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“And that,” Gabrielle intoned dramatically, “Was the day that ‘arry Potter saved me. Even though I was not ‘is prisoner. Showing ‘is bravery. .
“Or his stupidity,” Ron interjected.
Gabrielle spoke over him. “’is bravery, even at fourteen,” she finished with a flourish.
It was Christmas, and the Burrow was bursting at the seams with anyone remotely connected with the Weasleys. Rose and Albus had been telling the family about their first year at Hogwarts, but all eyes were on Gabrielle as she told the story about the day she had met Harry.
Harry sat with Lily in his lap comfortably sprawled on the couch next to Ron. Ginny sat at his feet with their nephew, Hugo, snuggled next to her. Harry looked around at the roomful of people whom he adored and who loved him back. He reminded himself that he was happy. He had to be. Wasn’t he sitting where he always wanted? Father and husband and brother in a world he had given his life to protect and restore? Didn’t he have the very best friends in the world in Ron and Hermione?
Although, he thought belatedly, Hermione had been muttering a lot about co-dependency lately where he and Ron were concerned. She thought that, working together every day, they had no reason to meet up every night. Not that they went anywhere. Ron and Hermione lived next door to Ginny and Harry, another thing that Hermione had protested, which had honestly hurt Harry’s feelings a little. She was supposed to want to be near him. They were best friends, the three of them – four of them, Harry corrected. Ginny. He loved her. Of course he did. She was wonderful, but she just was never quite able to break into that circle, no matter how hard Harry tried to get her there in his own estimation.
It had become embarrassingly apparent the day that James had asked his parents who their best friends were. Answering simultaneously, Harry said “Your Uncle Ron,” while Ginny had replied “Your father.” They had blinked at each other, Ginny’s eyes filled with deep hurt. Harry had felt like an arse but hadn’t changed his answer. He wouldn’t lie to his son.
Day after day for the past nineteen years, Harry and Ron had worked together in the Auror Department. And night after night, since Harry had moved into the house next to Ron’s, Ron and Harry had met after the kids were asleep to share a moment outside in the dark. They never stayed more than a few minutes and only muttered a “see you tomorrow, mate” as they parted. It was always the last thing Harry did before going to bed. The reassurance Ron was near left Harry feeling secure enough to sleep without nightmares. Hermione and Ginny had tried to join in the nightly ritual, but Ron and Harry were resolute in being the last ones out; making sure that the final goodnights were theirs alone.
Lily squirmed and looked up at her father, and Harry grinned down at her. “What’s the question, love?”
“How did you rescue Mum and Aunt Gabrielle at the same time, Dad? It must have been hard.”
“It was Uncle Ron, not your mum and I -”
“You’d miss Uncle Ron more than Mum?” Lily asked, her eyes wide.
“Well who could blame him, really?” Ron asked, pulled Lily over onto his own knee and cuddled her. “I am the best looking one in the family.” Lily laughed but looked worried. “C’mon Lily, it was a long time before your dad and mum started dating. I was just his best friend, that’s all.” Ron looked up at Harry as he spoke, his eyes betraying feeling behind his casual tone. Harry was left a bit breathless by the flash of regret in Ron’s expression before he turned his attention back to Lily.
Hermione, uncharacteristically quiet up to this point stared at Harry and Ron with a flat face. An expression she had been wearing more frequently as the years passed. “Time for bed,” she said. Ginny followed her lead and began gathering children. Good-byes were spoken, and Harry, Ron and their families flooed to their respective homes.
Once there, Ginny and Harry fell into their nightly routine of baths, stories and bedtimes. Then Ginny went upstairs to get ready for bed and Harry walked out the door.
It was a clear night and Harry could see Ron standing on his lawn in the moonlight. Harry moved to stand next to him and broke the customary silence.
“I’d still miss you the most you know,” he said and stared up into the sky.
Harry was startled by the feeling of large fingers threading through his. Warmth spread through him, untouchable by the cold of December, Hermione’s glares or even Ginny’s sighs. And Harry thought for the first time that, just maybe, life could have turned out differently. Somehow holding hands in the dark with the person who knew him best in the world was a more fulfilling prospect then climbing into bed with his beautiful wife. And all of Hermione’s words and pointed looks were illuminated, and even justified in the light of that hopeful moon.
