Conversations on Harry's Bed - 1/1 - Adult - Harry/Ron
Title: Conversations on Harry's Bed (1/1)
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult, for language
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: They ended up like this most days, just lying on Harry’s bed, talking. Harry/Ron.
Word Count: 2856.
Harry hadn’t so much as come out as yelled that he was gay to a journalist. He had been in a particularly bad mood that day and the wizard had ambushed him when they - Harry, Ron and Hermione - been leaving a restaurant. The journalist started asking him inane questions, including the eternally annoying, “So, do you have a girlfriend?”
Harry had snapped, actually scaring Ron a little. There was nothing quite like Harry Potter in a rage.
More than just being scared of Harry’s bad mood, Ron was pissed off with him. Harry hadn’t even told him and Hermione that he fancied blokes - hadn’t they at least deserved to be the first to know after everything that they’d been through together?
Thankfully, after Harry made this shock announcement he was far more relaxed in general. Ron couldn’t help but feel a little more tense, though. Just because they were two blokes who were best mates and lived together did not mean that they were fucking. Hermione found this endlessly amusing, especially because it was a tad tricky for Ron to pull a witch when practically all the witches in the country thought that we was sleeping with Harry Potter.
They lived together, they ate together, they drank together. But they did not sleep together.
Yawning, Ron kicked off his shoes. There were days when Quidditch practice really took it out of Ron; it was good to get home. Their flat wasn’t exactly the Burrow, but it was home and relatively clean. He winced, shoulders aching from exertion. “Harry?”
“In here.” Harry’s voice came from his bedroom, so Ron went in to investigate. Harry was lying on his bed, reading, which made Ron grin. This was pretty normal for Harry - after work, he usually read to unwind. Ron preferred a drink, but Harry seemed to like the trashy romance novels that he got second-hand from Bill. Ron don’t really understand it. Where was the attraction for a gay bloke reading about a straight couple? Wouldn’t that be like a straight woman reading about two gay men?
“D’you have a good day at work?” Ron flopped down onto the bed, feet resting on the pillow by Harry’s head so that they were top-to-tail. They ended up like this most days, just lying on Harry’s bed, talking. It was comfortable than the sofa; Ron got more legroom.
“Not bad,” Harry said, flipping over the page of his book. He wrinkled his nose. “Your feet smell.”
“Do not.” Frowning, Ron contorted his body as he attempted to pull his foot up towards his face. He sniffed. “Okay, so they do a bit.”
Harry laughed at the sight. “Get your smelly socks off my pillow.”
“No.” Ron flashed him a crooked grin, thinking that Harry’s cheeks looked a little flushed. There wasn’t a hole in the crotch of his jeans, was there? It wouldn’t be the first time. A quick check. Nope.
He nudged Harry’s shoulder with his foot. “Want to get a takeaway tonight? Can’t be arsed to cook.”
“Sure.”
“Indian?”
“Chinese,” Harry countered. He closed his book, looking at Ron. “You always get wind when we have a curry.”
Ron scowled. “Do not.”
“Do too. I can hear you farting from the next room.”
Huffing, Ron said, “I still want a curry.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I did warn you.” He smiled, looking a little more relaxed. “Shall we invite Hermione over? Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks.”
“She was all loved-up last time I saw her.”
“Has been ever since she moved in with Charlie.”
“What does he have that I don’t?” Ron asked, idly scratching his belly, his t-shirt riding up.
“Muscles?”
“Prick,” Ron grumbled good-naturedly, nudging Harry with his foot again. “Don’t tell me you fancy him, too.”
“Course not.” Harry licked his lips. “I prefer my blokes… taller.”
Ron snorted. “So you fancy Bill, then?” That would certainly explain their bonding over books.
“No,” Harry answered shortly. He rolled off the bed. “I’ll go Floo Hermione. You can pick the food.”
When Hermione arrived, Ron thought that she didn’t look particularly loved-up. She looked a little miserable, actually. Ron grinned at her, anyway, hoping to cheer her up and giving her a hug, practically pulling her into the flat. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t be a good idea if the first thing he did was comment that she had a face like a slapped arse. “Come in. Harry’s gone to get the food.”
