FQF, Round II
Title: Thirty
Author: Hysterical Hystorian abigail89
Word count: approximately 3600
Rating: Very naughty
Challenge Prompt: Ron never thought settling down would be this hard.
Well, hmm…that’s not how this turned out. It’s more about Ron having commitment issues. Or so Harry thinks.
Summary: Ron is having commitment issues. Or so Harry thinks. It makes him into a bit of a nag.
A/N: My thanks to the magnificent magicofisis for the lightning fast beta job. Schnoogles, darling. In honour of Harry's 26th birthday.
*~*
30 April 2006
Harry watches in amusement, and with some unease, as Ron piles his plate with scalloped potatoes, soft white rolls, and buttery corn. It’s not that he’s shoveling it in faster than he can swallow it. Harry knows Ron can eat faster than anyone he’s ever seen. No, it’s the other reason…
“Ron,” Harry says tentatively, watching Molly Weasley bustle back towards the house, directing a number of empty bowls with her wand, “I know your mum made all this great food for us, but aren’t you supposed to be on that low carb diet? You know, the one your coach put you on so you can be more ‘light’ in the air?”
“Naw,” Ron dismisses, his hand fluttering as he chews and swallows. “I can’t leave this food here. Mum’ll think I’m sick or something. Why aren’t you eating any more?”
“What do you mean?! I’ve eaten three helpings of everything. I’m about to burst. You didn’t have to tell her you wanted more scalloped potatoes, you know.”
“But they’re my favorite.”
“Mine too. But-“ Harry trails off as Molly appears with several more heaping, steaming bowls.
“Here you go,” Molly Weasley says, sitting heavily beside her son. “It’s good to have you both to dinner tonight.”
”Thanks so much, Mrs. Weas-I mean, Molly,” Harry self-corrects and she beams at him. “We haven’t seen in you in a while.”
“And we were out of everything,” Ron interjects, reaching for a bowl of warm bread pudding. “Ooh, lots of raisins in this batch. Thanks, Mum!”
Harry sighs as his lover piles whipped cream and rum sauce on top of the bread pudding. When Molly returns to the kitchen, Harry leans over and whispers, “Ron, you’d better take it easy on the sweets! Your coach is going to have your arse on a platter.”
“It’s just too good, Harry! And I’m hungry. Besides, I’ll run an extra 5 kilometres tomorrow morning.”
“You haven’t gotten up early to run yet, you know.”
“I will tomorrow. ‘Sides, we don’t have weigh-in until next week.”
“It’s your funeral.”
*~*
30 June 2006
“Ron! Where the hell have you been?”
Harry descends on him as Ron’s seated at the table clutching a cold butterbeer. “ I expected you at the match today, and you didn’t show. The entire house was disappointed their favorite Chudley Cannon blew off the final match of the year.” Harry sits down beside him, still spoiling for a fight. “It’s the third time this year you’ve broken your promise to my team.”
“Yeah, well, practice ran long today,” Ron says with a yawn.
“You didn’t-“ He pauses as he takes in Ron’s appearance. “Blimey, Ron, you look like hell. What happened?”
“I told you, we had an impromptu practice today to make up for our ‘crap performance’ in last week’s match.” Ron makes much of rubbing a sore thigh. “I got hit by a couple of Bludgers.”
Harry’s anger flares at the mental image of Ron being pelted by his teammates. “Why the fuck did they do that? Lemme see.”
“It’s okay. The team Healer took care of the worst ones. They’re just sorta achy right now. Nothing to worry about.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve told Gryffindor, and no one would be so disappointed right now.”
“Oh, well, I reckon I forgot to mention it,” Ron stifles yet another yawn. “I had to leave really early thing morning.”
Harry surveys Ron critically. “I should’ve spent the night here.”
”Nah, it’s fine. I’ll make it up to them another time. Maybe a time when-“
“Hang on!” Harry interrupts. “Why do you have scrapes and cuts on your hands? And what’s this on your thumb?” Harry examines a large purpling bruise under the nail and a rather nasty unhealed cut. “Since when do Bludgers leave those sorts of injuries?”
”Huh? Oh, those. Um…well…”
“Ron, what’s going on? You’ve never missed an opportunity to come up to Hogwarts to help out the Gryffindor team, and this spring you’ve not come at all, even after you promised you would. And now,” Harry held up Ron’s thumb, “you come home with injuries that you couldn’t’ve gotten from a Bludger.”
“Well, I didn’t. It’s just that…well, I sorta got into a fight.”
Harry stares at him in disbelief. “A fight?”
Ron fiddles with the empty butterbeer bottle, tearing at the label. “Yeah, it was nothing. Just a bit of a scrap.”
“That’s not like you. You get on well with everyone on the team.”