Ron slowly untangled their fingers, moving his hand, sliding his thumb once over Harry’s cheekbone before he spoke in a voice heavy with could have beens. “Good night, mate. See you in the morning.”
As Harry watched Ron let himself into his house he began to laugh. A mirthless, nearly maniacal sound as he realized that, apparently, he was still living in the world of other people’s expectations. It hadn’t even occurred to him that there was another way, another choice. And Ron, as he always was and always would be, was right there next to him.
Harry shook his head and headed back to his house. Now that he knew, he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. He wondered how he could continue on this way. Now that they all knew, resigned Ron, angry Hermione, hurt Ginny and now himself, last to the party as usual. Harry wondered how long this semblance of happiness would survive.
* * *
Harry walked into his own house that Christmas night, his world upside down, his mind reeling. Still, he warded the doors and closed the floo before climbing the stairs to the darkness above. He hesitated in front of his own bedroom door before continuing quietly down the hall.
Ron might have been the one he’d miss the most but his children. . . well there were just no words for what his children were to him. They went beyond such banal, earthly measures like favorite person and dearest love and soul mate. They simply were his in a way that nothing else ever could be.
Harry’s heart clenched as he looked in on his sleeping sons. In the world of subtle denial and acceptance disguised as contentment that he had lived in just this morning, these boys and their sister in the room next door had been his unadulterated joy, and so they remained; his constants in a shifting reality, where even his strongest ally, his Ron, was suddenly casting shadows.
Mindful of the prickliness of boys at this age, he let his gaze linger a little longer where, only a few short years before, he would have tucked them in. Harry then proceeded to Lily’s room. His little girl suffered no such manly qualms, so he indulged himself and kissed her lightly on her freckled forehead, so like Ron’s, as he smoothed back her hair.
Only the light of the moon illuminated his room as he let himself in. The guilt that had been slightly assuaged as he had grounded himself in his children rushed back, full force, nearly crushing him as he looked at his wife. She feigned sleep and he let her, not knowing what to say. Their relationship was comfortable, reliable, based on a deep, abiding respect, and, after the first couple of heady years where they had discovered sex had passed, was nearly physically passionless.
Love making for Harry wasn’t a fire or a need, but rather comfort, laughter, a way to get off, and at times even an obligation. This is what happened over the years though, Harry told himself. Although some small part of him acknowledged that sex tapering off before the wedding was not usual. Another, even smaller, more insidious part had whispered that, having only been with one person in his entire life he wasn’t exactly qualified to make that assumption. He was fairly certain that the lack of sex was his fault.
So, Ginny and Harry Potter shared a house, a bed, a life, beautiful children, amazing friends and that had to be enough. Not willing to tear down the framework that he relied on, that his kids relied on, Harry stripped and climbed into bed. Then, in a rare move, he rolled towards Ginny and snuggled up against her back and tried not to think of Ron’s fingers as he laced his hand with his wife’s.
* * *
In May, Ron was killed. His heart stopped beating for the eternity it took for Harry to frantically perform all of the emergency healing charms he had learned over the years. Uncaring of the spells whizzing by his own head, of the shield that one of his team members had thrown up in front of them, Harry worked on his best friend, the universe narrowed to Ron’s pulse-less pulse point.
As abruptly as it had stopped, Ron’s chest began to rise and fall on its own again. No more than a few minutes had passed, but in them, Harry had lived his worst nightmare, seen the demise of his pretenses, felt the consequences of self-denial and, for the first time in his relatively young life, had wished for his own death. The final thread holding him to his present was snipped as surely and as strongly as the miracle of Ron’s exhale as it rushed over Harry’s cheek. Harry signaled to the next ranking Auror and Apparated straight to St. Mungo’s.
Hours later, Harry stuck his head into Ron’s hospital room. It was the middle of the night and Ginny and the children were home in bed, Hugo and Rose tucked in with their cousins. Ron was going to be fine. The combination of hexes that had hit him had done no lasting damage, but his body had been practically wrung dry of magic. His unconsciousness, explained the healer, was his body repairing itself and replenishing its magical stores, he would wake up in a day or so with no lasting effects.