“Why didn’t he get it delivered?” she asked with a frown.
“The takeaway’s only down the road,” Ron said with a shrug. “If he walks, I think Harry feels a little less guilty later when he’s eaten too much.”
Hermione laughed, but Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you alright?”
She shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I haven’t slept well the last couple of nights.”
Ron slung an arm around her shoulder, giving her a friendly squeeze. “I’m going to get us something to drink. The we can talk about it.” He grinned. “Why don’t you go and lie down on Harry’s bed?”
“Harry’s bed?”
“It’s a very nice bed,” Ron confirmed with a nod. “Good firm mattress.”
“You’ve been testing it?” Hermione asked raising her eyebrows.
Ron glowered. “What are you trying to insinuate?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. If Ron hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that she looked embarrassed. Hermione didn’t honestly think that he was sleeping with Harry, did she? Fuck it. She knew better than that.
“Good. Go into Harry’s room: we can have dinner in bed.”
“Dinner in bed?”
“Yeah. Like breakfast in bed. Only with curry and lager.”
Hermione laughed. “Isn’t that what you had for breakfast on New Year’s Day?”
“So?” he asked, bemused. “Bed. Now.”
Still laughing, Hermione went to Harry’s bedroom. Ron was sure he heard her mumble something about how that normally only worked with Charlie. He chose to ignore that: Hermione!sex was not something he wished to imagine.
When Harry arrived home, his arm aching slightly from the bag of food he was carrying, he was surprised to hear voices coming from his bedroom. He stood in the door, watching them for a moment before clearing his throat. “What have I told you about taking girls back to my bedroom?”
Ron grinned at him from where he was spread out down one side of the bed. “We’re eating in here,” he announced. “And Hermione doesn’t count.”
Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, waved at Harry. “Hello, Harry. And why don’t I count?” Hermione asked Ron. “I’m a girl.”
“But you’re Hermione and you’re shagging my brother, so you doubly don’t count,” Ron told her firmly as Harry put the bag on the bed and tugged off his shoes, warning them not to get food on his bedspread.
Hermione sighed - sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing with Ron’s logic as she invariably ended up with a headache - and drained the last of her bottle of lager. “I’m not shagging him at the moment.”
“Problem?” Harry asked, sitting next to her on the bed and kissing her on the cheek. She sighed again as Ron Summoned some plates and cutlery, which landed noisily on the bed, although thankfully didn’t break or impale anyone.
She pulled Ron’s bottle from his hand, despite his protest, and look a quick swig. Harry and Ron exchanged a look. “We thought I might be pregnant and Charlie got all excited and then it turned out I wasn’t so now he’s all… grouchy.” She gave them both a glare. “There. That’s it. Now can we talk about something else? Like how Ron really needs to do something about his smelly feet.”
“Grouchy Charlie?” Ron asked, frowning, thinking back to when he was younger and Charlie had gone through his moody-teenager stage. “He’s no fun.”
“Ron,” Harry warned darkly, his hand gently rubbing Hermione’s back.
“Sorry.” He offered Hermione a smile. “Er, d’you want to spend the night here? I was planning on getting you so pissed you won’t be able to Apparate, anyway, so you might as well agree now, while you’re sober.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Thank you.”
With Hermione asleep on the bed between them, Ron yawned stretching out his legs. He felt comfortably full, and just a little drunk, which was a nice combination. “Harry?” he asked.
Harry was lying on the other side of Hermione. He echoed Ron’s yawn. “Wha’?” he asked sleepily.
“D’you ever want kids?”
“Maybe. I dunno.” Harry pulled off his glasses, putting them on the bedside table. He blinked blearily at Ron, rubbing his eyes. “It might be nice. Probably have to adopt.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ron, blushing as he remembered. He rested his head on the pillow.
“What about you?”
“Who knows. Maybe. At the moment, I see myself as Cool Uncle Ron.” He grinned, even though Harry couldn’t see him properly.
“Since when have you been cool?” Harry asked dryly.
“I’m cool!” Ron protested. “I’m very cool. You’re not cool.”
Harry made a dismissive sound. “I’m Harry Potter. Of course I’m cool.”
“You’re drunk.” There was no way Harry would say something like that otherwise.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“Me too.”