“Look, it was nothing. We tussled a bit, and then it was over. The Healer refused to treat me and the other guy ‘cause he said we deserved it. Probably right, you know.” He yawns hugely. “I need to get some sleep, ‘k?” Ron rises and shambles slowly from the kitchen.
“But what about-“ Harry starts, then thinks bringing up the fact that it’s 5 in the afternoon and they haven’t had sex in a week would be out of kilter-“Yeah, you have a kip. I’ll fix dinner in a few hours.”
“Great. Thanks, mate.”
Harry gives him a non-verbal nod, and turns back to the table. Both labels have been shredded off.
*~*
30 July 2006
“Ron is cheating on me.”
“What?” Hermione kisses Harry lightly before she sits beside him at the counter in the kitchen. It’s Friday night, and the two Hogwarts professors are celebrating the end of school, marking final exams, staff meetings, Hermione’s return from a conference in Sweden, and Harry’s two-week visit to New Zealand on a Dark magic consultation. “Harry, Ron may be many things, and may do insensitive things from time to time, but he would never cheat on you.”
“Well, how do you explain the coming home at odd hours, not showing up in New Zealand for even a long weekend with me, and lying about team practices, let alone unexplained injuries?” Harry’s voice has climbed into a high whinge. Hermione retrieves butterbeers from the fridge, a bottle of Old Ogden’s and two shooters. “He’s rarely around even during the day, and he’s not mentioned our holiday to Italy. You know how he loves to visit Italy.”
“What injuries?” Hermione, always practical, decides to focus Harry on the most alarming component of the list.
“Well, just little things like cuts and bruises. Several fingers with bad bruises. Oh, two days ago he had a knot on his head the size of a peach.” Harry reaches over and pulls a bowl of ripened French peaches towards her. They are her favorite.
“Oh, thank you so much! So what does he say about the cuts? And why aren’t they healed?” She pours two shooters of whiskey. They touch glasses and toss the amber drinks back quickly.
“Not much and dunno about that. And he usually falls deep asleep when he does come home.” Harry grabs a tea towel to catch the drips off her chin. She’s well into the first peach. “Did I mention he comes home not just at odd hours, but late hours. And--“ he hold up a finger in emphasis-“he gets up really early and disappears.”
“Have you tried asking him?” Hermione always goes for the most obvious.
“Well, of course I’ve asked. About a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes. “But the most disturbing thing is that the day he told me he had some team function. I Apparated to the pitch and they were no where to be seen!” Harry throws up his hands, barely missing Hermione’s hand, which is holding another juicy, half-eaten peach. “I went everywhere looking for him: The Burrow, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley. Hell, I even went to the Falmouth Falcons’s pitch just to make sure they weren’t holding a scrimmage.”
Harry stands and paces. “And…and…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And the worst this is….” He gulps. Loudly. “The worst thing is,” he whispers hoarsely, “is that we haven’t had sex since school let out. He just goes to sleep, wakes up early, and leaves.”
Now that does get Hermione’s attention. Ron’s appetite for Harry is legendary, at least to her. “Goodness. That is unlike Ron. Well, you’re going to have to corner him and make him talk to you. Or shag you. Harry,” she captures him as he paces by her, and pulls him into a hug, “Ron is not cheating on you. You must believe that. There has to be an explanation for his behaviour.”
“I know, I know,” he mutters into her hair, enjoying the hug far too much, a sure sign he isn’t getting enough snuggle time in with Ron. “And tomorrow’s my birthday. I don’t want to fight, and I certainly don’t want to not spend it with him.”
“That’s got to be it.” Hermione feels relief as she puzzles it out. “Ron’s obviously doing something spectacular for your birthday.”
“Maybe.” He’s not as convinced, but somewhere in the back of his mind, it does make sense.
“Have you any new plans for the house at Godric’s Hollow?” She’s desperate to pull Harry out of the doldrums. “Last I heard you had hired Dean Thomas to draw up another design.”
“Yes! Let me show you.” He pulls her up and leads her to his office in the back of the cottage. “He’s added a few new details.”
And for a moment, Harry’s troubles disappear….
*~*
…until 5:52 the next morning.
Harry rolls over, awakening at his traditional school year time (because the hot water is most plentiful at that time before everyone gets up at 6 and heads to the showers), and clutches his head. “Ow.” Then he remembers finishing the bottle of Old Ogden’s last night with Hermione to ring in his birthday. And to wait up for Ron.
Who apparently never came to bed. Or came home.
Depression immediately sets in. He reviews in his mind what he could have possibly done to drive Ron away so. Yes, it was a long school year. Yes, he had stayed at school more often that not due to his increased duties as head of Gryffindor, full teaching load, Quidditch sponsor, and one-to-one tuition with many seventh years gunning for ‘Outstanding’ in N.E.W.T.s to get into various Ministry programs. Maybe he should have taken on fewer students.
