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For the third time, the sound of furniture being moved in the living room woke Ron up.
This time, there was no panic; no reaching for his wand, no achingly slow footsteps towards a believed intruder in his flat. He sighed at that memory of the first time, and how scared he was despite everything.
The only thing that scared him more was when he had decided to break it off with Hermione, for reasons. That hadn't lasted long; she had been planning to do the same. For the same reasons. She already knew. But, she was Granger, she really did know it all. What annoyed he piss out of him at eleven became a lifeline to his sanity at nineteen. In his own way, he still loved Hermione, albeit now it was the love for someone who was loving enough to put up with what seemed to be his endless bullshit. And Harry's.
This was the third time in the last few weeks since he and Harry got their own flat that Ron had been woken up in the middle of the night. He never heard Harry creep out from his own separate bedroom, never heard him dragging a blanket down the hallway to their living room. It wasn't until the legs of the coffee table scraped across the wooden floor that Ron was yanked from his slumber.
Ron didn't want to leave his own bed. The bed as soft, comfortable, and the warming charms were a sharp contrast to the drafty hallways and floors that embraced the cold and held onto it with all their might. For the hundredth time, Ron considered getting the place carpeted.
"Hell, enough of this," he muttered under his breath turning to the side to shove himself off the bed. Contact with the cold floor almost made him jump out of his pajamas, and he made yet another mental note to invest in some slippers. And carpeting. Or just set the bloody floor on fire so it will stop being so damn cold all the time.
Ron knew what he would see when he got to the end of the hallway which led to the living room. At this point, he was able to make his way without even turning on the lights. If his feet were freezing and he didn't stub his toe, he was obviously going in the right direction.
The coffee table had been moved, again. There was now about two meters between the table and the sofa. Again. A comforter had been laid out on the floor. Again, and under a lighter blanket, Harry was curled up on his side, eyes closed.
Confusion warred with heartache as Ron watched. Why was Harry doing this? Why didn't he talk about it?
Instead of going back to is own warm bed like he had before, to mope and pine after his best mate as usual, Ron moved into the room, crouching near the edge of the comforter as if it was a border that would burn him if he crossed it.
"'Arry?" The word came out mumbled; Ron wasn't completely awake it would seem.
Green eyes opened, then squinted in a wince as Harry Potter leaned up on one elbow. "Ron," he whispered. "You shouldn't be up."
Ron sighed. Somehow, he thought, being late or missing Auror training tomorrow was a lot less important than his concern that his best mate preferred to sleep on the floor like a kneazle. Ron knew he was never Head Boy material, but he knew this wasn't just about sleeping on the floor.
"Well until the coffee table can move on its own and not scrape itself along the bloody floor in the middle of the night, here we are," he replied. He shook his head and let out a sigh. "M'sorry, mate," he said. "That was bitchy of me."
"It kinda was," Harry said, and even allowed himself a smile.
Ron's eyes rolled. "What're you doing out here?"
"I hate my bed." Harry said, matter-of-factly.
Ron's eyebrow lifted at this. "Did it try to eat you?"
"No," Harry snorted. "No, the bed's fine. Comfortable, sturdy...well, it's a bed it does what it's supposed to."
"So what's the problem."
With a sigh, Harry turned onto his stomach, and was now propped up by both elbows. "When we went after the horcruxes," he said. "We were on the run, in the middle of a fucking war, for most of a year."
"I have some vague recollection of this, yes," Ron said. Damn it, Weasley, he thought. Dial it back a bit, okay?
"You, me, Hermione," Harry said. "We slept on the ground, or in tents, whereever we could catch our breath."
"And," Ron pointed out. "You stopped Voldemort, saved the world, got the girl-"
"The girl and I broke up," Harry amended.
"I'm still shocked at that," Ron said. "I never thought Ginny would let you walk away." He paused. "At last without breaking an arm."
"You don't know?" Harry gave him a perplexed look. Or maybe he was just squinting because his glasses were off. "Breaking it off was Ginny's idea?"
"Wait, what?"
