry,” Ron looked up and saw he was alone and he looked back up the trail. Harry stood, standing stock-still, facing north. What Harry stared at was obvious.
“Look,” Harry called out. “The sky back to the north is as black as a cauldron!”
Ron too was startled by the view of the blackening northern sky and understood the full implication of what was headed their way. The sun that had shown so brilliantly at the start of their hike had been swallowed by dark clouds that racing by overhead. The fast drifting clouds reminded Ron of white sheep fleeing before the black storm. It dawned on Ron that the increasingly cold air temperature wasn’t just an illusion; the air temperature was indeed plummeting as the storm front approached.
Harry trotted to catch up with Ron. “I really wish we had listened Hermione and brought extra clothing.” Harry was noticeably shivering.
“I wish we’d altogether skipped this outing and stayed in the library studying for our N.E.W.T.S,” muttered Ron. “A blizzard is headed this way. If the storm hits before we can reach shelter, we may bloody well freeze to death. We’ll have to make a run for it back to the castle.”
“Ron,” said Harry calmly as he began to walking again, shivering with his hands jammed under the front of his jumper in an attempt to warm his cold hands. “If the storm catches up with us, we can charm up a fire with our wands. Put a warming spell on our clothing or…”
“Or freeze to death. As Hermione keeps reminding us, magic can’t do everything. Even a great wizard like Dumbledore can’t just flick a wand and make something out of nothing. And come to that, even if such things were possible, surely neither of us have skill enough to deal with a blizzard. What would we do? Transform pine cones into little cookers in the face of that bloody great storm?”
Harry looked upwards, and watched the dark clouds rolling by overhead. “Damn. You’re right. If Hermione were here she’d probably have a charm or two in reserve.”
“I am right,” said Ron. “And I wish I wasn’t!” He gripped Harry’s arm tightly and pulled him forward at a trot that headed not down the path but towards the Forbidden Forest. “The path we meandered in on will take too long, come on, we’ll cut through the Forbidden Forest to save time. We just have to keep our wands at the ready. Come on. We should be able to make it back before that blizzard hits. Run!”
The boy lit out into a dead run towards the thick trees of the Forbidden forest and beyond that, the castle. The winds that drew the blizzard nearer howled along side of them like a third runner.
“Sounds like a pack of werewolves doesn’t it?” shouted Harry panting.
“Save your breath, run!” shouted Ron. The boys were in good shape from Quidditch practice and they ran full out, not pacing themselves for the long distance.
‘This was all my stupid idea to skive off studying for a ‘lovely little walk’. Now we’re in for it,’ thought Ron. ‘My fault entirely; if anything happens to Harry…’
Ron realized he was again outpacing Harry, and he slowed down until Harry caught up.
“You’re a born runner Ron,’ shouted Harry pulling up even with Ron.
Born runner? Born a bloody fool is more to the mark.
The boys doggedly pelted headlong through the forest, crashing through thickets, skirting huge fallen trees. Ron tortured himself with thoughts of the various dangers housed in the Forbidden Forest, many of which he had had the unpleasant experience to view, face to face over his years at Hogwarts. But as they raced along, Ron quickly realized that an enraged werewolf had nothing over the storm to their back. The first herald of white flakes were blowing past his frozen cheeks. Even the warmth from their running could not counter act the frigid air that they sucked into their pumping hot lungs. With trepidation, Ron realized if they stopped moving the cold was capable of quickly making ice lollys of he and Harry. After covering enough distance to try the wind capacity of wild highland ponies, the boys crashed through a thick stand of shrubs and stumbled to a halt. They stood trembling, bent over with their hands on their knees panting in great gasps, as wind and snow pelted them from behind. Before them, high on the hill above the vast meadow sitting like a bit of heaven, was Hogwarts castle.
Harry attempted a loud celebratory whoop but failed; the cause of failure might have been any number of reasons - his lack of wind, his clacking teeth or his inability to stop his violent shivering.
“Harry, think of warm fires, hot food and Hermione yelling at us when we stumble into the castle all in one piece,” Ron panted. The wind seemed to eat through their clothing, freezing the very marrow in their bones.
“We made it.” Harry finally managed to spit out between pants, but the howling wind soaked up his whisper. He moved forward for a last desperate run towards the castle, but Ron grabbed him by the sleeve.
