Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time it happened, Harry didn"t question it.

He was lying in his bed facing the wall when he felt the end of his mattress dip. He jumped, the sensation starling him fully awake. He twisted around in his duvet to find a dark silhouette at the end of his bed. In the muted darkness, he could see the outline of a hunched figure, sitting still and tense as if afraid of scaring Harry. But even in the pitch darkness, Harry knew who it was. He could pick him out in a room full of polyjuiced people who looked like him- he was unmistakable to Harry.

Harry relaxed, he felt the solid comfort that he only experienced in the company of Ron.

He pushed himself up a bit by his elbows, squinting against the darkness to draw him out. The room was shrouded in shadows, but he could see faint lines of his best friend. Ron’s head was bowed, and his hands were posed in his lap.

“Ron?” Harry whispered. The dark shadow at the end of his bed didn"t move, and Harry tried again, “Ron? Are you alright?” 

He patted around his duvet to find the solid comfort of his wand- casting a quiet Lumos! Ron looked harshly in the bright white light, and Harry lowered his wand, “What is going on?”

“I—” Ron started, then took in a shaky breath. I"m scared, Harry.” He looked at Harry, and in the Lumos light, his face was pale, and his eyes were big. “I"m so scared.”

Then Harry felt like an idiot because of course. Earlier that day, they visited Hermione in the hospital wing. Whatever that had been attacking Hogwarts students had attacked her. She had been petrified.  Harry had blocked Hermione"s frozen state, her pale skin and blank eyes. It was a harsh reminder that the three of them were not exactly untouchable, and seeing Hermione like that was terrifying.  It was too much.

He swallowed, “She will be okay, Madam Pomfrey said she was making an antidote.”

“But what if she isn"t okay?”

“She is going to be okay. Madam Pomfrey said so.”

Ron didn"t look too convinced. Harry had a weird urge to hug and pull him into an embrace. But he didn"t move, overseeing him at a distance.

Ron played with the thread on his pajama pants, and Harry eyed at the way his fingers twirl around the string. He got the sudden realization that the other was nervous. It was a weird realization to have. He doesn"t think they"ve ever been nervous around each other.

“It"s just that-” the redhead whispered, “I should have been there, y’know? I should have done something.”

Harry shook his head, “There was nothing you could have done, Ron. We’ll find a way to stop it, okay? But right now, there’s nothing we can do.”

Ron didn’t seem to relax by this but instead looked more panicky.  “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Harry said, “I know.”

Ron took a shaky breath, “Can I sleep with you tonight?” then quickly he flushed a deep pink, “Not to be weird or  anything, I just don"t want to sleep alone- you know, and-”

“Of course,” Harry said kindly, already scooting to the far end of his bed, “It"s not weird at all.”

Ron shot him a look as if he was trying to find something.

Harry’s brows knitted together, “What?”

Ron shook his head, gave him a timid, grateful smile, and crawled into the warmth of his bed.

The two boys fit nicely in Harry’s bed, and it was nice. He lay facing Ron, his knees drawn to his chest, and Ron lay facing him, his long legs tucked underneath Harry’s, curving around his body just like a puzzle piece.

In the low lighting, he could see Ron’s eyelashes, could see his freckles scattered across his face, the way his chest rose and fell. He held his breath, faintly aware that he had never been this close to Ron before. “This isn"t weird, right?” Ron asked quietly, not bothering to open his eyes to look at him.

Harry hummed, “Not weird at all.”  He didn"t share one thought about how weird it may look that two mates were sharing one bed. How odd it could look for their other roommates to find them like this. All he could think of was how warm his bed was with Ron’s presence, and he fell asleep to the easy comfort that his best friend was right there beside him.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. As Harry stirred from his sleep, he became acutely aware of the warmth pressed against him. Ron’s arm draped over his chest, and his leg was thrown casually across Harry’s, their bodies curved together in a way that felt both comforting and strange. For a moment, Harry lay still, blinking away the remnants of sleep, recalling the events of the previous night.

Oh, Harry glanced at Ron’s sleeping state then quickly looked away, right.

With gentle care, he began to untangle himself from Ron’s embrace- dipping his head from underneath Ron’s arm, shimming away from his draped leg, and slipping out of bed without disturbing him. Harry moved quietly across the dormitory, where the stillness enveloped him like a blanket. His roommates were still sleeping with their curtains drawn, oblivious to the quiet anxiety brewing within him.

Sure, last night he told Ron this was normal, but was it? Harry wasn"t quite sure, but as he reached for his robes, neatly hung on a hook by the bed, he couldn’t resist glancing back at Ron. In the soft yellow hue of the morning light, Ron looked unexpectedly peaceful. There was something undeniably tender about the way he slept, a vulnerability that tugged at Harry’s heart.

As Harry approached the bed, Ron stirred, his eyelashes fluttering as he began to awaken.