Harry supposed that, as Head Auror, he should have been more concerned with the whats and hows and whys. As it was, he hadn’t even been paying attention to the healer as she had come into the waiting room to soothe the terrified Weasley clan with the news that Ron was going to be fine. Any explanation past his friend’s recovery had been lost in the haze of relief and guilt as he had turned to Hermione to receive her shaking form in his arms; automatically offering his shoulder just as she offered hers. They had broken apart seconds later to hug the kids, Harry kneeling down to pull Rose from Charlie’s lap and into his embrace as Molly had handed Hugo into his mother’s arms.
“Uncle Harry,” Rose had said, pulling her head up from his shoulder, “thank you for saving Dad.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” Harry had replied, blinking back tears as he smiled. “Your dad’s saved me a time or two you know.”
“Yes, he’s told us,” Rose had said, as dryly as Hermione, and shared a grin with Harry. He had pulled her in for another tight hug before turning her over to Hermione.
Now all was quiet. Ron was still and pale. Hermione was asleep in the chair next to his bed. Harry felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment, but there wasn’t a force in this universe that could keep him from Ron’s side any longer.
He conjured a blanket and pulled it over Hermione’s sleeping form and kissed her lightly on her head. Years of sharing a bed with Ron’s snoring had made her a deep sleeper, and she didn’t stir.
Harry moved around the bed to sit in the chair on Ron’s left side. Careful not to touch Ron, Harry leaned forward and placed his head on the mattress and let the emotions overwhelm him. There was no safer place in the world then with Ron and Hermione, even when they were asleep or unconscious. He couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t. Ron was safe, wasn’t he? But Harry did shake. He hid his uncertainty in the unyielding hospital bed, taking quick, shallow breaths as he came to terms with his decision.
Harry was going to end it with Ginny. Ginny would be heart-broken. Ron was going to be disappointed and, quite possibly, homicidal, Hermione was going to hate him. The Weasleys would disown him, and, oh gods, his children. They wouldn’t understand. Not now. But there was nothing for it. He wouldn’t ask Ron to join him, but he wouldn’t live a half-truth anymore. Ginny deserved better. And Harry was coming to realize that he deserved better too.
A deep sigh brought Harry to his senses and he raised his head to see Ron looking at him, eyes dark and weary but open.
They didn’t speak a word, but in that silence passed an understanding so profound that Harry almost thought that everything might work out, if only the rest of the world disappeared. Their hands reached for each other, fingers gripping, entwining pressing, scrabbling for comfort. Harry felt desire and love flare in his chest, painful in its unexpected persistence. With a tearless, sob Harry broke eye contact with Ron and looked over to the sleeping form of their Hermione. Ron raised their joined hands and extended a finger to gently nudge Harry’s chin back towards him, to focus Harry’s eyes back on his. Then Ron softly, deliberately brought their hands to his lips. For the first time in his life, Harry felt Ron’s mouth on his skin. A mere press of pliable flesh to the back of his hand and then it was done.
Ron released Harry’s hand and Harry, not knowing what else to do, rose from his chair and left the room. He felt Ron’s eyes burning into his back as he passed through the door. He felt Ron’s lips on his hand even as he crawled into bed next to Ginny to stare, unblinkingly into the darkness.
* * *
“It’s no use, Ginny. We can’t pretend that this is working anymore.” Harry gripped his wife’s hands in both of his, willing her to understand, though he knew it was more then he deserved.
“I – Harry. I don’t -. Aren’t we happy?” She pleaded, desperate, but there was an edge of awareness as well. Harry had not married a stupid woman and she had known for a while that things were not as they seemed.
“It’s just – it all happened so fast Gin. Everything. All of it. I never even thought that there was another choice but to kill Vodemort and be an Auror and marry you. It was my path.”
Anger sparked in Ginny’s eyes as she wrenched her hands away from her husband. “Of course there was a choice, Harry! There’s always a choice! We teach our children every fucking day to make good decisions, to do the right thing. I thought that I was your choice; that this life we lead is something that you came to out of a conscious decision.”