Whilst berating himself for his overly conscientious professorial duties, he misses the slight creak as the door opens, and the soft footfall on the floor to the bed. He nearly misses the shadow of a tall, red-headed man leaning over him…
Harry whips out his wand, and recognizes Ron before hexing him. “God above, you scared the shite out of me. Don’t do that, you wanker!”
“Whoa, Harry. A bit tense, are you?”
“What the fuck do you think? Getting some on the side, are you?” Harry’s anger and frustration reach the boiling point in a nanosecond, hangover be damned.
“What? No, mate. Fuck, Harry. You think I’m stepping out on you?” Ron is perplexed at Harry’s anger.
Harry nearly levitates out of bed. “What am I supposed to think? You’re never home. You lie about where you’re supposed to be. And yes, I’ve been following you. Where have you been? And why are you always injured? Like now.” Harry touches the open wound on Ron’s head. “What’s going on?” He’s wobbling as the anger subsides and the hangover woozies come on him with a vengeance.
“Christ, Harry, you just turned pale as a ghost,” Ron says, alarmed. “You all right?”
“Fine. Oh, shite.” He scoots by Ron and heads to the bathroom, making it just in time.
Ron knows what to do. He retrieves the Nice and Easy Does It Hangover Cure from the fridge, mixing it with a cup of water, and returns to the bathroom where Harry is hanging on for dear life.
“Easy, mate. Easy,” Ron’s voice is soothing and he helps Harry sip the potion. A few more sips, a back rub and the colour returns to Harry’s troubled face. “Celebrating a bit early, eh?”
“No, Hermione came over last night to help out.”
“Help out?”
Harry peals one eyelid back. “Help me not get too depressed over the fact I thought you were … you know.”
“Ah. Well. There is a good reason for all the secrecy.”
Harry gives him a disbelieving look. “It’s about bloody time you came clean.”
“Yeah, it is.” Ron then leans in and gives Harry a long, hard, slow kiss. Harry sinks into the tiles with giddy passion. Just as he’s wrapping his arms about Ron’s neck and getting ready to settle in for a long, satisfying snog, Ron pulls back and grins. “Happy Birthday.” Then, he leaps up, pulling Harry up with him. “C’mon get dressed, mate. Got something to show you.”
Harry is still reeling in the wake of that kiss, and slowly it dawns on him that Ron is not pulling him into their bed to make up for lost time, but rather is digging in his closet for a shirt and jeans. “C’mon!”
In disbelief, and mounting frustration, Harry pulls on clothing and a pair of old trainers he finds beneath the bed. “What the hell--?”
“Shhh.” Ron is giggling. “I’m going to side-along Apparate you. Hold on!”
Before Harry can protest that Ron is crap at side-along and that it always ends badly, Harry feels the familiar squeeze and blinding darkness, and then the CRACK!
And they land in the cool mist of a beautiful summer morn; the sun’s rosy rays peek through the trees to illuminate a half-built structure.
A half-built structure on the land at Godric’s Hollow.
Harry boggles.
Ron wraps his arms about Harry's still body, nuzzling into his ear. “Happy Birthday. And, welcome home.”
Harry stares still, trying to comprehend what’s going on. And finally, it hits him. “Oh my god. Ron, you’ve been…you’ve been…”
“Building a house, yeah. Dean showed me the plans he drew up for you last fall, and that you were well pleased with them. So I thought that, you know, I have some free time during some days when you’re at school, so when the weather got a bit better in April I started the house for you. For us, that is.” Ron puts one hand on his hip, looking pleased at his handiwork. “Yep. It’s slow, but you know, it’s coming along.”
Harry cannot believe what he’s seeing. He and Dean had planned to let the contract in September for construction. And Dean never said a word.
As if he reads his mind, Ron jumps in. “Dean’s been supervising me all along. He’s really good at this construction business. I cleared the land, dug the cellar-oh, yeah, Seamus helped some with that-and then Dean helped me find all the lumber for the frame. And here, all this rock came from a quarry over in Wales. Look at the veins of colour in these slabs here.”
Ron walks Harry around showing him the detail of the woodwork, the dove-tail connections of the beams, the nearly complete magnificent hearth for an equally magnificent fireplace. He walks Harry up the rough stairwell to the second floor where the bedrooms are to be located-four of them, one especially for Hermione when she comes to visit and the others for various Weasley relations-and the big bedroom for them with a huge window that opens out onto a misty, forested valley.