“Morning,” Harry greeted, offering a warm smile.

Ron yawned and stretched, sitting up with heavy eyes still clouded by sleep.  “Morning,” Ron mumbled, looking down at his lap rather than at Harry.

Harry frowned, “Did you sleep okay?”

Ron shrugged, “I slept pretty well. You?”

“Yeah, not too bad.”

“Y’know, Harry,” Ron said, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, “I didn’t mean to… you know, impose.”

Harry shook his head, brushing off the concern. “No worries at all.”

Still, Ron didn’t seem entirely at ease. “But it’s a bit strange, right? Asking a mate to share a bed?”

“Ron,” Harry said, emphasizing his name. When Ron looked up, his expression tight, Harry added, “We’re in this together, okay?”

A faint smile broke through Ron’s unease, “Right. Together.”

As they dressed in comfortable silence, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them.

The second time it happened, it was purely out of convenience.

Ron and Harry huddled together in Ron’s bed, the curtains drawn tight and silencing charms woven around them to keep their late-night antics discreet. Their laps overflowed with an assortment of sweets, the crinkling wrappers providing a soft soundtrack as they rummaged through their stash. The latest issue of Quidditch Weekly lay sprawled before them, pages fluttering gently in the warm glow of Ron’s wand.

“This is ridiculous!” Ron exclaimed, flipping the magazine around to reveal a picture of the French Quidditch team, the picture was the teammates expressing smiles and cheers as they held up a gold trophy..“No way France beat England! The scores have to be rigged! Has to be!”

Harry leaned closer, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re just upset because you had your heart set on watching Team England vs. Northern Ireland.”

Ron waved him off. “That match would be so close to home. I bet a Portkey wouldn’t cost much to get there! Don’t tell me you’re not disappointed.”

Harry shrugged, “I mean, I’d love to see it. But it’s not like we can skip class or anything..”

“And did you see that?” Ron scoffed, shaking his head as he pointed to the magazine. “They were celebrating like they just won the World Cup or something!”

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing a chocolate from the pile. “Well, you’ve got to admit they’ve got some skills.”

“Skills? Please! Look at this!” Ron pointed dramatically at the article, indignation clear on his face. “They were practically fumbling the Quaffle half the time!”

As Harry chuckled, their shoulders brushed together, and the warmth between them wrapped around them like a cozy blanket. Outside, the night was still, and in that little cocoon with Ron, it felt like Harry’s world had faded away.

“Honestly,” Ron continued, “if you were on England’s team, there’d be no questioning it. You’d have them winning every match.”

Harry felt a flush creep up his cheeks at the unexpected praise. “You don’t mean that.”

Ron shot him a mock serious look. “Am I or am I not talking to the youngest Seeker of the century?”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Come on, Harry. You’re not that thick.”

“Oh, piss off-” Harry laughed, shoving Ron. Suddenly, both boys freeze when they hear a sudden heavy thud outside the comfort of the bed.

Ron whipped his head around, his eyes big as saucers “What was that?”

“How would I know?”

“I don’t know! You’re closest to the curtain. Take a peek!”

With a reluctant sigh, Harry pulled back the curtain and surveyed the room. The space was quiet and bathed in cool blue light from the moon, and there, at the far end, lay Neville on the floor, his face. twisted in pain. Neville rolled onto his back and groaned, his hands shielding his face.

Harry shut the curtain, “Looks like Neville fell out of the bed again.”

“Geez, the poor lad. This is his third time this week?”

Harry shook his head, “Told me he was dreaming of running away from some trolls.”

It was an awful thing to laugh about but both boys covered their mouths to stifle their laughs. “The poor lad,” Ron said again, feigning sympathy.

Suddenly Harry could feel his eyelids getting heavy and he tried to cover his yawn with a cough.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re getting tired of me,” Ron scowled. “It’s only—” He paused, glancing at his watch. “ It’s three in the morning!”

Harry snapped upright. “Three AM?” They exchanged wide-eyed looks, both thinking of Harry’s Quidditch match against Ravenclaw tomorrow. He rubbed his temples. “Oh, I’m in deep trouble. Deep, deep trouble.”

Ron quickly spelled all the candy away, “Let"s just quickly go to sleep. If we go to sleep now we get-” he counted on his fingers,” about four hours of sleep, that"s manageable, right?”

“You’re right,” Harry said, but as he reached to pull back the curtains to head to his own bed, Ron grabbed his arm.

“Just stay here,” Ron said, looking away, “I mean, Neville’s having a bit of a frenzy. Might as well save the bloke some embarrassment.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to wake you up.”

And maybe Harry should’ve thought about how odd it was for two mates to share a bed. But he didn’t even register it until they were both tucked under the covers, their legs brushing against one another.