Harry hung his head. “I thought so too Gin. I did. I do not regret it for a second either. Our children are my life. You know that. And I do love you Ginny. I love you more than any woman in the world.”
“Except maybe for Hermione.” Her voice was bitter, but Harry didn’t, couldn’t, contradict her. “And then there’s my brother. He’s really the one you love most of all, isn’t he?”
Harry’s head shot up. “He – We- Ginny, he’s my best friend.”
“I am not playing this game, Harry. I’m not built for a half-life and I certainly deserve more then to be second best as you pine for my brother, or a different life or whatever the hell you want.”
“However you want to do this, Gin. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
“I want you to love me, you utter shit!” She shouted.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he saw what he was doing to his wife and friend, the mother of his children. He wanted to take it all back, to get a time turner and somehow erase that Christmas six months prior, forget that he was in love with Ron and that Ron might be in love with him. He actually opened his mouth to say something to that effect. To tell her to forget it, that he was certain that it was the very early onset of a mid-life crisis and that he’d buy the newest broom and be done with it.
But Ginny knew Harry, even if it wasn’t as well as she used to think she did. “No, Harry. Just no,” she said flatly, sighing as she pressed her fingers over her eyes and spoke into her hands. “I would like nothing more than to forget about this night, but you cannot take it back. It’s not fair to either one of us.” She lowered her hands. No tears. His girl. “We’ll go to the Burrow tomorrow and talk to Mum and Dad. I’ll tell Ron and Hermione to be there. We’ll have the kids go visit George at the shop, he loves corrupting them. We’ll talk to the kids the day after, and you’ll start moving your things out then. I’m not going to be a bitch about this Harry, though Merlin knows I want to be. The kids will need both of us, and Mum and Dad, and Ron and Hermione. I may not get to have you anymore, but my children will.”
Harry dropped to his knees in front of Ginny. On the floor of their kitchen, he looked up into her strength and loved her more than he had ever loved her before. And it still didn’t change the fact that he didn’t love her enough. Not in the right way. He leaned forward and pressed one reverent kiss on her abdomen, where she had carried their children. They stayed like that for a long time.
* * *
A fat, warm raindrop fell onto Harry’s face as he stood in the garden of the Burrow, and he looked up as a light sprinkle began. He sighed, gathering himself together. He had to figure out a plan. Find a place to go. It had been a long time since Harry Potter had no haven to run to.
He and Ginny were going to explain to the kids in the morning. They had spoken to the Weasleys and Hermione and Ron this afternoon. And now all of Harry’s usual avenues of comfort were closed to him. Ron hadn’t looked up. Not once in the halting and humbling confession to the Weasleys that he was leaving Ginny had those blue eyes met his. Harry had been nearly desperate for something from his very best friend, his favorite person in the world, even a show of temper, but not a sign had passed between the two of them as Ron had kept his gaze determinedly fixed on the table in front of him. Hermione had been grim. Molly seemed to think that this was a phase brought on by too much work. Arthur was angry. Ginny was utterly, wretchedly heart-broken, but still his beautiful, strong girl who had stated to her family, quite proudly, that if Harry wasn’t in love with her, then she did not want him.
When the conversation had come to an awkward, grinding pause, Harry had walked out the door. As he left, his hand on the Weasley clock spun to Lost.
Shaking himself free of the last of the cobwebs, Harry reached into his pocket for his wand. He paused as he heard someone approaching and turned.
“Ron,” Harry choked out. “Ron, I’m so sorry. I told you I’d always take care of her. That I’d make her happy and I tried, but I can’t make her happy and the kids happy, and the family happy and the Ministry happy and Hermione happy and have anything left for myself. I don’t know how and it’s – it’s just all too much right now.”
Ron stood before him, the light rain catching in his bright hair. He didn’t look angry, just tired. “Are you alright, Harry?” he finally asked. He was the only one who had.
“No,” Harry said, simply, so glad that his friend was talking to him.
