FIC: Partners (Harry/Ron - Part 2 - R)

[mini_fest_mod]

Title: Partners (PART 2)
Author/Artist: kinkthatwinked
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Word Count: 16,296
Rating: PG for Chapters 1-4, PG-13 for Chapters 5-7, R for Chapter 8
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Betas: betasocks and lockel
Summary: Set during the Goblet of Fire novel. Harry’s been informed he has to have a dance partner for the Yule Ball. He’s refused other girls and put off asking Cho until the last minute, only to find she’s already taken. Ron, in a veela haze, asked Fleur to much public embarrassment. Now they’ve just been told that even Hermione and Ginny already have dates, leaving them with few options and very little time.
“But Harry had just seen Parvati and Lavender come in through the portrait hole. The time had come for drastic action.” J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 22.
But what if the girls hadn’t come in just then? What course of action would Harry, in his desperate frame of mind, have latched onto instead?

Go back to PART 1

Chapter Five
As the other students filed into the Great Hall, it was as if they couldn’t decide who was more deserving of their stares: Fleur, Hermione, or Ron. The champion couples themselves had clearly decided on Harry’s partner. Krum relaxed his grip on Hermione’s waist as he watched them together, perhaps satisfied that neither of his date’s closest male friends posed a romantic threat. Cedric actually leaned over to congratulate Harry, and admitted he’d “always wondered about you two.” Cho looked confused, and even a bit jealous – but jealous of what, since she was there with Cedric? Hermione, however, looked thunderstruck, and it was only Krum’s nudging her to follow him inside that got her to plaster a rather tight smile across her face. Fleur, for her part, had simply quirked up her lips at them, then went back to basking in Roger Davies’s unwavering attention; Harry doubted Davies even knew Ron was there.

The champions walked in to applause and all eyes on them as they made their way to the head table. Well, if there was anyone left in all of Hogwarts who didn’t know who Harry asked to the ball, or how Ron had transformed himself, they all knew now. Harry placed his feet carefully, not just because he didn’t want to go arse over tit and give people like Malfoy reason to laugh, but also because he didn’t want to take away from Ron’s moment. Ron had never had the chance to go to an event like this, dressed like that, and have so many people so very aware he was there. Right then, even with Harry standing beside him, Ron was the celebrity.

As they reached the table, Percy, apparently standing in for Barty Crouch, pulled out a chair for Harry. Knowing Ron would pay him back for it later, Harry took the seat adjacent to the offered one, leaving Ron no choice but to sit next to his brother. Percy immediately broke the news of his promotion and proceeded to sing the praises of Mr. Crouch, who according to Percy had taken ill. Ron, either because he’d read Harry’s mind, or to exercise his right to annoy his older brother, or because he just wanted Percy to shut up, asked if Crouch had stopped calling him Weatherby yet. Percy flushed red and glared at him, but didn’t answer, which pretty much ended that conversation.

Harry stared at his empty plate, lost in his own thoughts. Why did it feel like some switch had been flipped inside him, leaving him so hyperaware of Ron he could barely think? He found himself reviewing every crush, every fantasy, every wet dream, and not once had a man entered the picture. He hadn’t secretly sighed over Gilderoy Lockhart in his second year. Yes, he could see how blokes like Bill Weasley and Cedric Diggory would catch a girl’s attention, but they didn’t catch his that way. He saw Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins in the showers after every Quidditch practice, was surrounded by his dormitory mates as they undressed for bed every night, and he didn’t suddenly wish to ogle them. So why should Ron, who only agreed to this whole thing to spite Parvati and Lavender, who had Harry ready to throttle him that very morning, who was a bloke, for god’s sake –

“You’re not eating?” Ron asked.

Harry started. Everyone else at their table had a plate full of food. Looking around, he spotted someone at another table with an empty plate. The girl looked down at her plate, spoke to it, and a small salad appeared. Okay, then. Harry ordered, and tucked in with the rest.

Then, the moment arrived. The floor was cleared of dining tables, the Weird Sisters took the stage, and the other champions stood up. Harry’s legs felt rubbery, and he perhaps held Ron’s arm a little tighter than necessary as they walked out onto the floor. They’d practiced, of course – with Harry having zero dancing experience, Ron got the idea they should remain in the common room one night after everyone else had gone to bed and get a quick lesson in. After thirty minutes of stumbling, stepping on Ron’s feet, tripping over his own, and even falling over at one point, the boys were forced to conclude there was only one way this would work. As the Weird Sisters started playing, Harry grasped Ron’s shoulder with his left hand, allowed Ron to clasp his right hand, and bent his head to look down at Ron’s feet.