When Harry stirred awake the next morning, it took a moment for his surroundings to come into focus, and when they did, he found Ron’s gaze fixed intently on him.

For the first time, Harry felt an awful amount of awareness of himself—every breath, every heartbeat amplified. He shifted slightly under the covers, suddenly conscious of the way their bodies were tucked together, their legs entangled beneath the blanket.

“Uh, morning,” Harry mumbled, his voice rough from sleep.

Ron blinked, looking away quickly as he gave him a quick “Morning” then pulled the curtains open and quickly got out of bed, leaving Harry alone and dumbfounded.

The third time it happened Harry didn"t even realize it was happening.

In the middle of the night, he woke up to someone’s arm draped over his waist and the feeling of something tickling against his neck. He froze, his mind going into panic mode till he recognized the familiar freckles on the arm, the familiar smell of freshly mowed grass, the familiar warmth that he only found in Ron Weasley.

It didn"t bother him, not how it supposed to at least. He nudged him slightly, “Ron.”

Ron groaned, muttering something incohesive. “Ron, wake up.”

“Why,” he said faintly, the words barely escaping his mouth.

“You"re in the wrong bed, mate,” Harry whispered.

Ron blinked sluggishly, looking at Harry with slow, confused blinks. “Oh,” he muttered, “Hey.”

Harry frowned. “I hope this isn’t becoming routine,” he said, trying to sound scolding, but there was no real bite in his words. In truth, he didn’t mind. A small part of him even liked it. The solidness of Ron’s body beside him felt reassuring, like an anchor in the storm.

Ron frowned as he propped himself up. “Didn’t mean to... must’ve sleepwalked or something. I’ll go—”

“No, don’t,” Harry said quickly, then his neck flushed red, “I mean, you"re already here so why not?”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, cursing himself for speaking before thinking. Ron’s gaze met his and Harry felt the weight against it. It felt different, something unknowable.

Ron looked scared- no that wasn"t it- nervous? “Right,” Ron said slowly, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “Just… stay if you want to, I mean.”

Ron’s expression shifted as if he were weighing the options. “I can stay,” he said,” I want to stay.”

Harry let out a breath,” Okay,” he said,” Yeah, okay.”

In the morning, when they woke up tangled together, Ron laughed it off.
“Must’ve been cold last night,” he said quickly, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “That’s why, you know… we were all… yeah.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the heart to admit how much he liked it.

The fourth time, Harry was grateful for it.

His mind was clouded by the haunting memory of Sirius, the way he had looked at him just before taking his final breath. But in Harry’s dream, something was wrong—Sirius was screaming, clawing at him, begging, How could you? How could you?

Harry couldn’t move. He couldn’t reach for Sirius, couldn’t pull him back from the veil. His own voice was strangled as he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Harry—”

The voice echoed, eerie and taunting. Harry spun around, trying to find the source, but suddenly Sirius was gone. He was standing in a room full of mirrors, his reflection staring back from every angle. “Harry—”

He raised his wand, wide-eyed and frantic. “Who’s there?” he shouted, turning in circles, seeing only his reflection. “Show yourself!”

“Harry—” The voice came louder, more insistent. “Harry!”

The voice was deafening now, wrapping around him like a fog. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, hands clamped over his ears, trying to block out the sound. “Get out!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “Get out! Get out!”

“Harry—wake up!”

With a gasp, Harry jolted awake.

He was in the Gryffindor dorm. He was in Hogwarts. He was safe. He squinted up at the bright white light next to his bed, “Ron?” he gasped, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

He heard a small “Nox!” and the bright white light vanished and Ron’s worried face came to view, his brows were furrowed into each other and his lips were drawn into a harsh frown. He was staring at Harry with such an intense look that Harry had to look away.

“Was it him again?” Ron whispered and in the quietness of the dorm Harry could hear the fear clearly in his voice, “Was it you-know-who?”

Harry swallowed, giving a small nod. He didn’t trust his voice.

Without a word, Ron wrapped his arms around Harry in a tight, protective hug. The embrace startled Harry, leaving him momentarily limp. He could feel Ron’s heartbeat, steady and strong against his chest.

Ron pulled back, “You were screaming in your sleep,” he said.

Harry blinked, “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“It scared me.”

“Oh,” he repeated again, “I’m sorry-“

Ron shook his head, dismissing the apology, and without hesitation, climbed into bed next to him.

The narrow bed barely accommodated them both now, their bodies pressed close, skin touching. Harry didn’t mind—especially tonight. Ron’s warmth was grounding.

They lay in silence for a while. Harry tried to focus on his breathing, tried to forget the images from his dream—the mirrors, the accusing voice, the look on Sirius’s face. But the memory clung to him, lingering in the back of his mind, refusing to let go. He stared at the canopy above, willing himself to disappear into it, to be anywhere but here, inside his own head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ron asked quietly after some time.