Waking up in the morning, Ron sighed contentedly, his eyes still closed and arm curled around a warm body. It had been a while since he’d woken up in bed with a girl, and it was still nice, even if it were only Hermione.
Wait. Hold on one second. Hermione didn’t have a hairy chest. She had breasts, too, and definitely more hair on her head. Ron frowned. “Harry?” he asked tentatively, gently pulling his hand out from under the t-shirt.
The body moved. “Ron?” It was definitely Harry. “You in my bed? ’M I dreamin’?”
Ron snorted. “Dream about me often, do you?” he asked, rolling away from Harry and onto his back. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Sniffing, he said, “I think Hermione’s making breakfast.” His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Leaving Harry in bed, Ron padded barefoot out to the kitchen, but hung back when he saw that Charlie had arrived. Hermione was making breakfast - scrambled eggs, by the look of it, and she added several slices of bacon to a frying pan.
“D’you reckon I should talk to him?” Charlie asked, his brow furrowed.
“No, leave Ron alone,” Hermione told him, in a tone that was all too familiar to Ron. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Will he, though?”
“You did see then just now, did you? I think it’s only a matter of time.”
Charlie frowned. “Harry’s crazy about him, huh?”
“He loves him,” Hermione corrected gently. “But you know what Harry’s like with relationships.” She passed the eggs to Charlie to cook and Ron was slightly amused to see his brother obediently follow her wordless order.
He would have been more amused, however, if he hadn’t been too stunned by their conversation.
“Doesn’t want to bollocks things up?”
“Doesn’t want to scare him off.”
“Both,” said Harry softly, behind Ron.
Ron turned, gaping. “Harry…” he started, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“I think I might go back to bed,” Harry said, unable to look Ron in the eye. “Feel a little ill. Must’ve… I must have drunk too much last night.”
He closed the door firmly behind him, just short of slamming it. Ron turned back to the kitchen; Hermione and Charlie were staring at him.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” Ron asked forlornly, not sure why he hadn’t noticed how Harry felt before. They lived together for Merlin’s sake! How could he have not noticed his best mate being in love with him?
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing. It was one that Ron had given Harry for Christmas with a naked male torso on the front. It always made Ron smile to see Harry wearing it; he’d thought it was funny, although that now took on a whole new meaning. “You’re not an idiot.”
“Just a little dense,” Charlie offered. Hermione thumped him, glaring at him and telling him to be quiet. “No, I’m not going to shut up,” he protested. He looked at his younger brother. “You’re not going to do any good standing out here. Go and talk to him.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then go and listen to him.” Charlie nudged Hermione out of the way, reaching for something to turn the bacon. “I’m sure he’s got plenty of speeches all rehearsed in his head.”
Hermione gave Ron a sympathetic smile, and Ron suddenly felt very smell and very young. It was as though everyone else knew what was going on in his head, but not him. “Am I in love with him?” he asked, because if anyone would know, it was Hermione.
“Oh, Ron.”
“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair. Ron had never been with a bloke before, unless you counted mutual wanking with Seamus once upon a time, but now that he was thinking about Harry in that way, a lot of things were making a lot of sense. Little things, like the way Harry would look at him sometimes, or the things he would say.
There was the way Ron would look at Harry, too. How his gaze would always fall to Harry’s arse when Harry asked him how he looked, for example. Harry had won Witch Weekly’s Rear of the Year; but Ron had always tried to dismiss that as checking out the competition.
But since when had Harry been competition? He was just Harry. His Harry. Ron wasn’t sure when he had started thinking of Harry so possessively but, in a way, Harry had always been his Harry, ever since they’d met.
It wasn’t as though they liked the same thing, either. Ron frowned as he thought of blokes that he had seen Harry with in the past. There hadn’t been that many, really, although Ron remembered yesterday’s conversation with Harry and teasing him about fancying Bill. In this new light, Harry’s short answer of ‘no’ said a lot more than just that one syllable.
“Ron?” Hermione asked. He blinked. “You were staring into space,” she offered softly when he finally focussed on her again.