Ron held his mouth near Harry’s head yelled to be heard over the maelstrom wind. “No, it’s too late Harry, the blizzard is here!” The remark was unnecessary. The castle before them was already disappearing as if by magic, behind the deadly white veil of swirling snow. The forest they had just fled also had vanished. It seemed ludicrous that less than an hour earlier, they’d carried their jackets and had walked along in their bare sleeves. “You’re shivering worse than I am mate,” Ron observed with increasing fear, and he quickly pulled off his jacket.
“S-s-s-top that Ron, are you metal?” Harry was already suffering muddled thinking from the vicious cold. “I mean are you meddle… mental?” The icy snow stung the backs of their exposed necks and their hands felt brittle as icicles as the snow and hail that buffeted their exposed skin like bullets.
Frightened Ron took Harry’s arms, jamming them into the armholes of the jacket, shrugging off his own cold. Harry was too numb with cold to protest Ron’s forfeited jacket. He startled Ron by pointing to the lake muttering something about lying down on his four-poster for a little nap. Harry thought he was back in their dorm room.
“Come on Harry, we’ll stay with Hagrid, just beyond the lake’s edge over there. We can be there inside of five minutes!”
Harry managed a nod, but then, his entire body was wracked with jerks and trembles as his remaining body heat continued to ebb away.
“We’re nearly there, let’s go,” and again Ron pulled Harry forward and side by side with they struck off at a run towards where they guessed stood Hagrid’s home.
They were skirting a tiny extension of the lake now. The world seemed surreal, glaring white on white that made them feel disoriented. Visibility was a spare six feet. Worried, Ron considered they may have already bypassed Hagrid’s hut and were headed back toward the Forbidden Forest. There was a sudden splash of water and Ron swore as he realized they had run into the water of lake’s edge. “Come on, this way,” yelled Ron and quickly took his bearing and lit out towards where Hagrid’s hut should be standing.
“Ronnn -!”
Ron stopped dead in his tracks and span around into the onslaught of snow. In the space of mere seconds, Harry was no longer at his side. He was surrounded by swirling snow.
“HARRY!” There was no answer. Ron swore to himself because he had not held onto Harry’s arm. Now they were separated by the fury of a Blizzard. “HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU HARRY?”
There was no answering call. Ron panicked. He fought the wind, walking back in the direction he believed he’d come from. He quickly realized he had no idea if he was headed in the right direction. The swirling snow had buried his tracks in quickly accumulating snowdrifts.
Don’t panic. Don’t be a fool.
Ron trod forward. “HARRY!” Shaking now with fear as much as with cold, Ron continued calling, and carefully searched the space around him. Ron’s trotted and swore again as he smashed the toe of his wet trainer against one of the large rocks that dotted the lakeshore, but there was more.
Ron dropped to his denim-covered knees in the shallow frigid water alongside Harry. Frantically Ron pulled Harry onto his back. A nasty gash was on Harry’s forehead and a lump beneath it was already rising on, just above the legendary lightning bolt scar. Harry had tripped, striking a rock as he landed.
“Fuck!” Ron ranted at the unfairness of the situation. “This is too much. Harry, wake up!” Ron slapped Harry’s cold cheeks but there was no response.
Ron quickly pulled Harry to a sitting position. Leaning into Harry, Ron quickly hefted him over his shoulder and balancing Harry carefully, Ron struggled to his feet. The cold had affected Ron’s judgment as it had Harry’s and he was too cold to remember levitating spells even existed.
Now, where hell are we? Where is Hagrid’s hut?
But Ron did not forget everything. It came to him in an instance; the Four-Points Spell. With one cold hand and his back blocking some of the wind, Ron balanced his wand on the flat of his hand. There was a trying moment when the wind lifted his wand and he managed to snatch it before it flew off into the storm. But his heart thumping, Ron tried again.
“Point me!” He silently thanked Hermione for bullying him into learning the spell following the Triwizard Tournament.
“Right then,” said Ron. His teeth were chattered as he spoke words of encouragement to himself. “If that’s north, then Hagrid’s hut should be…. over there.” Determined and resolute, Ron lurched forward, and tightening his one one-handed grip on Harry. His feet wet and numb with cold, he had one focus - reaching the hut and seeing Hagrid’s face grinning down at him.