Harry shook his head. Talking about it would only make it feel more real. “No. If you just...” His voice trailed off, unsure.

“What?”

Harry hesitated, then whispered, “Can you just hold me?”

The words felt fragile, almost pitiful, and he was afraid this would be too much, that Ron would pull away. But instead, Ron nodded without hesitation.

“Okay.”

Ron’s arms circled him again, this time more gently, his hands rubbing small, soothing circles on Harry’s back. “Is this alright?” Ron asked, his voice quiet and shy, as though the vulnerability of the moment had stripped him down, made him younger somehow.

Harry nodded, letting himself sink into the comfort. “This is perfect,” he mumbled, his words muffled against Ron’s chest.  He felt the warm pressure of Ron’s lip at his hairline just as sleep pulled him back in.

When morning came, Harry found it difficult to meet Ron’s eyes. He blushed furiously, feeling hyper-aware of everything. He felt so stupid and childish. Every time he tried to look at Ron, his gaze dropped quickly, afraid of what might be said if their eyes truly met.

Ron, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop looking at Harry. Concern lingered in his eyes, as though he wanted to say something, asking if Harry was really okay. But the words never came, and Harry was glad for it. They never talked about their emotions, comfort, or weakness.

At breakfast, the unspoken tension followed them. Harry spoke with his eyes downcast, while Ron kept stealing glances when he thought Harry wasn’t looking.

Across the table, Hermione watched the two of them with a puzzled expression, her gaze flicking back and forth between them like she was observing a tennis match. But, as was her way, she didn’t pry. Whatever she was thinking, whatever questions she had, she kept them to herself.

The fifth time it happened, Ron denied it.

It was the summer before their sixth year at Hogwarts, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione were enjoying their final week of vacation at the Burrow.

Harry’s hair had grown out to shoulder length, and his skin glowed a rich brown from days spent flying with Ron and his brothers. Ron teased him about looking like a surfer, but he himself had picked up a tan too, his hair long enough to tie back. Harry thought Ron looked good—really good. There was something boyish yet scruffy about him, the kind of handsome that he was sure girls found appealing.

But everyone else disagreed.

“My mum wants us to get haircuts before school starts,” Ron sighed one evening as they sat on the floor, a game of Wizard"s Chess sprawled out between them.

Hermione, perched on Ron’s bed with a book in her lap, laughed. “Honestly, have either of you seen the state of your hair? You both look like madmen!”

“Hey,” Ron protested, “I happen to think I look good.”

“You do,” Harry chimed in, earning a pleased blush from Ron and an exasperated look from Hermione. “You two,” she sighed, “always encouraging each other’s bad choices.”

But Harry wasn’t trying to endorse Ron’s questionable fashion decisions. All week, he had found it hard to look at Ron directly, for when he did, he caught himself staring. He had never truly noticed how handsome his best friend was before—the broadness of his shoulders, the way his smile lit up his eyes. He had this almost mature look to him. Sometimes, when Ron was preoccupied, Harry couldn’t help but take in this newfound perspective, grappling with the realization of just how attractive his friend had become.

“Ah! Checkmate!” Ron cheered, breaking Harry from his thoughts. He looked back down at the board, realizing he had just lost. “C’mon, another round!”

“Oh, knock it off, Ron, it’s getting late,” Hermione said. Harry was silently thankful; his eyes were drooping, and he feared he might fall forward onto the chessboard.

“I think she’s right,” he yawned, “it’s getting late.”

Ron made an offended noise. “When did you get tired before ten o’clock? We used to stay up until five AM—”

Hermione gasped. “Five AM?”

But Harry just laughed quietly. He didn’t tell Hermione that those nights were different because it was usually the two of them lying face to face in bed, sharing stories and secrets in hushed whispers. He didn’t tell Hermione that Ron was the reason Harry had been losing sleep, wanting to spend every waking moment with him.

“Well,” Hermione said, jumping up from Ron’s bed and giving the two boys a pointed look. Like the two of them, she looked different this summer as well, though Harry couldn’t quite place how. There was a certain type of energy about her. He glanced at Ron and frowned. Ron seemed no longer interested in the board game but rather was craning his neck to look at her. Harry glanced back at Hermione, trying to see what Ron was seeing but all he saw was the same old Hermione.
He couldn"t describe the hurt feeling coursing through him. That doesn"t make sense. He looked away.

Hermione huffed, “I"m tired, and we have a busy day tomorrow so I suggest you two head to bed soon.”

“Okay mum-” Ron called after her, watching her go with that stupid strange look. When he turned to look at Harry he frowned, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry shook his head, “I"m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yes you are, you"re looking at me like this-” Then Ron squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows to mock Harry’s expression.

Harry coughed, “Am not.”