Harry feels the burn in his eyes as he is overwhelmed by the reality of what he’s only dreamed about: A new house standing at Godric’s Hollow. A house on the same place where he was conceived in love, cherished by loving parents, and nearly killed by one very evil man. The house on the same land his parents died saving his life. And now, this same land will once again have a house built in love for love.
“Oh my god, Ron. This is incredible.” Harry says it over and over as he touches each beam, each doorway; looks out each window hole, and imagines what each room will look like as Ron describes it. All the time, Ron’s large hand tightens on his as they move about the house.
“You know, we could do it faster with magic, but Dean said to me that if you build your house with the sweat of your brow, the strength of your back, and the commitment in your heart, it will stand stronger a hundred times over because of your love for it. And I think there’s something to that. Each time I swung that hammer, I thought about how this house was for you and me. I thought how much your parents loved you enough to protect you and die for you, and that I would do the same without hesitation. And you for me. And both of us for Hermione. I have to confess,” he says with a leering grin, “sometimes I got so hard thinking about all the great sex we’ll have in this house for the next hundred years, I missed the nail and hit my fingers instead.”
Harry stares at Ron, who shyly averts his eyes. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I wasn’t interested in you or anything. I’m sorry I missed all those dates to Hogwarts this spring, but bloody hell, doing construction is hard work. I’ve been exhausted. But it’s a good exhausted, you know. Plus, knowing it’s for you, well, that just made me work that much harder.” He finishes in barely a whisper. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that?”
Harry leaps at Ron, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss that cuts off another useless apology. He wraps himself about his lanky lover, pouring everything he has-all his love, all his passion, all his life-into that kiss, begging forgiveness for ever doubting Ron’s commitment to him, to them.
Finally, they part, panting and aroused and frantic. Harry pulls Ron into the house before the fireplace, locating a canvas tarp and Transfiguring it into a mattress. “C’mere,” he says, holding his hand out to his mate.
“Brilliant. You’re brilliant, you know that?” Ron says, pulling Harry’s shirt over his hand, as Harry’s hands scrabble for Ron’s belt and jeans. Shirts and socks, jeans and shoes and pants go flying as they desperately seek skin and heat. Hands wrap around hardened cocks and tongues slip furiously over each other as their passion builds…
“Brilliant,” Ron breathes again as their bodies fall into the soft mattress, chests press together tightly and legs twine together like oak vines, strong and hard and ever moving. Harry kisses Ron everywhere he can reach; then he takes the strong, battered hands and licks and kisses each and every hammer wound, each scratch made by a rough beam, every bruise left by an errant rock.
“No, you’re the brilliant one,” Harry whispers, as his mouth descends on Ron’s cock. He takes it in, fully, licking and nibbling the length of it, just as Ron likes it. He pauses at the glorious head, and suckles. Ron gasps.
“No, don’t let me, Harry. Come…come together.”
Harry grins and releases Ron’s cock as he crawls back up the length of Ron’s body. “What do you want?”
“You. Inside.” Ron is writhing.
“Anything for you.”
Harry casts a quick “Lubricus, wandlessly, and the warm slickness covers his cock. He carefully circles Ron’s entrance, enjoying the faces Ron makes as he touches each sensitive area.
“More. Now.”
And so Harry wiggles in one finger, then two, encouraging the small muscle to relax; finally, with Ron gasping and pleading with Harry to finish him, Harry slowly pushes in, relishing the reconnection with his beloved’s warm body. The tightness nearly brings him to the edge, and he pauses to push back the aching rush. Again, he slowly sets up a rhythm, angling upwards to pass over the tiny prostate that makes Ron squirm.
“Can’t hold back,” Ron strangles out.
“Then don’t. Come, Ron. Come hard for me!”
And with that command, Harry slams into Ron’s body, fully seated again, and again, and again until Ron hisses in pleasure; his come spurts hard, covering the freckled belly. Seeing Ron’s bliss brings on Harry’s orgasm, and he too pours out his joy.
Breathing hard, they lay together, Harry on top, his head just beneath Ron’s chin. And in due time they slip side-by-side, kissing leisurely and longingly.
“Been a long time.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ron replies.
“Should’ve told me.”
“Mmm-mm. This is called a ‘surprise.’”
“Still, you should’ve-“
“And missed this great make-up sex?” Ron laughs.
“There’s still more sex to come, you know. I owe you big.”
“Well, now that this isn’t a surprise any more, I expect your arse to be out here with me every morning at the crack of dawn. I’ve got a hammer with your name on it.”
“Excellent. My healing charms are pretty good these days.”
They lay together beneath a half-built structure, under a half-finished roof, next to an almost completed hearth. They talk of drywall and paint and wood-shake shingles, of kitchens and electricity, of curtains and plumbing, and of a life lived long into the future. And together they build a house made stronger by their love.