“Hello Hagrid,” Ron muttered to himself in practice as he walked rapidly along. “Fancy a couple of overnight visitors for nice chat while the storm buries all of our arses six feet under?”
~*~*~*~*~
The flames in Hagrid’s fireplace were the most beautiful thing Ron thought he’d ever seen. He squatted before the blazing logs and sighed with some relief as he felt the warm flames take the chill out of the air.
Great. We’re out of the storm. Hagrid is nowhere to be found and even though we’re out of the blizzard we’re not out of the woods. Bloody hell.
Dejected, Ron turned to face Harry, unconscious sopping wet and settled on one of Hagrid’s huge chairs. The cold had one good effect, having kept Harry’s head wound from bleeding much. Harry wore a plaster Ron managed from strip torn from one of Hagrid’s clean dry shirts. Ron knew he had to do something beside stand and watch Harry on the chair like a limp overlarge rag doll. Ron’s quandary was not in finding a solution to the situation; the solution was obvious - strip Harry of the sodden clothing, rub some warmth into him, and then use his own body, which had already returned to near normal temperature, to infuse warmth into Harry. In the solution lay Ron’s predicament.
“Why isn’t Hagrid here,” Ron fussed to himself. “Hagrid, how could you DO this to me? Where the bloody hell are you Hagrid? Up at the castle? Waiting out the blizzard in Hogsmeade? No doubt at the Three Broomsticks, chatting with Madam Rosmerta over two buckets of Ogden’s finest?”
Were Hagrid present, Harry would already be stripped, rubbed warm, bundled up and heating up like a slice of toast by the fire. But there was no second person and Ron wasted valuable time immobilized by thoughts and ideas that dwelt in his mind for as long as he had known Harry. Finally, Ron resolved that he couldn’t just stand around watching Harry lose body heat and die of exposure.
So, I’ll just nip off Harry’s clothing and warm him up a bit. That’s all. No worries.
“Except they’ll find me here with naked Harry Potter,” Ron fussed aloud. He made his decision. “All right, let’s be sensible, being found naked with live Harry, is hands above being found clothed with dead Harry.” Ron resigned himself to the fact there was nothing else for it but to take action.
“Harry,” spoke Ron apologetically as he quickly unlaced Harry’s shoes. “I’m sorry mate. This was all my fault, the hike I mean.”
The wet shoelaces could not be untied, and Ron carefully pulled the shoes from Harry’s feet and tossing them aside. Harry’s sodden socks followed and Ron quickly undressing Harry all the while keeping his eyes averted like a maiden nurse. Soon Harry’s dripping jumper - and Ron’s donated jacket - Harry’s shirt, trousers, vest and underpants lay in a sodden heap by the fire, a mist rising up from it. That Harry could only submit to the stripping, as helpless as a child touched Ron deeply. Harry’s skin was damp and clammy and his lips were clearly an unnatural shade of blue; matching blue ears, fingers and toes completed Harry’s deadly ensemble. Ron thanked the heavens that there was no sign of frostbite, but he did not let up on himself. He swore vicious punishments on himself if Harry came out of their ‘little hike’ with any damage whatever.
“We have to get you warm Harry.”
Soon the blankets and pillows from Hagrid’s bed were laid upon the floor in front of the fireplace, making up a nest of bedclothes. Ron quickly doffed his own wet clothing. Then, gently he lifted Harry from the chair and laid him on bedding. Kneeling by Harry, Ron began gently to rub Harry’s hands and arms until they began lost the ugly bluish tinge. He then turned his attention to Harry’s feet and legs, rubbing silently, until although still quite cold to the touch, Harry’s skin was no longer blue. Ron was no longer trembling as because he knew now that at least Harry would not need to quit Quidditch for the lack of fingers with which to nab the snitch. Bereft of his own wet clothing, Ron was now completely dry, and warm to boot.
“Please Harry,” Ron pleaded in desperation, and patted his mate’s face. “Wake up. Open those beaut… eyes.”
Again, there as nothing else for it but action. Standing over Harry, Ron knelt by his side, beseeching the heavens one last time that Harry wake, but it was no good. Ron spoke encouragement to himself.