“Whatever, are we going to finish playing or what?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, “I"m tired.” when Ron playfully batted his eyelashes at him Harry just laughed, “No- and if you keep asking you will sleep alone tonight.”

Ron automatically stopped, “That"s low, mate-” he said grudgingly. Every night that Harry has been here the two have been sharing Ron’s twin bed, despite the other bed in his room that Molly conjured up for him. Even though he teasingly said it, Harry couldn"t imagine going to bed alone.

“C’mon,” Harry said, “Let"s go to bed.”

Ron’s twin bed was not made to fit two sixteen-year-olds but neither of the boys spelled it to enlarge- finding comfort in the small space. Harry wrapped his arm around Ron, pulling him close.

He was halfway asleep, the warmth of Ron’s presence lulling him into relaxation, until Ron began shifting beside him. First, Ron turned his back to Harry, prompting Harry to pull him back with a playful tug, pressing his chest to Ron"s back. But after a few moments, Ron flipped onto his back with a frustrated sigh. They stayed like that briefly, before Ron turned again, this time facing Harry and burying his face in Harry"s chest.

“Do you need me to leave?” Harry asked, thinking Ron might be uncomfortable. He felt Ron shake his head, so Harry dismissed it as Ron tried to get comfortable and closed his eyes to drift off again.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron whispered, cutting through the quiet. Harry groaned, half-asleep, “What is it, Ron?”

Ron stayed silent for a moment, lying completely still. From this angle, Harry couldn’t see his face—Ron’s hair was in the way. Gently, Harry reached over and brushed it aside, revealing an unusual expression on Ron’s face. “Ron?” he asked, concerned creeping into his voice.

Ron shifted, pushing himself up slightly. “Do you trust me, Harry?”

“Of course I do.”

Before Harry could process what was happening, Ron leaned in and pressed a quick, hesitant kiss to his lips. It was so brief, so unexpected, that Harry didn’t even have time to react. By the time his brain caught up, Ron was already pulling away, retreating as if he regretted it, his face flushed and his eyes wide with uncertainty.

But Harry’s body reacted faster than his thoughts. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around Ron’s waist and pulled him back, holding him close. His heart was racing, his mind swirling with confusion and a rush of feelings he hadn’t been ready to confront. But at that moment, none of it mattered. He just didn’t want Ron to pull away, not now, not after this.

For a brief moment, Ron embraced it. He relaxed in Harry’s arms, his hand coming up to grip Harry’s shirt. “Ron,” Harry said, his voice thick and that broke it.

Ron froze in his arms, their faces inches apart. Harry could feel the warmth of Ron’s breath, and see the way his eyes searched Harry’s face for a reaction. For a long, silent moment, neither of them moved, caught in the tension of something unspoken, something that had been building between them for longer than either was willing to admit.

Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper. “Ron… why did you—”
“I’m sorry,” Ron blurted out loudly in the quiet- starling Harry.

Even in the dark Harry could see Ron’s face flushing brightly red with embarrassment. He started to pull away again, but Harry held him firm.

“Don’t be,” Harry murmured, his heart pounding as he tried to understand the flood of emotions coursing through him. "I didn’t... I didn’t mind."

Ron swallowed hard, still not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. "No-no, I don"t know what I was thinking.”

“But-”

“Just forget about it,” Ron sounded almost pleading and Harry, dumbfounded, nodded in the muted darkness. Ron twisted around, turning his back to Harry.

Harry waited for something, though he wasn"t sure what. After a couple of moments, Harry was sure both of them were still wide away. Ron may feigned asleep, but his body was taunted and tensed, clearly not wanting to be bothered,

The room felt too small, too warm, too quiet. And Harry was going absolutely crazy. His thoughts churned, tangling with emotions he couldn’t name. He lay still, staring at the shadowed ceiling, feeling Ron"s presence like a heavyweight beside him. What had just happened? Why had it happened? And why did he want it to happen again? He wanted to shake Ron and force him to explain what just happened.

Ron’s body was rigid, his back pressed against Harry’s chest. Harry didn’t move, didn’t force him to turn around or confront him.

The kiss replayed in his mind, over and over again. That quick and fleeting but electrifying feeling, like the spark of a spell. It wasn’t just the kiss itself—it was the way Ron had looked at him after like he was absolutely terrified of what Harry might say or do.

Harry had never seen that expression on his best friend’s face before. It made him wonder—had this been a mistake? Maybe Ron hadn’t meant to do it. Maybe it had been some horrifying slip-up he already regretted.

The thought twisted in Harry’s chest like a knife. What if Ron really did think it was a mistake? What if this changed everything between them?

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his mind racing with questions he didn’t know how to ask. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he whispered into the darkness.

“Ron?”

There was no response. For a moment, Harry thought Ron had actually fallen asleep, but then he felt the faintest movement—Ron’s shoulders tensing even more.