He scowled and turned on his heel, barging back into Harry’s room and slamming the door behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and looking so much younger. “Why didn’t I tell you? Because! I didn’t want to fuck things up.” A dark look settled on Harry’s features and Ron felt a pang of guilt because he was the one who was making Harry feel bad.
“No, you wouldn’t. I’m the one who fucks things up around here.” He offered a crooked grin. Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but didn’t quite break into a smile. Ron was silent for a few moments. “How long?”
“Don’t know. A while. I think I’ve always kind of loved you.”
“You could have told me. You can tell me anything.”
“This is a bit different. This isn’t me telling you that I’ve used the last of the milk.”
“You never use the last of the milk,” Ron pointed out. “You always leave it for me.” Harry was good like that, always knowing how much Ron treasured his first mug of tea in the morning. Oh, look: another one of those ‘little things’.
“Don’t pick holes in my example.”
“Sorry.” Ron sighed and flopped down on the bed, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. “So… you didn’t tell me because you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”
“Yeah. And you don’t.” Harry looked down at him curiously. “Do you?” He licked his lips and Ron felt as though he’d been Petrified as he watched Harry’s tongue dart out.
“I dunno,” he mumbled. Harry raised his eyebrows. “But I might be willing to see. Try anything once. Unless it’s something the twins are offering.”
“You’re an idiot,” Harry chided.
“I think I’m going to be hearing that a lot soon.”
Harry grinned and finally kissed him. Ron struggled up into a sitting position, their lips still pressed tightly together. Moaning softly, Harry’s fingers threaded into Ron’s hair tugging him closer. When he finally released him, Ron whimpered. “Okay. I think I might be gay.”
“If I’d known that that was all it took, I would have done that a long time ago.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
Harry did more than that. Kissing Ron, his hand cupped Ron through his trousers; they’d fallen asleep fully-clothed last night. Now, Harry’s fingers fiddled nervously with the fly of his trousers. Ron reached down a hand to stop him.
“My brother and Hermione are in the kitchen.”
“Don’t care,” Harry mumbled, pushing Ron’s hand away. “We walked in on them shagging on the stairs. “Think it’s our turn for some fun.”
“Oh, right,” said Ron, remembering that incident and then trying to forget it. “Carry on, then.”
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult, for language
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: They ended up like this most days, just lying on Harry’s bed, talking. Harry/Ron.
Word Count: 2856.
Harry hadn’t so much as come out as yelled that he was gay to a journalist. He had been in a particularly bad mood that day and the wizard had ambushed him when they - Harry, Ron and Hermione - been leaving a restaurant. The journalist started asking him inane questions, including the eternally annoying, “So, do you have a girlfriend?”
Harry had snapped, actually scaring Ron a little. There was nothing quite like Harry Potter in a rage.
More than just being scared of Harry’s bad mood, Ron was pissed off with him. Harry hadn’t even told him and Hermione that he fancied blokes - hadn’t they at least deserved to be the first to know after everything that they’d been through together?
Thankfully, after Harry made this shock announcement he was far more relaxed in general. Ron couldn’t help but feel a little more tense, though. Just because they were two blokes who were best mates and lived together did not mean that they were fucking. Hermione found this endlessly amusing, especially because it was a tad tricky for Ron to pull a witch when practically all the witches in the country thought that we was sleeping with Harry Potter.
They lived together, they ate together, they drank together. But they did not sleep together.
Yawning, Ron kicked off his shoes. There were days when Quidditch practice really took it out of Ron; it was good to get home. Their flat wasn’t exactly the Burrow, but it was home and relatively clean. He winced, shoulders aching from exertion. “Harry?”
“In here.” Harry’s voice came from his bedroom, so Ron went in to investigate. Harry was lying on his bed, reading, which made Ron grin. This was pretty normal for Harry - after work, he usually read to unwind. Ron preferred a drink, but Harry seemed to like the trashy romance novels that he got second-hand from Bill. Ron don’t really understand it. Where was the attraction for a gay bloke reading about a straight couple? Wouldn’t that be like a straight woman reading about two gay men?
“D’you have a good day at work?” Ron flopped down onto the bed, feet resting on the pillow by Harry’s head so that they were top-to-tail. They ended up like this most days, just lying on Harry’s bed, talking. It was comfortable than the sofa; Ron got more legroom.