“This is how Mum had us warm each other up when my brothers and I came in near frozen and blue nosed from building snowmen when we were tykes. And my Mum was never a perv,” said Ron. True, he and his brothers would bundle together naked under blankets in front the fireplace while their mother filled them up with hot chocolate and cider. This was a bit different but well within the pitch.
Ron cringed. His Mum would never approve of this sort of thing. Carefully, he lowered himself beside Harry and pulled the load of bedclothes over himself and Harry. He shivered as the felt the strange sensation of Harry’s chilled skin against his. Ron rubbed Harry’s chest and back, his legs draped over Harry’s. Ron tried to keep his mind anywhere but on his task, because however hard he tired, he could not stop enjoying his life saving actions in a non-platonic manner; in short, Ron was heated up only a few degrees below that of the raging fireplace.
Ron held his eyes shut and tried to imagine his mother standing them saying something like ‘Now you boys warm up there and here’s a nice cuppa to warm you up and biscuits hot from the cooker.’
Still, Harry remained chilly to the touch. Ron shut his eyes, fearing Harry was going to die and it was to be his fault entirely for falling down in his duty, for not protecting Harry properly. Why hadn’t he opted for a nice game of wizard’s chess instead of insisting Harry accompany him on a hike around the lake with no spare clothing or a thought for the weather forecast?
This will make a name for me all right - ‘Ron Weasley -The Boy Who Killed the Boy Who Lived’. No. I’ll be Ron, ‘The Boy Who Killed the Boy Who Would Have Lived if He’d Listened To Hermione and Stayed in the Castle to Review for His N.E.W.T. Level Potions Exam’
Tired and wracked by guilt, Ron buried his face in Harry’s glossy black hair. His hot breath stirred the small hairs on the nape of Harry’s cold neck.
Ron cringed as he realized his worse fear was happening - he had stiffened in an unspeakably boyish part of his anatomy. Still, he continued rubbing Harry, while liberally swearing himself the sort of harm that Dobby the house elf used to subject himself to for violating his master’s trust. The sensation in his wayward willie was all at once, the best and the worst feeling Ron had thus far ever been subjected to.
Harry’s dieing and I’m getting a hard on. I am pond skum. No, I’m the stuff living under rocks in the Forbidden Forest. No, I’m not even that - I’m the mess coating the floor beneath the owls in the School’s owl rookery
‘Wake up,’ Ron continued to beg. While still dutifully rubbing Harry’s skin, Ron gave in to a sudden idea of touching his rather hot tongue to Harry’s skin for a taste. Greedily he sucked in the scent of Harry’s skin. Then, acting on pure impulse, too guilt ridden to kiss Harry’s mouth, Ron allowed himself one boon - he set his lips to Harry’s neck and he kissed it. Ron kissed Harry’s neck the way he had always dreamed of kissing Harry, or nearly so. Had he kissed Harry the way Ron would have kissed Harry’s mouth, the result would have amounted to a tracheotomy for Harry. The kiss ended as Ron felt the further sensation of his penis willfully hardening against its owner’s wishes.
I’m a bloody perv!
His own body betraying him, Ron cringed with shame over the state of his privates. He tormented himself with some simple truths. Although he’d never thought of kissing Harry’s neck there was no denying that he, Ron Weasley, had always wanted to kiss whatever portion of Harry presented itself. Long had Ron dreamed of lying atop naked Harry Potter - his mate, who trusted him.
Harry loves me, and Hermione, but he loves us like a brother, a sister, in a noble sort of way. Harry loves me the way I love my brothers. Harry doesn’t love me in the despicable way I want him in a rub myself up against him sort of way.
Ron’s own description of his love for Harry was a pitiful lie that sold himself short and ignored the nobility of his unselfish love for Harry. Make no mistake about it; Ron loved Harry with his heart and had done so for years in graduated stages. They met years ago as ikle firsters at Kings Cross Station on their first day headed for Hogwarts when Ron watched a strange emaciated little boy dressed in oversized second-hand clothing such as those Ron wore. The bespectacled boy pushed a trolley in search of Platform 9 ¾. Perhaps it was the clothing, but whatever the reason, Ron immediately the spotted boy with untidy black hair as a kindred spirit. Now, in the glow of the fireplace, Ron hugged his ‘kindred spirit’ close and willed the warmth from his body to revive the love of his life.