Harry sighed softly, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to push, not tonight. It might have been a mistake. It might have been the beginning of something else.

Harry didn’t know which possibility scared him more.

Harry jolted out of bed as a sudden downpour of cold water splashed onto his face. His hair clung to his forehead, his shirt was soaked through, and the sheets beneath him were sopping wet. He flailed out of bed, hearing Ron sputter beside him, struggling to catch his breath against the chill.
Peering up from the floor of Ron’s room, Harry found Fred and George standing over him, grinning mischievously. “That ought to wake you two up,” Fred said, tucking his wand back into his pocket.

“We tried calling your names several times, but neither of you would budge,” George added, and both brothers burst into laughter.

“So you thought dumping cold water on us was the answer?” Harry said, his frustration evident as he shivered slightly. He glanced over at Ron, who looked equally irritated, his hair dripping and clothes soaked.

“Well, yeah,” Fred said, smirking. “You two were all lovey-dovey; it was impossible to wake you.”

“Yeah, you were like this!” George chimed in, turning his back to them and wrapping his arms around himself, pretending to sway as if he were making out. Harry felt his cheeks heat up, but it was Ron who snapped. “Stop!” he yelled, sitting up and hurling his wet pillow at his brothers, it hit squarely on the back of Geogre’s head. “Knock it off!”

Harry frowned at the intensity of Ron’s voice; even the twins looked taken aback. Ron’s face flushed a deep shade of red, but Harry couldn"t tell if it was from embarrassment or disgust. He glared at his brothers, then at Harry as if he was the culprit of Ron’s distress. “Knock it off or I’m telling Mum,” he said, looking awfully small in his bed.

“Geez,” Fred said, awkwardly laughing off Ron’s words, “No worries, we already accepted Harry into the family,” he winked at Harry who was sitting dumbfounded on the floor. What did he do to deserve Ron’s anger? He tried to catch Ron’s eyes but the other looked firmly up at his brothers, not acknowledging Harry. George cooed mockingly, “Ronald is very territorial.”

Ron looked as if his head was about to blow off his shoulders. His hands were at his sides fisted in the sheets and his shoulders were tense.

“Can you guys just leave?” Harry said, his irritation rising. “This is not a good time.” He’d seen Ron snap at his brothers before, but usually, their light teasing didn’t elicit such a strong reaction. It was because of last night, Harry"s reason. Ron was already upset about last night.

Fred raised his hands in mock defense. “Tell your girlfriend to get his knickers out of a twist,” he snickered. Harry shot them both a glare until they finally exited the room, laughing as they left.

"Here,” Harry said, casting a hot air charm on both of them and the bed. He watched as Ron’s hair began to curl back up and his shirt dried before his eyes.

“They were just teasing,” Harry said, tension creeping into his voice as he tucked his wand back into his pocket.

Ron pursed his lips, a mix of irritation and discomfort crossing his face. “They shouldn’t make jokes like that—about you and me.”

Harry felt suddenly self-conscious, he rubbed his arms. “They’re just joking around.”

Ron looked pained, searching for the right words. His mouth twisted through various expressions before he simply shrugged. “It’s weird.”

Harry frowned, turning his gaze away from Ron. Under the sunlight, Ron seemed to glow, and Harry had to force himself to look elsewhere, worried he might come off as weird—like Ron had feared. “I don’t see a problem with it,” he said lightly, testing the waters. “They know we’re not like that.”

But- Harry was scared- terrified even- that he wished that they were. They were exactly like what Ron was scared of. He could feel the pull of want. Harry wanted his best friend. He suspected for a while, dreading the truth and last night confirmed it. And now that they finally acknowledge the undertones of their friendship, pulling it out from under the surface. Harry desperately wanted to say it- how he loved Ron as a best friend and more. And more. Harry’s mind was swirling. He’d spent years facing death, chaos, and fear, yet this—whatever it was between him and Ron—was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to confront head-on. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, growing heavier with each passing moment.

“Ron-”

“You"re right,” Ron said quickly, hurriedly, avoiding Harry’s eyes, “we"re not like that.”
Feeling dismissed, Harry struggled to understand Ron’s reaction, wishing he could bridge the growing gap between them.

At breakfast, Harry hoped a different, lighter setting would ease the strange tension lingering in the air. The table buzzed with the familiar sounds of clattering dishes and cheerful chatter. At the far end, Arthur animatedly recounted a dramatic story, his hands flying through the air typically Harry would enjoy listening to Arthur yet, Harry found it hard to focus.

Across from him sat Ron, pushing his eggs around his plate, his frown deepening.

Harry took a small bite of his breakfast and leaned forward, whispering, “Hey,” in an attempt to catch Ron’s eye. But Ron muttered something under his breath, refusing to meet his gaze. He took a sullen bite of toast, chewing as though it were made of cardboard.

This did not go unnoticed. After breakfast, Hermione cornered him as he left the loo.