Ron nodded and looked down at his feet. “I reckon you’re a right mess, mate,” he said and then looked up into Harry’s eyes again. “I’m here for you. Hermione too, but she’s in there with Ginny right now. You’re going to stay with us tonight.”
“But Hermione – doesn’t she hate me now? And Ginny’s your sister,” Harry said, sounding pathetic and very young.
“I know Ginny’s my sister, and she knows that I know that she’s my sister. She also knows that you are Harry,” Ron said, “And Hermione doesn’t hate you Harry, she loves you.”
“But she seems so put out with me lately.”
Ron paused for a long moment, the soft sound of rain striking leaves surrounding them. “She’s mad at me. Nothing to do with you.”
“Ron, I – Just - thank you”
“Sure, Harry.” Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but managed to avoid his eyes. Harry leaned into the touch just a little anyway. “You alright to Apparate?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I think I’m okay.”
* * *
Ron and Harry sat in companionable silence in Hermione’s Kitchen. An old, worn out joke since Ron did all of the cooking out of self-defense, but Harry needed an old joke to wrap around himself at the moment. The quiet around them was eerie, especially for the summer. Usually Rose and Hugo and at least one of his brood were flying about the place with Ron encouraging them and Hermione admonishing Ron and Ginny pealing with laughter. Harry closed his eyes, his head low.
“Harry,” Ron started and Harry opened his eyes to look at his friend, “I have to go pick up the kids from George’s. He and Gabrielle probably have had enough by now.” Harry managed a weak smile. “I’m going to drop them at Kingsley and Percy’s for the night.”
Harry surprised himself by laughing “All five of them? Think they’re up for it?”
“Not like they have any of their own. They have plenty of room and I think they enjoy the novelty. Besides,” Ron continued “Rose is dying to talk to Kingsley about some new policy proposal that Hermione’s been working on and Percy thinks it’s hot when Kingsley talks shop with eleven-year-olds.”
“He would.” Harry said, shaking his head in amusement, “who knew that your brother was such a kinky sod?”
“I did,” Hermione said as she entered the room.
“Yeah, but you know everything,” Harry countered and Hermione smiled. She walked straight to Harry and tugged at his chair. Harry scooted back and was pulled up and into a tight, heartfelt hug that had been comforting him for over twenty years. He buried his face in her wild hair.
Ron cleared his throat “I should go,” he said gruffly, rising from his own chair.
Hermione let go of Harry but held onto his hand as she stretched out her free arm to her husband who grasped her hand in both of his. The world stilled as the three of them stood, connected in ways that no one else would ever come close to understanding. “Go see Ginny after you take care of the kids, Ron.” Hermione said, gently. “She’s at the Burrow.”
Ron nodded, squeezed his wife’s hand before letting go, met Harry’s eyes for a brief moment that left Harry dizzy, and then popped out of the room.
“Sit down, Harry,” Hermione commanded. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, but I’ll make it.” He said firmly placing his hands on Hermione’s shoulders and pushing her down into a chair.
“You’d think I can’t even boil water with the way you lot act,” Hermione grumbled as Harry put the kettle on.
“You can’t,” Harry grinned and then faltered as he remembered a similar conversation between Ginny and Hermione not too long ago. “How is she?” he asked, back to Hermione.
Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry if I didn’t love you, or know what this is costing you, I’d be throwing hexes right now.”
“You do love me, then?” Harry asked, turning, hating the neediness in his voice.
Hermione looked affronted “Of course I love you! What a nasty thing to ask me. I can be angry at you and feel awful for Ginny and still love you.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “How did we ever let it come to this?”
Harry brought the tea to the table and sat down, waiting for Hermione to speak.
“I should not have married Ron. If I had known that you wanted him, I wouldn’t have,” she began. Harry’s jaw dropped. “He’s always loved you; in every way humanly possible,” she said, raising her voice over the beginnings of his babbling protest. “He doesn’t like men in general. What he likes – what he loves - is us. What he loves most is you.”
“Why are you acting like this is such common knowledge? I had no idea how I felt, I certainly haven’t told anyone. Ginny knew, and you know and Ron-” Harry stopped. This was a tremendously awkward conversation to be having with the wife of the man he loved, but this was Hermione and she was so comfortingly herself.