Harry couldn’t completely tune out the sniggers; he knew how he must look, making it so painfully obvious that he couldn’t dance. Ron had assured him they would just assume Harry found it difficult to dance the woman’s part, which was essentially dancing backwards, but Harry was sure they could all tell he had two left feet. He focused on Ron’s hands pushing and pulling to direct him, kept his eyes trained on Ron’s feet for clues where to step, and trusted Ron to not crash them into anyone as the floor filled up with other couples.

“You’re doing brilliantly,” Ron murmured to him. Harry wanted to look up and gauge Ron’s face to see if he meant it, but he didn’t dare if he wanted to get the steps right. He also couldn’t afford to let his eyes wander since the twisted part of his brain that found Ron suddenly irresistible had been begging him to raise his eyes a little bit, as he could probably detect the outline of Ron’s cock in his trousers. Chin firmly planted against his chest, Harry kept his eyes glued to Ron’s feet like his life depended on it.

“I see Potter got you some suitable robes, Weasel. You almost look like you’re good enough to be here,” came the inevitable, unwelcome drawl. “I suppose it’s clear now how you convinced him, isn’t it? Did he let you spit, or did you have to swallow?”

“Keep your fantasies to yourself, Malfoy,” Ron said evenly, but his hand gripped Harry’s a bit tighter. Harry continued following Ron’s lead, now in more ways than one. If Ron went after Malfoy right there on the dance floor, then so would Harry, and they’d do detention together. But if Ron could settle for verbal comebacks while still waltzing, then Harry could play it cool, too. For now.

“I can see why you did it,” Malfoy continued, making a point to steer Pansy Parkinson so he dogged Ron’s steps. “The whole school would know you’re the woman in bed if you’d shown up in that dress you had.”

The hand around Harry’s waist clenched as well. Harry really wanted to check his friend’s face, or at least shoot Malfoy a threatening glare, but if Ron was still dancing, then so was he.

“Or maybe you’ll be thanking him properly later. I guess we’ll know if you have trouble sitting down at breakfast tomorr- OWWW!”

“Sorry, there,” Fred apologized, as Angelina tried hard not to laugh. “I’m terrible at this, I’m even stepping on other couple’s toes!” Harry, his eyes on the floor, caught how Fred had slammed his heel down onto Malfoy’s foot like he aimed to break it. With yelled curses that led to McGonagall subtracting twenty points from Slytherin, Malfoy hobbled off the dance floor.

Harry heard a snigger above him, and chanced a glance at Ron’s face; he was sharing a wink and a smile with his brother. Then Ron smiled down at him, and Harry felt his feet stumble under him. He collided with Ron, and Ron’s arms immediately wrapped around him, the taller, stronger body holding them both upright.

“Whoa, hey, only one fumble so far,” Ron said, “not bad.” Fortunately the floor was so crowded now that not many people saw it. Harry really hoped they didn’t see how he had to make himself let go of Ron as he righted himself.

Finally the waltz ended. It was over, they’d done it! Even with everything else on his mind, Harry couldn’t help answering Ron’s triumphant grin with a relieved smile of his own as they applauded the Weird Sisters. The band struck up another song, this one faster, and Harry could tell from the crowd’s reaction that it was a popular one. “Let’s go!” he yelled at Ron, and started weaving his way through the crowd towards the stage. Judging from the students already crowded around the stage and cheering on the band, Harry knew he and Ron weren’t the only ones planning to regard the rest of the Yule Ball as a Weird Sisters concert.

Ron and Harry spent the next several numbers dancing – if one could call jumping up and down, headbanging, and pumping fists into the air dancing. They were hardly alone, as the Weird Sisters’ style definitely fell into the Muggle music category of hard rock. Ron was having the time of his life, Harry could tell: loudly singing the lyrics to every song, yelling himself hoarse after every number, flushed and sweaty from dancing, and wearing an exuberant smile Harry hadn’t seen since the Quidditch World Cup.

They sat down when the band took a break, Ron raving about how great they were, when Harry noticed Hermione striding towards them. Though she’d spent the evening dancing and smiling as hard as anyone else, now she looked upset again, as if she’d just remembered she was cross at them for whatever reason.

She stood before them, hands on her hips. “So? Are you ever going to explain why you didn’t tell me?”

The words “Tell you what?” were out of Harry’s mouth before he realized what she must have meant. She looked at him, astonished.

“About this!” she said, her hand waving between him and Ron. “We’re supposed to be friends! You couldn’t even be bothered to mention you’re together now?”

And again, Harry’s recent epiphany concerning his feelings for Ron sat heavily at the forefront of his mind. Since the waltz ended, he had managed to spend nearly two hours just enjoying Ron’s company as a friend, and it had been fantastic, carefree, just like the last three years. Now he noticed how Ron’s hair had broken free of its gelled style and curled over his forehead, how he’d undone his tie and top button to reveal a trickle of sweat making its way down to the hollow of his throat. Thank you so very much, Hermione, Harry thought.

Ron bristled. “We’re not ‘together,’ we came as friends.”