"It was," Harry said, and couldn't help but chuckle at the gobsmacked look on Ron's face. "It wasn't working. She knew it, I knew it. She's happier now than when we were together."
"Weird, mate," Ron said. "You were her ideal when she was small."
"An ideal," Harry said, stopping to produce a jaw-cracking yawn. "But, she did say that I was a hero, like she imagined, even with flaws. It's...it's too early in the morning to really get into it. People change, and what they thought they wanted turned out not to be, well, what they wanted. Or needed."
There was another chuckle from Harry as Ron's face pinched at his attempt to process this. "Ron," he said. "you haven't changed much. But that's a good thing about you. S'like a rock. Dependable. Always there."
"Huh," Ron said. No, that was never a word his family used to describe him. That he knew of. "But what's that got to do with your bed?"
"I might've gotten off track," Harry answered. "See, we were sleeping outdoors and on cots for almost a year. Then the wars over, and we start rebuilding, and then we move in here and I have this new bed, and every time I lie in it I feel like I'm sleeping in fucking quicksand. It's too damn soft."
"Shit," Ron muttered.
"And I know the War's over. It's been two years. But I still..." Harry flopped face-down into his blanket. "I'm gonna start talking to someone at St. Mungos. Shacklebolt told me they...talk to people who can't seem to get out of the War even after it's over."
Breaking the barrier, Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Cold. He was so cold and Ron's own hand felt like fire to his own brain. "Harry, there's no shame in that. You did so damn much for everyone, and you...you took so much shit from everyone. Your fucking Dursleys, Slytherins, Voldemort, hell even Dumbledore." Harry shot him a shocked look. "Yeah, I know, me and my family were always singing his praises. He was a good person but maybe if he hadn't kept us all in the dark so long...no one's perfect, Harry," Ron said. "But...it's wrong for anyone to like expect anyone else to be. You deserve better. At least, I think so."
"I didn't want to tell you about seeing someone," Harry said, looking back up. "Didn't want you to think-"
"Who gives a shit what I think?" Ron snapped. "It's not about me. I don't think any less of you for getting help. More of us should. What I want, not think, Harry, is for you to be okay. More'n anything. If it means turning your mattress into a stone block, I'll do it right now."
"No, no, leave it," Harry said, even laughing a little. "I'll be fine here. I want to learn how to not be in quicksand anymore."
"All right," Ron said. "Sorry for not getting it. I'm a bit thick."
"And I'm closed off a lot," Harry said. They smiled at each other. Here, they could always be honest about their flaws.
"Want me to stay, Harry?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, and lifted the blanket in invitation. "Your hand's really warm."
Ron chuckled, and crawled inside, next to his friend. "So...can I hug you?"
"Of course," Harry said.
Ron obliged. He situated himself behind Harry, sliding one arm under the smaller guy, his other arm around him, spooning Harry against his chest. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah mate," Harry muffled around another yawn. "S'good-what!?" Harry suddenly yelped as Ron pressed he bottoms of his feet against Harry's bare calves. "Why are your feet so cold?!"
"Same reason m'hands are warm. My feet touch the floor and all the hat runs for it because that bloody floor is made of ice."
"Then put some socks on, Ron, Christ."
"Okay, okay. But next time, we get all the heavy blankets. Maybe some cocoa, or Fireshiskey to keep us warm. Hell, we're string some more blankets up like a tent if it'll help you feel better." Ron said as Harry settled down. The redhead kept cuddling Harry, warming him up. "Feel better?"
"A little," Harry said. "Appreciate you staying, Ron,"
"Always," Ron said, and lightly pressed his lips to the top of Harry's head. Shame flushed his cheeks. That might have been over the line.
Harry didn't run, or yell. He snuggled back up against Ron's taller body. "Mmmm," Harry mumbled. "Something you wanna talk about?"
"Um...tomorrow?"
"You have training."
"I'm skipping it," Ron said. "I'll be right here."
"You always are," Harry said, and went quiet.
Ron smiled as he felt Harry start to drift of in his embrace. For now, the floor didn't feel so cold after all.
-Fin-