“Ron’s known how he feels about you for a long time,” Hermione said wistfully. “After the war, while you continued to march down that path of yours, the rest of us scrambled about in the underbrush to find our own way. You weren’t the only one dead set on the fairy tale ending. Ginny and I were as caught up in the neatness of it all just as much as the rest of the world, but Ron kept pulling at us; questioning the inevitability of settling for the life we thought we wanted when we were fourteen.
Did you know,” she continued after a fortifying sip of tea, “that he wanted to travel? He thought he might like to be a curse breaker like Bill and go to exotic locations looking for treasure.”
Harry shook his head. How had he not known? Why had Ron never told him? He thought back to the months following Voldemort’s defeat and the clearest image in that confusing time was Ron, always by his side.
“Not your fault Harry,” Hermione smiled ruefully at him, reading his thoughts. “He wanted to do all those things, but he’d never leave you. He wanted you to come with him but you weren’t going anywhere.”
“How did he know? He never asked,” Harry said sharply, suddenly angry at Ron for taking a choice out of his hands and for making his life decisions based upon Harry’s. Had Harry known there was a choice, would he have taken it? It was impossible to say now.
“I told him not to ask you,” Hermione admitted and Harry glared at her. “Harry, I honestly didn’t think you would be interested, but I was also eighteen and in love and didn’t want him to leave. So, I told him that it would just make you feel guilty when all you wanted to do was be with Ginny, and Gin told him that she wouldn’t forgive him if he made you feel badly, so he dropped it.”
“What does that have to do with him- er-” Harry trailed off.
“Him loving you?” Harry nodded. “He’s never said it, but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes. It’s there in everything he does, everything he’s always done. You count on his devotion, just as our children and I and Ginny do. The thing is, Harry,” her eyes dropped from his “he loved you too much to leave you, and Ginny and I too much to ask you, so he stepped up and took his place in our Ministry Approved lives.”
“Does he regret it?” Harry asked, something tight within him.
“Do you regret your life, Harry?” Hermione countered.
He thought of his children, “No.” He thought of Ron and far-away lands, “Yes.” He thought of the fun he had being an Auror, crazy Sunday dinners at the Burrow and Ron lying motionless on a field as hexes blazed over him. He remembered Hermione teaching Hugo how to ride a bike as James circled overhead on his broom, Ginny chasing George around their kitchen table, brandishing her wand but laughing too hard to cast a spell and he remembered that moon soaked Christmas when Ron had touched his cheek before bidding him good night. “No. I don’t regret my life, Hermione, but I would regret going on as usual, now that I know.”
“Now that you know.” Hermione nodded slowly, a long, soft sigh escaping her lips and Harry remembered again that they were talking about her husband, not just their friend.
“I haven’t asked him to come with me. Don’t even know that I’m going anywhere, other than a flat in London. And I wouldn’t do that to you or the family.”
“You think that leaving Ginny and moving to London is going to help?” She asked skeptically.
“I have no idea.” He said wearily, “I just know that what I have been doing doesn’t work for anybody any more. The rest I’ll figure out later.
He rose, taking the now cold tea over to the sink. “You have to ask him Harry,” Hermione spoke from right behind his shoulder and he tensed in disbelief. “I took that choice away from you years ago, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Harry turned slowly to face her. “But you love him, Hermione.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And I love you, and he loves us both.” She tapped a finger on Harry’s chest. “Haven’t you figured out that we’d do anything for you by now?”
“Not this.”
“Harry, it’ll be fine.” He opened mouth and she tapped him again, “Ron and I haven’t been truly together for a while now. I thought I could stop the drifting if I put more distance between the two of you, but that made things worse. We’ve already had this discussion.”
Harry blinked.
“Not involving you. Not everything’s about you, Chosen One.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “I’ve done my mourning, love. Both Ron and I will be hurting for a while, but the important thing is that the very best parts of our relationship are still intact. Turns out we were just waiting for you.”
“How can this be so easy?” Harry wondered.