Hermione blinked. “Wha- really? I thought … the way you … and Percy just told me –”

Ron’s eyes flashed, and he stood up. “We came as friends,” he repeated, enunciating each word. “And anyway, who are you to talk about friends sharing stuff, you never told us about you and Krum!”

“I –” Hermione only needed a moment to adjust to the abrupt change in subject. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make fun of me!”

“Well, I didn’t tell you about this because I didn’t need you having a go at me again for that thing I said about Eloise Midgen looking like a troll!”

“Well, you would have deserved it!” Hermione snapped. “That comment was completely uncalled for!”

“For the love of god, you two!” Harry interrupted, and they both looked at him like they’d forgotten he was there. Usually Harry kept well away from their increasingly frequent fights, but he was a bit on edge that night, and he’d had enough. “You’re both right, you would have gone for each other’s throats if you’d known who you were taking, so you both kept secrets! Can you call it even and give it a rest for one night?!”

With appropriately sheepish expressions, Ron and Hermione apologized, then stood awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

“You look pretty tonight,” Ron mumbled finally.

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Thank you, Ron,” she said after a moment, and then, “You – you look rather dashing, yourself.”

Ron’s back straightened, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “Harry paid for the robes,” he admitted.

Hermione, also long used to Ron’s prickliness about money, promptly said, “Then he must have decided you’re worth it. And I agree with him.”

Ron didn’t hide his smile then, and Hermione gave him a hesitant one in return.

A swell of applause from the crowd alerted them the Weird Sisters had again taken the stage. “D’you, um, you think Krum would mind … if we had a dance?” Ron asked.

Hermione smiled again. “I suppose not, if it’s just the one,” she said.

Harry watched them go, arm in arm, easily the two best looking people there in his opinion, Fleur Delacour be damned. Ron swung Hermione in his arms around the floor, the pair casting shy glances and smiles at each other, and a surge of envy towards Hermione shot through Harry, one that for the first time had nothing to do with her marks.

“Well,” someone said next to him, and Harry turned to see Percy. “I suppose my brother has decided he truly doesn’t care if the entire wizarding world knows.”

With no idea what Percy was talking about, Harry could only stare at him.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course,” Percy amended, “but I’ve always personally felt that, once you tell the people who actually matter, family and close friends and such, everyone else can learn in due time, whenever the topic arises, you know. I mean, really, it’s not as if he was planning to date everyone in the world, so why make an announcement? But there he is, hardly finished outing himself to the entire school with you, now proclaiming just as loudly his continued interest in the fairer sex by making eyes at Hermione in the middle of the very same dance floor! I ask you, what’s next, taking out an advert in the Prophet?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He and Ron had invited this, after all. Starting with Hermione, they would probably spend months reassuring people they were straight and this wasn’t a date. Well, Ron would say both those things; Harry had some thinking to do about the straight part, apparently.

“I mean, Mum and Dad took it alright when he told them,” Percy continued, “probably because as long as he’s only bi they can still hold out hope for grandchildren. Fred and George teased him mercilessly, but that’s Fred and George for you. Bill and Charlie congratulated him like he’d accomplished something,” Percy sniffed. “I wished him the best of luck, of course. I don’t think Great-Aunt Muriel will be so accepting, but to that I say, the ones who matter don’t care, and the ones who care don’t matter, wouldn’t you agree?”

Was this what it felt like to get hit on the head by a Bludger? Harry thought dimly. He nodded dumbly, his eyes unfocused, and vaguely heard Percy turn to converse with Ludo Bagman.

Ron was … bisexual? And he’d come out to his entire family? When?! Why hadn’t any of them said anything? Why hadn’t Ron said anything?!

“Alright there, Harry?” Ludo asked, looking concerned.

“I –” No, no, not at all. “I need some air.” Harry all but ran out into the entrance hall, down the front steps, and once outside he let his feet carry him, not really caring where he ended up.

• I do regret losing the part where Harry hears Dumbledore’s story about the chamber pots, since it’s obviously foreshadowing for the Room of Requirement, but Harry should be too distracted here to really listen to others’ small talk.
• I never bought that part of the movie where Harry, after never dancing in his life, knew the steps to that waltz, including when to help Parvati jump in the air. He should be a complete klutz, like Neville stepping on Ginny’s toes in the book, unless he’s looking at his partner’s feet.
• I think Hermione would be just as shocked to see Harry with Ron as the rest of the school was to see her with Krum, not to mention a bit insulted they didn’t confide their plans to her. And while she’s usually right, I would think she’s not above a bit of hypocrisy, especially in the heat of an argument.
• I also believe that if my version of Ron is self-aware enough to come out as bisexual, then admitting he found Hermione pretty at the Yule Ball would be easy in comparison.