*~*
Author: Hysterical Hystorian abigail89
Word count: approximately 3600
Rating: Very naughty
Challenge Prompt: Ron never thought settling down would be this hard.
Well, hmm…that’s not how this turned out. It’s more about Ron having commitment issues. Or so Harry thinks.
Summary: Ron is having commitment issues. Or so Harry thinks. It makes him into a bit of a nag.
A/N: My thanks to the magnificent magicofisis for the lightning fast beta job. Schnoogles, darling. In honour of Harry's 26th birthday.
*~*
30 April 2006
Harry watches in amusement, and with some unease, as Ron piles his plate with scalloped potatoes, soft white rolls, and buttery corn. It’s not that he’s shoveling it in faster than he can swallow it. Harry knows Ron can eat faster than anyone he’s ever seen. No, it’s the other reason…
“Ron,” Harry says tentatively, watching Molly Weasley bustle back towards the house, directing a number of empty bowls with her wand, “I know your mum made all this great food for us, but aren’t you supposed to be on that low carb diet? You know, the one your coach put you on so you can be more ‘light’ in the air?”
“Naw,” Ron dismisses, his hand fluttering as he chews and swallows. “I can’t leave this food here. Mum’ll think I’m sick or something. Why aren’t you eating any more?”
“What do you mean?! I’ve eaten three helpings of everything. I’m about to burst. You didn’t have to tell her you wanted more scalloped potatoes, you know.”
“But they’re my favorite.”
“Mine too. But-“ Harry trails off as Molly appears with several more heaping, steaming bowls.
“Here you go,” Molly Weasley says, sitting heavily beside her son. “It’s good to have you both to dinner tonight.”
”Thanks so much, Mrs. Weas-I mean, Molly,” Harry self-corrects and she beams at him. “We haven’t seen in you in a while.”
“And we were out of everything,” Ron interjects, reaching for a bowl of warm bread pudding. “Ooh, lots of raisins in this batch. Thanks, Mum!”
Harry sighs as his lover piles whipped cream and rum sauce on top of the bread pudding. When Molly returns to the kitchen, Harry leans over and whispers, “Ron, you’d better take it easy on the sweets! Your coach is going to have your arse on a platter.”
“It’s just too good, Harry! And I’m hungry. Besides, I’ll run an extra 5 kilometres tomorrow morning.”
“You haven’t gotten up early to run yet, you know.”
“I will tomorrow. ‘Sides, we don’t have weigh-in until next week.”
“It’s your funeral.”
*~*
30 June 2006
“Ron! Where the hell have you been?”
Harry descends on him as Ron’s seated at the table clutching a cold butterbeer. “ I expected you at the match today, and you didn’t show. The entire house was disappointed their favorite Chudley Cannon blew off the final match of the year.” Harry sits down beside him, still spoiling for a fight. “It’s the third time this year you’ve broken your promise to my team.”
“Yeah, well, practice ran long today,” Ron says with a yawn.
“You didn’t-“ He pauses as he takes in Ron’s appearance. “Blimey, Ron, you look like hell. What happened?”
“I told you, we had an impromptu practice today to make up for our ‘crap performance’ in last week’s match.” Ron makes much of rubbing a sore thigh. “I got hit by a couple of Bludgers.”
Harry’s anger flares at the mental image of Ron being pelted by his teammates. “Why the fuck did they do that? Lemme see.”
“It’s okay. The team Healer took care of the worst ones. They’re just sorta achy right now. Nothing to worry about.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve told Gryffindor, and no one would be so disappointed right now.”
“Oh, well, I reckon I forgot to mention it,” Ron stifles yet another yawn. “I had to leave really early thing morning.”
Harry surveys Ron critically. “I should’ve spent the night here.”
”Nah, it’s fine. I’ll make it up to them another time. Maybe a time when-“
“Hang on!” Harry interrupts. “Why do you have scrapes and cuts on your hands? And what’s this on your thumb?” Harry examines a large purpling bruise under the nail and a rather nasty unhealed cut. “Since when do Bludgers leave those sorts of injuries?”
”Huh? Oh, those. Um…well…”
“Ron, what’s going on? You’ve never missed an opportunity to come up to Hogwarts to help out the Gryffindor team, and this spring you’ve not come at all, even after you promised you would. And now,” Harry held up Ron’s thumb, “you come home with injuries that you couldn’t’ve gotten from a Bludger.”
“Well, I didn’t. It’s just that…well, I sorta got into a fight.”
Harry stares at him in disbelief. “A fight?”
Ron fiddles with the empty butterbeer bottle, tearing at the label. “Yeah, it was nothing. Just a bit of a scrap.”
“That’s not like you. You get on well with everyone on the team.”