“Not bad,” Harry said, flipping over the page of his book. He wrinkled his nose. “Your feet smell.”
“Do not.” Frowning, Ron contorted his body as he attempted to pull his foot up towards his face. He sniffed. “Okay, so they do a bit.”
Harry laughed at the sight. “Get your smelly socks off my pillow.”
“No.” Ron flashed him a crooked grin, thinking that Harry’s cheeks looked a little flushed. There wasn’t a hole in the crotch of his jeans, was there? It wouldn’t be the first time. A quick check. Nope.
He nudged Harry’s shoulder with his foot. “Want to get a takeaway tonight? Can’t be arsed to cook.”
“Sure.”
“Indian?”
“Chinese,” Harry countered. He closed his book, looking at Ron. “You always get wind when we have a curry.”
Ron scowled. “Do not.”
“Do too. I can hear you farting from the next room.”
Huffing, Ron said, “I still want a curry.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I did warn you.” He smiled, looking a little more relaxed. “Shall we invite Hermione over? Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks.”
“She was all loved-up last time I saw her.”
“Has been ever since she moved in with Charlie.”
“What does he have that I don’t?” Ron asked, idly scratching his belly, his t-shirt riding up.
“Muscles?”
“Prick,” Ron grumbled good-naturedly, nudging Harry with his foot again. “Don’t tell me you fancy him, too.”
“Course not.” Harry licked his lips. “I prefer my blokes… taller.”
Ron snorted. “So you fancy Bill, then?” That would certainly explain their bonding over books.
“No,” Harry answered shortly. He rolled off the bed. “I’ll go Floo Hermione. You can pick the food.”
When Hermione arrived, Ron thought that she didn’t look particularly loved-up. She looked a little miserable, actually. Ron grinned at her, anyway, hoping to cheer her up and giving her a hug, practically pulling her into the flat. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t be a good idea if the first thing he did was comment that she had a face like a slapped arse. “Come in. Harry’s gone to get the food.”
“Why didn’t he get it delivered?” she asked with a frown.
“The takeaway’s only down the road,” Ron said with a shrug. “If he walks, I think Harry feels a little less guilty later when he’s eaten too much.”
Hermione laughed, but Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you alright?”
She shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I haven’t slept well the last couple of nights.”
Ron slung an arm around her shoulder, giving her a friendly squeeze. “I’m going to get us something to drink. The we can talk about it.” He grinned. “Why don’t you go and lie down on Harry’s bed?”
“Harry’s bed?”
“It’s a very nice bed,” Ron confirmed with a nod. “Good firm mattress.”
“You’ve been testing it?” Hermione asked raising her eyebrows.
Ron glowered. “What are you trying to insinuate?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. If Ron hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that she looked embarrassed. Hermione didn’t honestly think that he was sleeping with Harry, did she? Fuck it. She knew better than that.
“Good. Go into Harry’s room: we can have dinner in bed.”
“Dinner in bed?”
“Yeah. Like breakfast in bed. Only with curry and lager.”
Hermione laughed. “Isn’t that what you had for breakfast on New Year’s Day?”
“So?” he asked, bemused. “Bed. Now.”
Still laughing, Hermione went to Harry’s bedroom. Ron was sure he heard her mumble something about how that normally only worked with Charlie. He chose to ignore that: Hermione!sex was not something he wished to imagine.
When Harry arrived home, his arm aching slightly from the bag of food he was carrying, he was surprised to hear voices coming from his bedroom. He stood in the door, watching them for a moment before clearing his throat. “What have I told you about taking girls back to my bedroom?”
Ron grinned at him from where he was spread out down one side of the bed. “We’re eating in here,” he announced. “And Hermione doesn’t count.”
Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, waved at Harry. “Hello, Harry. And why don’t I count?” Hermione asked Ron. “I’m a girl.”
“But you’re Hermione and you’re shagging my brother, so you doubly don’t count,” Ron told her firmly as Harry put the bag on the bed and tugged off his shoes, warning them not to get food on his bedspread.
Hermione sighed - sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing with Ron’s logic as she invariably ended up with a headache - and drained the last of her bottle of lager. “I’m not shagging him at the moment.”