There was an angry noise from Ron as he protested his rage at his own urge to grind himself against his unconscious mate. He tried to take his mind off of his persistent erection, continuing to reflect on his first time together with Harry on the Hogwarts Express. Fondly he recalled how Harry smiled happily as they sampled pumpkin pasties and shared the treats from the snack trolley. They chatted merrily on the train ride and later that night, at their destination, Ron cheered as Harry was sorted into Gryffindor and then, joy of joys, he and Harry were dorm mates. Later that night, Ron snuggled alone under his duvet, feeling the stirrings of what might have then been properly called puppy love.
It was a year later that Ron first began awakening in his dorm bed, wet from peculiar and wonderful dreams that resulted in the Hogwarts house elves changing Ron’s ‘soiled’ sheets. Although growing up with so many brothers Ron knew the dreams were natural, he kept his ‘queer dreams’ secret. The dreams were always precipitated by surreptitious peeks from behind bed curtains watching Harry in various states of undress, or those times Ron spent happy afternoons watching Harry soar above the Quidditch pitch, so handsome in his uniform - the youngest seeker in a century. The key to Ron’s waking to damp sheets and sticky pyjamas was always Harry. With each wet awakening, Ron was filled with self-loathing for his ‘unnatural’ feelings.
By their third year Ron made a habit of rising early enough to be done showering before Harry woke. And if by chance Harry showed up bundled in his robe, soap and towel in hand, Ron was sure to grab his towel, shout a hasty ‘Morning Harry’ and race from the showers. Afterwards, back in their dorm room, Ron cringed inwardly because Harry gave him reproachful stares. Ron lived in terror that Harry might choose a nearby tap and observe first hand the shameful evidence of Ron’s lust rising against his freckled stomach. In his worst moments, Ron worried that Harry was already aware of Ron’s ‘unnatural’ proclivities. That Harry was aware and yet was kind enough to hide his disgust at Ron’s ignoble impulses. On the worst nights Ron lay alone and awake in his bed, frantically stroking his penis, soundlessly mouthing declarations of love for Harry Potter, The Boy Who Thrilled His Best Mate.
One summer when Ron missed Harry terribly, the anguished boy risked broaching the embarrassing topic to his father. Ron explained to his father that he was trying to get information to help out a confused mate at Hogwarts - a fatherless boy from Hufflepuff. Told the sad tale of a boy’s unrequited love and unbearable urges, Arthur Weasley advised Ron to advise ‘his Hufflepuff mate’ that yes, some wizards were not attracted to witches, but instead to other wizards. The prevailing view of many of the wizarding world was that such ‘perversions’ were the cause of the low population of wizarding folk. Arthur told Ron to tell ‘the other boy’ that he, Arthur Weasley did not see the situation that way at all.
“Ron, you must understand… tell your classmate… that love is love, and no wizard - or for that matter, no witch - can reorder the nature of their heart on command. Were I you, I would advise my school mate that his heart is not capable of obeying the edicts of society. A heart is like a wild thing that cannot be told whom to love and when. Society cannot order a heart. No, that is not how love works Ron. So your mate has a tough road Ron. Make no mistake about that.
But there is a bit of a reward at the end of it. If your ‘mate’ is lucky, the object of his affection will return his love to him. And Ron, if a wizard can experience that miracle, your ‘schoolmate’ has the makings of a happy and fulfilling life.”
Red cheeked, Ron had nodded his head, thanked his father, and retreated to his Burrow bedroom. Ron knew he was not destined for a ‘happy and fulfilling life’.
Harry was not the kind of wizard that could ‘return the love’ of a wizard mate.
Ron knew for a fact that Harry fancied a witch, the seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. When Harry, Hermoine and Ron passed the girl in the school halls, Harry’s face inevitably grew peaky. Harry stared at the witch at meal times in the Great Hall and afterwards Harry would cease talking for hours, his mind in a whirl.
Ron was sure if anyone at Hogwarts received the gift of Harry’s heart, the recipient would be the sloe-eyed witch named Cho Chang. Neither was Harry destined for happiness, for the heart of Cho had once belonged to, still belonged to a deceased Wizard by the name of Cedric Diggory.