“Look, it was nothing. We tussled a bit, and then it was over. The Healer refused to treat me and the other guy ‘cause he said we deserved it. Probably right, you know.” He yawns hugely. “I need to get some sleep, ‘k?” Ron rises and shambles slowly from the kitchen.
“But what about-“ Harry starts, then thinks bringing up the fact that it’s 5 in the afternoon and they haven’t had sex in a week would be out of kilter-“Yeah, you have a kip. I’ll fix dinner in a few hours.”
“Great. Thanks, mate.”
Harry gives him a non-verbal nod, and turns back to the table. Both labels have been shredded off.
*~*
30 July 2006
“Ron is cheating on me.”
“What?” Hermione kisses Harry lightly before she sits beside him at the counter in the kitchen. It’s Friday night, and the two Hogwarts professors are celebrating the end of school, marking final exams, staff meetings, Hermione’s return from a conference in Sweden, and Harry’s two-week visit to New Zealand on a Dark magic consultation. “Harry, Ron may be many things, and may do insensitive things from time to time, but he would never cheat on you.”
“Well, how do you explain the coming home at odd hours, not showing up in New Zealand for even a long weekend with me, and lying about team practices, let alone unexplained injuries?” Harry’s voice has climbed into a high whinge. Hermione retrieves butterbeers from the fridge, a bottle of Old Ogden’s and two shooters. “He’s rarely around even during the day, and he’s not mentioned our holiday to Italy. You know how he loves to visit Italy.”
“What injuries?” Hermione, always practical, decides to focus Harry on the most alarming component of the list.
“Well, just little things like cuts and bruises. Several fingers with bad bruises. Oh, two days ago he had a knot on his head the size of a peach.” Harry reaches over and pulls a bowl of ripened French peaches towards her. They are her favorite.
“Oh, thank you so much! So what does he say about the cuts? And why aren’t they healed?” She pours two shooters of whiskey. They touch glasses and toss the amber drinks back quickly.
“Not much and dunno about that. And he usually falls deep asleep when he does come home.” Harry grabs a tea towel to catch the drips off her chin. She’s well into the first peach. “Did I mention he comes home not just at odd hours, but late hours. And--“ he hold up a finger in emphasis-“he gets up really early and disappears.”
“Have you tried asking him?” Hermione always goes for the most obvious.
“Well, of course I’ve asked. About a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes. “But the most disturbing thing is that the day he told me he had some team function. I Apparated to the pitch and they were no where to be seen!” Harry throws up his hands, barely missing Hermione’s hand, which is holding another juicy, half-eaten peach. “I went everywhere looking for him: The Burrow, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley. Hell, I even went to the Falmouth Falcons’s pitch just to make sure they weren’t holding a scrimmage.”
Harry stands and paces. “And…and…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And the worst this is….” He gulps. Loudly. “The worst thing is,” he whispers hoarsely, “is that we haven’t had sex since school let out. He just goes to sleep, wakes up early, and leaves.”
Now that does get Hermione’s attention. Ron’s appetite for Harry is legendary, at least to her. “Goodness. That is unlike Ron. Well, you’re going to have to corner him and make him talk to you. Or shag you. Harry,” she captures him as he paces by her, and pulls him into a hug, “Ron is not cheating on you. You must believe that. There has to be an explanation for his behaviour.”
“I know, I know,” he mutters into her hair, enjoying the hug far too much, a sure sign he isn’t getting enough snuggle time in with Ron. “And tomorrow’s my birthday. I don’t want to fight, and I certainly don’t want to not spend it with him.”
“That’s got to be it.” Hermione feels relief as she puzzles it out. “Ron’s obviously doing something spectacular for your birthday.”
“Maybe.” He’s not as convinced, but somewhere in the back of his mind, it does make sense.
“Have you any new plans for the house at Godric’s Hollow?” She’s desperate to pull Harry out of the doldrums. “Last I heard you had hired Dean Thomas to draw up another design.”
“Yes! Let me show you.” He pulls her up and leads her to his office in the back of the cottage. “He’s added a few new details.”
And for a moment, Harry’s troubles disappear….
*~*
…until 5:52 the next morning.
Harry rolls over, awakening at his traditional school year time (because the hot water is most plentiful at that time before everyone gets up at 6 and heads to the showers), and clutches his head. “Ow.” Then he remembers finishing the bottle of Old Ogden’s last night with Hermione to ring in his birthday. And to wait up for Ron.
Who apparently never came to bed. Or came home.
Depression immediately sets in. He reviews in his mind what he could have possibly done to drive Ron away so. Yes, it was a long school year. Yes, he had stayed at school more often that not due to his increased duties as head of Gryffindor, full teaching load, Quidditch sponsor, and one-to-one tuition with many seventh years gunning for ‘Outstanding’ in N.E.W.T.s to get into various Ministry programs. Maybe he should have taken on fewer students.