“If you had lived even one minute in my shoes, or Ron’s, for the past five years or so, you would know that this has been anything but easy. If you take anything away from this conversation, Harry, understand that.”
“So Ron’s-”
“Just waiting for you? Not that simple, really. He feels as guilty as you do. I’m not entirely certain what he’ll do. We’ve agreed to continue on as we are, living together unless something changes. You’ve always been a game changer, Harry Potter.”
* * *
Harry walked out of the front door. Hermione had gone up to bed with a good book, but force of habit sent Harry into the night to look for Ron. He was there, sitting on the front steps.
“If I have to talk about my feelings again anytime in the next decade, I might as well start charming the hair off my legs,” Harry said as he sat down next to Ron.
“Hermione,” Ron nodded, as if that said it all.
The front door opened, and they turned to see a bucket of beer float out and join them before it shut again. “Hermione,” Harry nodded, grinning.
“Cheers.” Ron handed Harry a bottle, grabbed one for himself and, tapping his beer against Harry’s, they both took a long swallow.
“I reckon that I’m going to get a flat in London,” Harry said, looking at his bottle, picking at the label with a scraggly fingernail.
“Yeah?” asked Ron “You can live near Seamus, let me know if half the stories he tells are true.” Seamus was in a committed relationship with the single women of London; all of them. “A little debauchery might be good for you.”
“I’m also going to take some time off, visit all the places I’ve always wanted to see.”
“Sounds great, mate,” Ron said in a nearly wistful tone. “I wanted to travel once.”
“So I heard,” Harry said. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Ron shrugged. “Never the right time or place. I didn’t want to leave you- everyone - to deal with the fall out by yourselves. Then you were making plans with Ginny and. . .” he trailed off.
Harry stared at him “Don’t you ever call me a self-sacrificing prat again, you self-sacrificing prat. Did it ever occur to you that we, that I, just wanted you to be happy?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have been happy without you,” Ron said firmly, looking Harry straight in the eye. “Do you think I could have just buggered off to parts unknown while you were so lost?”
“Well what about after?” Harry pushed.
“After? What after? After you marched into Kingsley’s office and demanded, at wand point to become an Auror one month after you finished Voldemort? After you proposed to my sister the day she graduated from Hogwarts and asked me to be your best man? How about after you pushed me to do right by Hermione and practically proposed to her on my behalf? Or maybe after James was born and you asked me to be his godfather? There has never been an after, Harry.”
“No,” Harry said, putting down his beer, standing abruptly and walking the three steps down to the front lawn before turning to face Ron, still sitting on his step. “You are not pushing this all on me. I may not have looked for other options in my life, but you did. You trusted Hermione and Ginny to know what was best for me and never even talked to me about it first.”
“What would you have done Harry?” Ron asked, subdued.
“I don’t know,” Harry said “but I do know that you were right about one thing; I was lost. I needed structure and guidance and support, but I didn’t need to be sheltered and herded. I needed you, I still need you. Now, what do you need? More importantly, Ron, what do you want?” Harry moved close, the toes of his trainers touching the front steps, his eyes even with Ron’s, inches away.
Ron’s eyes were wide, and he swallowed, setting down his beer and wiping the bottle’s condensation from his hand down the leg of his jeans before replying. “I want what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve always needed. I want you to be safe and happy and well-fed and laughing and I -” Ron slid his right hand up Harry’s arm, over his shoulder and around his neck, tugging at the unruly black hair creeping over the top of his collar “I want you to be mine.”
“I’ve always been yours,” Harry said, and grabbed the front of Ron’s tee-shirt in both fists, pulling the red-head’s mouth to his, tasting the beer-edged softness of Ron’s lips with his tongue, feeling the strength of his chest beneath knuckles.
And then, because Harry knew that kiss was to be the first of many, he pulled away softly, nipping at Ron’s mouth one last time before putting enough distance between them to search Ron’s face. His blue eyes were dazed, but Ron was beaming, radiating enough joy to ignite Harry’s heart, and, with his greatest friend and dearest love lighting the way, Harry had the confidence to ask “Come with me?”
Ron took a deep breath and made his choice, “Course I will.”