“Problem?” Harry asked, sitting next to her on the bed and kissing her on the cheek. She sighed again as Ron Summoned some plates and cutlery, which landed noisily on the bed, although thankfully didn’t break or impale anyone.
She pulled Ron’s bottle from his hand, despite his protest, and look a quick swig. Harry and Ron exchanged a look. “We thought I might be pregnant and Charlie got all excited and then it turned out I wasn’t so now he’s all… grouchy.” She gave them both a glare. “There. That’s it. Now can we talk about something else? Like how Ron really needs to do something about his smelly feet.”
“Grouchy Charlie?” Ron asked, frowning, thinking back to when he was younger and Charlie had gone through his moody-teenager stage. “He’s no fun.”
“Ron,” Harry warned darkly, his hand gently rubbing Hermione’s back.
“Sorry.” He offered Hermione a smile. “Er, d’you want to spend the night here? I was planning on getting you so pissed you won’t be able to Apparate, anyway, so you might as well agree now, while you’re sober.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Thank you.”
With Hermione asleep on the bed between them, Ron yawned stretching out his legs. He felt comfortably full, and just a little drunk, which was a nice combination. “Harry?” he asked.
Harry was lying on the other side of Hermione. He echoed Ron’s yawn. “Wha’?” he asked sleepily.
“D’you ever want kids?”
“Maybe. I dunno.” Harry pulled off his glasses, putting them on the bedside table. He blinked blearily at Ron, rubbing his eyes. “It might be nice. Probably have to adopt.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ron, blushing as he remembered. He rested his head on the pillow.
“What about you?”
“Who knows. Maybe. At the moment, I see myself as Cool Uncle Ron.” He grinned, even though Harry couldn’t see him properly.
“Since when have you been cool?” Harry asked dryly.
“I’m cool!” Ron protested. “I’m very cool. You’re not cool.”
Harry made a dismissive sound. “I’m Harry Potter. Of course I’m cool.”
“You’re drunk.” There was no way Harry would say something like that otherwise.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“Me too.”
Waking up in the morning, Ron sighed contentedly, his eyes still closed and arm curled around a warm body. It had been a while since he’d woken up in bed with a girl, and it was still nice, even if it were only Hermione.
Wait. Hold on one second. Hermione didn’t have a hairy chest. She had breasts, too, and definitely more hair on her head. Ron frowned. “Harry?” he asked tentatively, gently pulling his hand out from under the t-shirt.
The body moved. “Ron?” It was definitely Harry. “You in my bed? ’M I dreamin’?”
Ron snorted. “Dream about me often, do you?” he asked, rolling away from Harry and onto his back. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Sniffing, he said, “I think Hermione’s making breakfast.” His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Leaving Harry in bed, Ron padded barefoot out to the kitchen, but hung back when he saw that Charlie had arrived. Hermione was making breakfast - scrambled eggs, by the look of it, and she added several slices of bacon to a frying pan.
“D’you reckon I should talk to him?” Charlie asked, his brow furrowed.
“No, leave Ron alone,” Hermione told him, in a tone that was all too familiar to Ron. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Will he, though?”
“You did see then just now, did you? I think it’s only a matter of time.”
Charlie frowned. “Harry’s crazy about him, huh?”
“He loves him,” Hermione corrected gently. “But you know what Harry’s like with relationships.” She passed the eggs to Charlie to cook and Ron was slightly amused to see his brother obediently follow her wordless order.
He would have been more amused, however, if he hadn’t been too stunned by their conversation.
“Doesn’t want to bollocks things up?”
“Doesn’t want to scare him off.”
“Both,” said Harry softly, behind Ron.
Ron turned, gaping. “Harry…” he started, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“I think I might go back to bed,” Harry said, unable to look Ron in the eye. “Feel a little ill. Must’ve… I must have drunk too much last night.”
He closed the door firmly behind him, just short of slamming it. Ron turned back to the kitchen; Hermione and Charlie were staring at him.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” Ron asked forlornly, not sure why he hadn’t noticed how Harry felt before. They lived together for Merlin’s sake! How could he have not noticed his best mate being in love with him?