He jumped, clutching his chest in surprise at her sudden appearance. She held a defensive stance, her arms crossed and hip jutted, and there was a purposeful look on her face. “Christ, Hermione,” Harry said.

Hermione pointed an accusatory finger at him, “What’s going on with Ron?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, trying to brush off her concern. “Maybe he’s just tired.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “It’s more than that. You two clearly had an argument yesterday, didn’t you?”

Harry waved her off, not wanting to dwell on it. “We were just joking and it went too far, that"s all. You know how Ron gets sometimes.”

Her frown deepened. “It didn’t look like just joking to me.”

Frustration surged within him. “Can you just let it go?” he said, eager to shift the conversation. “It’s too early for this.”

She sighed. “Fine. But you should talk to him.”

“I will,” Harry promised, though doubt crept in, twisting in his stomach like a dark cloud.

The day unfolded pretty uneventfully, but the awkward tension clung to Harry like a second skin. Ron had barely spoken a word since breakfast and even go far enough to offer chores for Molly so he didn"t have to be in the same house as Harry. He retreated to the garden to de-gnome with Ginny. Harry stayed inside, occasionally peeking through the blinds just to confirm Ron was still there.

By mid-afternoon, Harry couldn"t take it anymore. He found Ron sitting in a shaded patch of grass, his head bowed as he twirled grass around his finger. Ginny had long since wandered off, leaving him alone.

“Was going to ask if you need help,” Harry said, stepping closer, “But it looks like you got it all sorted out.”

Ron hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

Harry hesitated, standing there awkwardly with his hands in his pocket. “Look,” he said, “are we okay.”

Ron pulled a chunk of grass out of the ground and tossed it over his shoulder. He straightened, brushing dirt off his hands, but still avoided looking at Harry. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’ve barely said two words to me all day,” Harry said, stepping closer. “And last night…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought without setting Ron off.

Ron sighed, finally meeting Harry’s gaze. His blue eyes were stormy, conflicted. “I don’t know, Harry. It’s just…” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. “It’s weird, okay? I don’t know how to act anymore.”

Harry’s heart sank. “You don’t have to act any differently,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m still me. You’re still you.”

Ron let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple.” He turned away, kicking at a patch of grass. “What if things change? What if—”

“What if they don’t?” Harry interrupted, stepping in front of him. “What if we’re making this bigger than it has to be?”

Ron stared at him, his jaw tight. “And what if we’re not?”
Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. The space between them felt vast, like a chasm that neither of them knew how to cross.

“Ron,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea.

But Ron shook his head, stepping back. “I need time, Harry,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Just… give me time.”

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he said, though the word felt hollow.

As Ron turned and walked away, Harry stood there, staring after him. The weight in his chest grew heavier, and he wondered how long they could keep circling around whatever it was they were both too afraid to face.

+1
After the incident, which Harry kept replaying in his mind, Ron seemed to erect an invisible wall between them. The first sign came that same night. As they prepared for bed in the cramped room, Ron fidgeted awkwardly before finally muttering, “Maybe you should sleep in the guest bed”

Harry had blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”

Ron didn’t look at him. “I just think it’s better.”

And, of course, Harry would do anything for Ron, and if Ron didn"t want Harry to push- Harry wouldn"t push. He shuffled to the other bedroom down the hall, the room feeling cold and unfamiliar. He barely slept that night, his mind twisting with unanswered questions.

Days passed and their summer break ended and school started once again and Ron’s distance only grew. He avoided sitting next to Harry at meals, taking the far end of the table instead. He stopped joining Harry for late-night chess games and ranting about his classes and peers. Small, familiar routines crumbled under the weight of Ron’s sudden silence.

And people started to notice. Hermione seemed disappointed. “I don"t know what this issue you two have,” she said one evening, “But either one of you needs to stop acting immature.” And, fucksake, Harry wished it was that simple. But he doesn"t want to make things worse than the current situation.

Despite Ron’s silence, he couldn"t fully ignore Harry. Every now and then, Harry caught the faintest flicker of something- an unguarded flance a hesitation in Ron’s voice when their hands accidentally brushed while passing plates. But just as quickly as it appeared, Ron would shut it down, retreating further.

Harry felt lost. Every attempt to bridge the gap between them seemed to fail. When he asked Ron about Quidditch, the usual animated response was reduced to a one-word answer. When he tried to joke, Ron barely cracked a smile.

Then finally Harry snapped. Harry was coming into his dormitory and as soon as he walked in the room Ron got off his bed to leave, even being in the same room alone as Harry was too much for him.

Harry slammed the door behind him harder than he intended, the sound reverberating through the small dormitory. Ron froze mid-step, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His back was to Harry, but Harry could see the way his shoulders stiffened, how he seemed to be bracing himself.