It was a cold February day when they were fourth years that Ron and Hermione joined Gabrielle Delacour and Cho to meet with the headmaster. Dumbledore himself told Ron that that he, Ron Weasley was what Harry would most miss upon separation. Ron recalled how his cheeks burned with embarrassment as he absorbed the stupefying news that the others seemed to not think was in any way unusual. For the short while Ron allowed himself to think his life’s happiness was assured, his love was returned, that he knew pure bliss. A spell was placed on Ron and he entered an enchanted stupor that allowed him to sleep beneath the waters of Hogwarts lake.
As Ron lay helpless in the grasp of the enchanted merpeople beneath the lake waters he dreamt of a lifetime of happiness with Harry Potter. In Ron’s wonderful dream he and Harry would take a beautiful home, free from the ongoing pressures of Harry’s battle with Lord Voldemort. Harry and Ron would wake each morning in each other’s arms and start each day with tender kisses and words of love. Their mate Hermoine would be their next door neighbor and she would be married to anyone other than Victor Krum, while Cho and Cedric would move to the other side of the planet never too be seen again. The dream ended. Ron woke sputtering as he slogged alongside Harry and Gabrielle at the surface of the lake, to the roars the cheers of the Triwizard Tournament crowd. Ron was jubilant as he heard the cheers of wizard folk who were obviously not bothered that he was the one Harry would most miss. Life was brilliant.
Then still dripping from the lake waters of the second task, both Harry was kissed by the beautiful silver haired Fleur. Ron shucked off the kiss he himself received from Fleur and saw Harry staring point blank at Cho, who sat with her Cedric. Ron’s insecurities returned in a flash. He rounded on Harry, demanding to know why he had rescued Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle. So Ron’s sank again beneath his despair.
Wizard’s chess. That was what Harry would miss. Someone to discuss Quidditch with. That was what Harry wanted. I was only wanted because Cho was already spoken for. Because Hermione was already spoken for by that git Victor Krum. If it was not for Diggory or Krum, Harry would have chosen Hermione and I wouldn’t have had to go through this.
“R-Ron….”
Ron jerked, jolted from his memories of his disgrace at the Triwizard Tournament. “Harry?” Ron’s heart thumped wildly.
“R-R-Ron….” Harry stammered as he struggled to gain conciousness. “R-Ron?”
“Harry…” Ron could feel Harry’s movement beneath him, the tensing and stretch of Harry’s awakening muscles. So startled and overwhelmed by the miracle of Harry waking was Ron that he momentarily forgot his nakedness and compromising position, his arms and legs wrapped protectively around Harry’s body.
“Ron, what…?” asked Harry in a voice so low Ron could barely make out the words.
“Harry, you’re awake! You’re alive. I thought you were dieing but you’re going to be all right, right as rain.”
Harry was no longer corpse still - he wriggled like a kitten seeking comfort and warmth, and weak as a kitten, Harry was too tired to speak any longer. There was the soft noise of Harry’s breathing and Ron realized Harry had fallen back to sleep. He wondered if Harry would eventually remember waking at all. Ron shut his eyes. Harry was alive and would remain so.
At least for now, the exhaustion from the afternoon’s activities and from stress overtook Ron. There was no room in Ron’s heart and mind for anything but gratitude. Soon both boys were peacefully snoozing, bundled in front of the blazing fireplace.
Late that night, Ron woke and lay on his side. His mind a bit muddled, he mentally mapped his physical position - his legs draped over Harry, his arms cuddling Harry’s torso and his long freckled nose touching Harry’s. Ron eased his eyes open. Starring back at him, were piercing green eyes, wide, wakeful, and staring into Ron’s own blue eyes.
“I’M SORRY HARRY!” Ron squealed and leapt up, onto his feet as quickly as he could. He stumbled over the blankets. Looking down at himself, Ron gasped and his hands flew down to cover his substantial and as yet unappeased erection, his ‘morning glory’.
“What?” said Harry startled. “Ron, are you all right?” Harry’s voice was full of concern and he sat up. Sitting up however gave him a full appreciation of Ron’s unmistakable condition. Harry’s eyes grew as large as remembralls and with an audible gasp, he quickly looked to the wooden floor in an effort to avoid looking at Ron. “OUCH!” Harry yelped and winced. He raised a hand to his forehead and made a sucking noise as he gingerly touched Ron’s makeshift plaster over the painful lump on his forehead. “My head is aching. And Ron, you’re… naked!” Harry sounded shocked within an inch of his life. Why were we sleeping here… NAKED?”