Whilst berating himself for his overly conscientious professorial duties, he misses the slight creak as the door opens, and the soft footfall on the floor to the bed. He nearly misses the shadow of a tall, red-headed man leaning over him…
Harry whips out his wand, and recognizes Ron before hexing him. “God above, you scared the shite out of me. Don’t do that, you wanker!”
“Whoa, Harry. A bit tense, are you?”
“What the fuck do you think? Getting some on the side, are you?” Harry’s anger and frustration reach the boiling point in a nanosecond, hangover be damned.
“What? No, mate. Fuck, Harry. You think I’m stepping out on you?” Ron is perplexed at Harry’s anger.
Harry nearly levitates out of bed. “What am I supposed to think? You’re never home. You lie about where you’re supposed to be. And yes, I’ve been following you. Where have you been? And why are you always injured? Like now.” Harry touches the open wound on Ron’s head. “What’s going on?” He’s wobbling as the anger subsides and the hangover woozies come on him with a vengeance.
“Christ, Harry, you just turned pale as a ghost,” Ron says, alarmed. “You all right?”
“Fine. Oh, shite.” He scoots by Ron and heads to the bathroom, making it just in time.
Ron knows what to do. He retrieves the Nice and Easy Does It Hangover Cure from the fridge, mixing it with a cup of water, and returns to the bathroom where Harry is hanging on for dear life.
“Easy, mate. Easy,” Ron’s voice is soothing and he helps Harry sip the potion. A few more sips, a back rub and the colour returns to Harry’s troubled face. “Celebrating a bit early, eh?”
“No, Hermione came over last night to help out.”
“Help out?”
Harry peals one eyelid back. “Help me not get too depressed over the fact I thought you were … you know.”
“Ah. Well. There is a good reason for all the secrecy.”
Harry gives him a disbelieving look. “It’s about bloody time you came clean.”
“Yeah, it is.” Ron then leans in and gives Harry a long, hard, slow kiss. Harry sinks into the tiles with giddy passion. Just as he’s wrapping his arms about Ron’s neck and getting ready to settle in for a long, satisfying snog, Ron pulls back and grins. “Happy Birthday.” Then, he leaps up, pulling Harry up with him. “C’mon get dressed, mate. Got something to show you.”
Harry is still reeling in the wake of that kiss, and slowly it dawns on him that Ron is not pulling him into their bed to make up for lost time, but rather is digging in his closet for a shirt and jeans. “C’mon!”
In disbelief, and mounting frustration, Harry pulls on clothing and a pair of old trainers he finds beneath the bed. “What the hell--?”
“Shhh.” Ron is giggling. “I’m going to side-along Apparate you. Hold on!”
Before Harry can protest that Ron is crap at side-along and that it always ends badly, Harry feels the familiar squeeze and blinding darkness, and then the CRACK!
And they land in the cool mist of a beautiful summer morn; the sun’s rosy rays peek through the trees to illuminate a half-built structure.
A half-built structure on the land at Godric’s Hollow.
Harry boggles.
Ron wraps his arms about Harry's still body, nuzzling into his ear. “Happy Birthday. And, welcome home.”
Harry stares still, trying to comprehend what’s going on. And finally, it hits him. “Oh my god. Ron, you’ve been…you’ve been…”
“Building a house, yeah. Dean showed me the plans he drew up for you last fall, and that you were well pleased with them. So I thought that, you know, I have some free time during some days when you’re at school, so when the weather got a bit better in April I started the house for you. For us, that is.” Ron puts one hand on his hip, looking pleased at his handiwork. “Yep. It’s slow, but you know, it’s coming along.”
Harry cannot believe what he’s seeing. He and Dean had planned to let the contract in September for construction. And Dean never said a word.
As if he reads his mind, Ron jumps in. “Dean’s been supervising me all along. He’s really good at this construction business. I cleared the land, dug the cellar-oh, yeah, Seamus helped some with that-and then Dean helped me find all the lumber for the frame. And here, all this rock came from a quarry over in Wales. Look at the veins of colour in these slabs here.”
Ron walks Harry around showing him the detail of the woodwork, the dove-tail connections of the beams, the nearly complete magnificent hearth for an equally magnificent fireplace. He walks Harry up the rough stairwell to the second floor where the bedrooms are to be located-four of them, one especially for Hermione when she comes to visit and the others for various Weasley relations-and the big bedroom for them with a huge window that opens out onto a misty, forested valley.