“Just stay,” Harry snapped, his voice loud and sharp, surprising even himself. “Don’t let me inconvenience you.”

Ron slowly turned around, his face a mixture of guilt and irritation. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” Harry cut him off, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Don’t try to explain it away. I’m tired of this, Ron. I’m tired of you avoiding me like I’m some kind of—some kind of problem.”

Ron’s jaw tightened. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Bullshit,” Harry said, his frustration boiling over. “You can’t even stand being in the same room as me! You can’t look at me, can’t talk to me, can’t even sit near me at meals! What the hell did I do that was so awful?”

Ron’s face flushed, his ears turning red, but he didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at Harry like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Harry laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. If you hate me so much, just say it. At least then I’ll know.”

“I don’t hate you!” Ron finally said, his voice cracking with the force of it.

“Then what?” Harry stepped closer, his anger giving way to desperation. “What is it, Ron? Because I can’t keep doing this! I can’t keep losing my best friend without knowing why!”

Ron’s hands balled into fists, his chest heaving as he tried to form words. Finally, he shouted, “Because I’m in love with you, alright?”

Oh. Harry blinked at him. He stared at Ron, his mind reeling.

“I’m in love with you,” Ron repeated, his voice quieter this time. “And I don’t know how to deal with it. I thought if I just stayed away, maybe it would go away. But it hasn’t. It won’t.”

Harry stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t been prepared for this—hadn’t even let himself imagine it, no matter how much he’d wished for it.

“Ron-”

Ron shook his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know it’s messed up, okay? I know. But I can’t keep pretending like nothing’s changed when it has. So if you hate me now—if this ruins everything—I get it. Just say it, and I’ll—I’ll leave.”

Harry took a shaky step forward, his anger completely dissolved, replaced by something warmer and deeper. “I don’t hate you,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “I could never hate you, Ron. I love you too..”

The dormitory was silent, save for the soft sound of their breathing. Harry’s confession lingered in the air, the gravity of it settling deep into both of them. Ron’s eyes searched Harry’s face, his expression a mixture of disbelief and hope.

“Say it again,” Ron said in disbelief, almost in awe.

Harry didn’t hesitate. “I love you.”

Ron let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. Without thinking, he closed the space between them in two quick strides, his hands gripping Harry’s shoulders as if grounding himself. Harry barely had time to process it before Ron’s lips were on his.

The kiss was hesitant at first, testing like neither of them could believe they were allowed this. Harry’s heart raced, his hands instinctively finding Ron’s waist, pulling him closer. The softness of Ron’s lips against his own sent a shiver down his spine, and the world outside the small dormitory melted away.

Ron let out a quiet, almost surprised sound when Harry deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up to Ron’s face. It was clumsy and urgent, years of unspoken feelings crashing together all at once.

Harry broke away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Ron’s. They were both panting, their cheeks flushed, and Harry couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped him. “Fuck,” he whispered, his fingers still tangled in Ron’s shirt.

Ron grinned a real, wide grin that Harry hadn’t seen in weeks. “Took us long enough,” he said, his voice hoarse but filled with warmth.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back, his chest feeling impossibly light. “Yeah,” he agreed, his thumb brushing against Ron’s jaw.

For a moment, they just stood there, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist. Then Ron’s hands moved to cup Harry’s face, and he kissed him again, softer this time like he was savoring it.

Harry felt a warmth bloom in his chest, spreading through him like a fire he never wanted to extinguish, and then suddenly Ron yawned.

Harry pulled back with a laugh, “Did you just?”

Ron’s face turned a deep shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “I’ve had a long day, and this is great, don"t get me wrong” Ron looked as if he was pained, “I have been waiting years for this”

Years. Harry had to pinpoint that to discuss later, but right now- He reached out to pull Ron close again, pressing their foreheads together gently. “It’s okay,” Harry said softly. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Yeah, I guess we don’t,” Ron agreed quietly.

They stood there for a moment longer, just breathing in each other’s presence, letting the comfort of being together fill the space between them. Then Harry, feeling a sudden surge of affection, took Ron’s hand and led him to the bed.

“Let’s go to bed,” Harry said and when Ron’s face went impossibly redder, he clarified- “To sleep, you loser.”

Once they were settled under the covers, they curled up next to each other just like they always do. The room was still, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. Ron"s head found its place on Harry’s chest, and for a long while, they just lay there, enjoying the calm, the peace that came with being together in a way that felt both new and deeply familiar.

Harry"s hand gently brushed through Ron"s messy hair, and Ron let out a content sigh. “This feels... right,” Ron mumbled, his voice muffled against Harry"s chest, “This has always felt right.”

Harry smiled, his heart swelling at the words. “Yeah,” he whispered, kissing the top of Ron’s head softly before closing his eyes, knowing that, at this moment, they were exactly where they were meant to be.