There was some explaining to do, but Ron was, so to speak, ‘up’ to the task. “You remember Harry, yesterday, our hike we were walking, quiet like and a humongous bigarse blizzard blew in! We had to run for it, and the snow whooshed in! You were freezing Harry! I gave you my jacket but you were stupid. Muttering nonsense like a nutter, and well we were running for our lives, then you were GONE Harry! Just like that, you were lost. So I had to find you didn’t I? And I thought, ok Ron Weasley, your mate is depending on you, now think. So I hunted everywhere and crikey! Found you! Got you here to Hagrid’s and damn me but Hagrid was GONE! Just you and me and you freezing to death!”
Ron looked hopefully down at Harry, to see if his incredible story of bravery and survival was making any sort of impression on Harry. “I said Harry, you were freezing to death!”
Harry looked up shyly. A large drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, and to the end of his nose. “Right. I was freezing.”
It was an act of pure faith that Harry believed Ron. In the course of the night, either the blazing fireplace, or the boys, had heated the bedclothes. Harry and Ron woke as hot and sweaty as if they had fallen asleep in a sauna bath at high noon in Ecuador during a tropical heat wave.
Ron continued. “So quick like, I lit a fire and there you were, soaking wet and cold Harry. I knew I had to pull your clothes off.”
Harry looked over to the pile of clothing that lay in a heap like dry autumn leaves. He noticed his y-fronts were a bit singed from the roaring fire. “Right Ron, wet, cold.”
“There was no choice Harry...” this was the part of the story that was the trickiest. Ron chose his words carefully. “I had to strip your arse naked as a doxie and warm you up. But I did not enjoy it, not one bit! Honest Harry!”
No doubt about it, for the most part, Ron’s story was dead convincing. There was the thing about his erection, but it was morning and with boys those sort of things did happen.
“Honest Harry. That is Merlyn’s truth by my wizard’s honor. Every word was true. I had to strip you naked or you’d have frozen to death. You were as blue as a Cornish Pixie, honest you were. What I did, I did proper like. No funny business. Uh… want a lovely cup of hot tea Harry?”
“Ron,” Harry looked around hopefully. “Is there any iced lemon squash?”
Even considering that Ron was standing in the firelight, he grew quite red faced. Just his luck. In spite of all of Ron’s hard work, Harry was probably going to die anyway - from heat stroke.
Harry spoke breathlessly, “We made it to Hagrid’s cabin then. I do remember running, and falling. Everything is muddled after that. All I can remember is…” Harry rolled his eyes upward, giddily piecing bits of information together. “I had a sort of queer dream. Don’t misunderstand Ron, I… I dreamt we were here - in front of Hagrid’s fireplace and you were… don’t misunderstand me, Ron. I mean, well, the strange thing was, you… you kissed me.” Harry raised his hand, touching his own neck. “It felt so real. Did you do that Ron? Did you kiss my neck?”
The kiss was not a dream. Ron felt ill. Now the nightmare would begin. Harry was the manly sort. There was no way he would overlook waking up naked with Ron wrapped around him like a helping of ‘toad in the hole’. Ron’s imagination went wild. Harry would have to report Ron to the Headmaster. The youngest male Weasley would be thrown out of Hogwarts before the end of his sixth year, Ron’s wand - the wooden one - snapped in two. ‘That perv Weasley’, would live out the remainder of his shameful days, selling apples on a street corner in Knockturn Alley.
“Me? Kiss your… kiss your neck?” squeaked Ron. “You mean with my uh… lips?”
Harry shut his eyes. “It must have been a dream. I was cold - as if a pack of dementors were closing in on me. I was like ice but I could feel you holding me and I thought…I thought I thought I would die - ”
Ron blurted, “I didn’t mean… Harry, I’m so sorry…”
“ - And through the cold I could feel your lips on me Ron,” said Harry. “I just thought I would curl up and die...”
“Harry, please, I - !”