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing. It was one that Ron had given Harry for Christmas with a naked male torso on the front. It always made Ron smile to see Harry wearing it; he’d thought it was funny, although that now took on a whole new meaning. “You’re not an idiot.”
“Just a little dense,” Charlie offered. Hermione thumped him, glaring at him and telling him to be quiet. “No, I’m not going to shut up,” he protested. He looked at his younger brother. “You’re not going to do any good standing out here. Go and talk to him.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then go and listen to him.” Charlie nudged Hermione out of the way, reaching for something to turn the bacon. “I’m sure he’s got plenty of speeches all rehearsed in his head.”
Hermione gave Ron a sympathetic smile, and Ron suddenly felt very smell and very young. It was as though everyone else knew what was going on in his head, but not him. “Am I in love with him?” he asked, because if anyone would know, it was Hermione.
“Oh, Ron.”
“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair. Ron had never been with a bloke before, unless you counted mutual wanking with Seamus once upon a time, but now that he was thinking about Harry in that way, a lot of things were making a lot of sense. Little things, like the way Harry would look at him sometimes, or the things he would say.
There was the way Ron would look at Harry, too. How his gaze would always fall to Harry’s arse when Harry asked him how he looked, for example. Harry had won Witch Weekly’s Rear of the Year; but Ron had always tried to dismiss that as checking out the competition.
But since when had Harry been competition? He was just Harry. His Harry. Ron wasn’t sure when he had started thinking of Harry so possessively but, in a way, Harry had always been his Harry, ever since they’d met.
It wasn’t as though they liked the same thing, either. Ron frowned as he thought of blokes that he had seen Harry with in the past. There hadn’t been that many, really, although Ron remembered yesterday’s conversation with Harry and teasing him about fancying Bill. In this new light, Harry’s short answer of ‘no’ said a lot more than just that one syllable.
“Ron?” Hermione asked. He blinked. “You were staring into space,” she offered softly when he finally focussed on her again.
He scowled and turned on his heel, barging back into Harry’s room and slamming the door behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and looking so much younger. “Why didn’t I tell you? Because! I didn’t want to fuck things up.” A dark look settled on Harry’s features and Ron felt a pang of guilt because he was the one who was making Harry feel bad.
“No, you wouldn’t. I’m the one who fucks things up around here.” He offered a crooked grin. Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but didn’t quite break into a smile. Ron was silent for a few moments. “How long?”
“Don’t know. A while. I think I’ve always kind of loved you.”
“You could have told me. You can tell me anything.”
“This is a bit different. This isn’t me telling you that I’ve used the last of the milk.”
“You never use the last of the milk,” Ron pointed out. “You always leave it for me.” Harry was good like that, always knowing how much Ron treasured his first mug of tea in the morning. Oh, look: another one of those ‘little things’.
“Don’t pick holes in my example.”
“Sorry.” Ron sighed and flopped down on the bed, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. “So… you didn’t tell me because you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”
“Yeah. And you don’t.” Harry looked down at him curiously. “Do you?” He licked his lips and Ron felt as though he’d been Petrified as he watched Harry’s tongue dart out.
“I dunno,” he mumbled. Harry raised his eyebrows. “But I might be willing to see. Try anything once. Unless it’s something the twins are offering.”
“You’re an idiot,” Harry chided.
“I think I’m going to be hearing that a lot soon.”
Harry grinned and finally kissed him. Ron struggled up into a sitting position, their lips still pressed tightly together. Moaning softly, Harry’s fingers threaded into Ron’s hair tugging him closer. When he finally released him, Ron whimpered. “Okay. I think I might be gay.”
“If I’d known that that was all it took, I would have done that a long time ago.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
Harry did more than that. Kissing Ron, his hand cupped Ron through his trousers; they’d fallen asleep fully-clothed last night. Now, Harry’s fingers fiddled nervously with the fly of his trousers. Ron reached down a hand to stop him.
“My brother and Hermione are in the kitchen.”
“Don’t care,” Harry mumbled, pushing Ron’s hand away. “We walked in on them shagging on the stairs. “Think it’s our turn for some fun.”
“Oh, right,” said Ron, remembering that incident and then trying to forget it. “Carry on, then.”