Harry feels the burn in his eyes as he is overwhelmed by the reality of what he’s only dreamed about: A new house standing at Godric’s Hollow. A house on the same place where he was conceived in love, cherished by loving parents, and nearly killed by one very evil man. The house on the same land his parents died saving his life. And now, this same land will once again have a house built in love for love.
“Oh my god, Ron. This is incredible.” Harry says it over and over as he touches each beam, each doorway; looks out each window hole, and imagines what each room will look like as Ron describes it. All the time, Ron’s large hand tightens on his as they move about the house.
“You know, we could do it faster with magic, but Dean said to me that if you build your house with the sweat of your brow, the strength of your back, and the commitment in your heart, it will stand stronger a hundred times over because of your love for it. And I think there’s something to that. Each time I swung that hammer, I thought about how this house was for you and me. I thought how much your parents loved you enough to protect you and die for you, and that I would do the same without hesitation. And you for me. And both of us for Hermione. I have to confess,” he says with a leering grin, “sometimes I got so hard thinking about all the great sex we’ll have in this house for the next hundred years, I missed the nail and hit my fingers instead.”
Harry stares at Ron, who shyly averts his eyes. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I wasn’t interested in you or anything. I’m sorry I missed all those dates to Hogwarts this spring, but bloody hell, doing construction is hard work. I’ve been exhausted. But it’s a good exhausted, you know. Plus, knowing it’s for you, well, that just made me work that much harder.” He finishes in barely a whisper. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that?”
Harry leaps at Ron, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss that cuts off another useless apology. He wraps himself about his lanky lover, pouring everything he has-all his love, all his passion, all his life-into that kiss, begging forgiveness for ever doubting Ron’s commitment to him, to them.
Finally, they part, panting and aroused and frantic. Harry pulls Ron into the house before the fireplace, locating a canvas tarp and Transfiguring it into a mattress. “C’mere,” he says, holding his hand out to his mate.
“Brilliant. You’re brilliant, you know that?” Ron says, pulling Harry’s shirt over his hand, as Harry’s hands scrabble for Ron’s belt and jeans. Shirts and socks, jeans and shoes and pants go flying as they desperately seek skin and heat. Hands wrap around hardened cocks and tongues slip furiously over each other as their passion builds…
“Brilliant,” Ron breathes again as their bodies fall into the soft mattress, chests press together tightly and legs twine together like oak vines, strong and hard and ever moving. Harry kisses Ron everywhere he can reach; then he takes the strong, battered hands and licks and kisses each and every hammer wound, each scratch made by a rough beam, every bruise left by an errant rock.
“No, you’re the brilliant one,” Harry whispers, as his mouth descends on Ron’s cock. He takes it in, fully, licking and nibbling the length of it, just as Ron likes it. He pauses at the glorious head, and suckles. Ron gasps.
“No, don’t let me, Harry. Come…come together.”
Harry grins and releases Ron’s cock as he crawls back up the length of Ron’s body. “What do you want?”
“You. Inside.” Ron is writhing.
“Anything for you.”
Harry casts a quick “Lubricus, wandlessly, and the warm slickness covers his cock. He carefully circles Ron’s entrance, enjoying the faces Ron makes as he touches each sensitive area.
“More. Now.”
And so Harry wiggles in one finger, then two, encouraging the small muscle to relax; finally, with Ron gasping and pleading with Harry to finish him, Harry slowly pushes in, relishing the reconnection with his beloved’s warm body. The tightness nearly brings him to the edge, and he pauses to push back the aching rush. Again, he slowly sets up a rhythm, angling upwards to pass over the tiny prostate that makes Ron squirm.
“Can’t hold back,” Ron strangles out.
“Then don’t. Come, Ron. Come hard for me!”
And with that command, Harry slams into Ron’s body, fully seated again, and again, and again until Ron hisses in pleasure; his come spurts hard, covering the freckled belly. Seeing Ron’s bliss brings on Harry’s orgasm, and he too pours out his joy.
Breathing hard, they lay together, Harry on top, his head just beneath Ron’s chin. And in due time they slip side-by-side, kissing leisurely and longingly.
“Been a long time.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ron replies.
“Should’ve told me.”
“Mmm-mm. This is called a ‘surprise.’”
“Still, you should’ve-“
“And missed this great make-up sex?” Ron laughs.
“There’s still more sex to come, you know. I owe you big.”
“Well, now that this isn’t a surprise any more, I expect your arse to be out here with me every morning at the crack of dawn. I’ve got a hammer with your name on it.”
“Excellent. My healing charms are pretty good these days.”
They lay together beneath a half-built structure, under a half-finished roof, next to an almost completed hearth. They talk of drywall and paint and wood-shake shingles, of kitchens and electricity, of curtains and plumbing, and of a life lived long into the future. And together they build a house made stronger by their love.
*~*