“…I thought I would just curl up and die from happiness.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Your kiss Ron. Like a petronus only... no, no! No, your lips were sweet, warming like chocolate after I’ve faced a dementor. Your kiss spread in me, welled up feelings in me, warmed me. My dreams had come true.” Harry smiled shyly up at Ron. “You did kiss me, didn’t you?” Harry sounded like a child that wanted assurance that it was indeed Christmas day, and that Father Christmas had brought a sack full of lovely presents.
Life is too sweet, precious and wonderful to be true. Surely this is some wild dream and I’m actually asleep in the commons, snoring over my Transfiguration revision.
“Ron, “ said Harry. I’ve loved you for so long and I’ve dreamed of… Could you really love me? Love me the way I love you?”
“Make no mistake Harry. I love you.” Ron dropped to the bedclothes on his knees, his hand still covering his ‘shameful’ privates. “Yes Harry,” Ron moved carefully, least he jostle himself, causing the wonderful dream of Harry’s acceptance to come to a sudden end. Ron reached out a hand and cupped it on Harry’s cheek. Ron’s eyes were wide, the better to take in the miracle. Harry’s eyebrows were unfurling and the sparkling eyes peered through coal black lashes into Ron’s eyes, and the look was soft, loving, tender.
Then there was another miracle. Harry took Ron’s hand, held it to his lips and kissed it. Pressing Ron’s palm to his cheek Harry spoke his heart, crooning in a voice that Ron had never heard before.
“I love you Ron, I’ve always loved you from the first day I met you at King’s Cross, and you looked at me, so friendly and wanting to be my friend. You smiled at me and I felt all giddy and didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand for a long, long time. It took years for me to realize that only you made me feel like that, all giddy and stupid and sweaty. And I thought you knew I felt ‘that way’ about you. It nearly killed me when I woke every single morning realizing how much I disgusted you. But now maybe, maybe you really have forgiven me and maybe we can….”
“What?” sputtered Ron, as jolted as if Harry had slapped him. “What do you mean ‘you disgusted me’?” The idea was absurd. “You think I was disgusted by, by you Harry? What are you on about?”
“You know what I mean,” said Harry, his eyes again suddenly avoiding Ron’s. “Mornings. When I come into the shower room. The way you look at me, grab your towel and run away. And the way you always dress on the far side of your four-poster from mine, so I can’t stare at you. You can’t fool me. I know I’ve made you dead ill - wanting you the way I do. I know you are only letting me say things to you because you’re… so wonderful.”
Ron was still struck dumb with amazement.
Harry continued. “Do you know, I even tried to become interested in witches. There was Cho. She was sort of lanky like you - tall. Small tits. Pretty hair and dead keen on Quidditch…”
“Right Harry, Cho is very nearly my twin,” said Ron seriously. The world was too ridiculous. “No, you got it all wrong Harry. In the showers I didn’t want you to see..” Ron took a deep breath, dropped his hands from his ever swollen boy accoutrements and revealed himself in his full boy glory to Harry.
“Well,” said Harry shyly. “I guess you do fancy me then?” Harry shoved the dead weight of the heavy bedclothes back from himself, lay on his back and opened his arms, beckoning his lover - a lover, old and yet new.
Trembling, Ron pulled Harry’s glasses off tossing them onto the nearby pile of their rumpled clothes. Ron gently laid himself down by Harry’s side and kissed the lids over the myopic eyes. Soon Ron was licking, kissing the ears he had so often whispered into, saying such things as ‘Shush Harry, I hear someone coming,’ and ‘Quick, Harry, we can duck into that room…’ and jokingly, ‘this invisibility cape gets smaller every year Harry’. Things were different now though. Now Ron whispered what had always dwelt on the tip of his tongue each time his lips had chanced to fleetingly pause by Harry’s ears: ‘You’re mine Harry’, ‘I love you Harry’ and ‘your skin is heaven Harry’ and ‘Harry… my father told me, if a wizard… if I, was ever lucky enough to have my love returned to me by the one I love, it would be a miracle and I might just be happy and fulfilled for the rest of my days.’
Harry closed his arms around Ron’s neck and pulled him even closer so their skin was a soft tapestry of tan, and white and freckles.
”Yes Ron, there’s no choice but for us to be happy and fulfilled for the rest of our days, however long that may be.”
And Harry was right.