Chapter Six

Several things within Harry warred for dominance. He felt betrayed, as Ron seemed to have told everyone except his own best friend. Confused at his own attraction, even wondering if Ron somehow gave off the vibes that sparked it. Tricked, since Ron had to know the assumption that they were both straight was one of the main reasons Harry was able to go through with this arrangement. Hopeful, because maybe, just maybe Ron could have similar feelings for Harry? Panicked, because what the hell would that mean for them if he did?

“Harry!” Ron ran up behind him, frowning. “Why’d you run off like that? What’s going on?”

Harry opened his mouth, no idea where he was going to start, ultimately a little surprised himself when what came out was, “Percy?!”

“What?” Ron looked around, expecting to see his brother.

“I had to hear about it from Percy?! You told your parents, your brothers, but not me? Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, and you couldn’t trust me with this?” Even to Harry’s own ears, he sounded like a whiny girl, but he couldn’t help it. Together they’d faced a troll, a lethal obstacle course, a horde of hungry giant spiders, gone after a basilisk, and faced down Sirius when they thought was a serial killing Voldemort supporter. How could Ron think someone who’d had his back for all of that might turn against him over fancying men?

To Ron’s credit, he didn’t ask what Harry was talking about. Harry took the horrified look on his face as an admission of guilt, and stormed off again. Ron followed him, but didn’t say anything. Probably still working on his excuse, Harry thought bitterly.

They both stopped when they heard voices. Karkaroff and Snape, talking about something becoming clearer, Harry neither knew nor cared what. After ruining a few snogging sessions by blasting the lovers’ rosebushes into twigs, Snape rounded on them.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Trying to find a secluded rosebush of your own, I suppose?”

Harry’s head whipped around as Ron shot back, “And so what if we were?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for that cheek, Weasley! I suggest you and Potter find somewhere else to become better acquainted. Since you sleep only a few feet away from each other – presumably – I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities!” With that, Snape stalked off, Karkaroff right behind him.

Harry rounded on Ron. “Is that what we were trying to do?” he snarled.

“Harry, no, I didn’t mean,” Ron began, and then his voice changed, sounded almost weary. “I’m a bit tired of not saying what I really want to say, alright? Tired of worrying people might hear it and think I … think I’m queer.”

“Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Harry said. “Congratulations. Glad I could help you with that. Brilliant coming out party, this was. Course, it would have been nice to know that’s what I was doing!”

“That’s not what – is that what Percy said? I could kill him!” Ron glared back towards the castle.

“Good luck with that. I’m off.” Harry started walking again.

“Harry, I meant to tell you,” Ron said, following him. “I was planning to tell you, I was just trying to work out how.”

“You told your mum and dad! How could telling me be harder than that?”

“Because I was afraid you’d …” Ron faltered. “I thought you might …”

“What? Call you a poof? Hit you? Never speak to you again, except to shout bugger or queer at you? Well, I suppose you’ve got the measure of me! Apparently, I’m just like my cousin!” Somehow it was that, the idea that Ron believed Harry was no better than Dudley, that hurt the most.

“Harry, no, I –”

“No, really, it’s nice to find out that’s the kind of wanker you think I am, after knowing me for over three years. Good to know that’s how I come off!” Harry hated himself as he began to feel tears stinging his eyes. He started walking again, grateful it was so dark.

Ron’s voice was pure desperation. “I thought you’d write me off when I told you I fancied you!”

Harry’s pace slowed as the words sank in. Still not quite believing what he’d heard, he turned to face Ron.

“I told Mum and Dad first because I wanted them to know first, alright? They’ve always been on my side, and I needed to know if they would for this, too. Same thing with my brothers and Ginny. And if you’re wondering why none of them said anything to you, it’s because I asked them not to. I wanted to tell you and Hermione myself.

“But there was more to it with you. I know you’re not like your cousin, you’re nothing like him. But … I was scared, alright? You’re my best mate, I nearly messed that up a few months ago, and I didn’t want to risk that again. I didn’t even want to risk making things weird between us. I knew I had to tell you, but then I’d have to tell you all of it, and … blimey, Harry, how do I tell my straight best friend I’ve wanted to snog him silly for years now without freaking him out?”

Feeling clobbered with a Bludger for the second time tonight, Harry couldn’t even decide which aspect of that confession to address first. He felt a weird, almost maniacal urge to laugh bubble up inside him, and when it burst forth at last, it came on the word, “Straight?!”

Ron’s brow furrowed.

“Do you – any idea – do you know – the whole night – hours – since you showed up in those bloody robes –” Harry knew he wasn’t making much sense, but those were all the words he could manage in between the near hysterical bouts of laughter. It was just too much in one night, Harry was officially overwrought.

“Um,” was all Ron could offer, and Harry thought, sod it, he’d clarify it for him.

Feeling like he’d been waiting for it all night, Harry walked right into Ron’s space, grabbed his head, and pulled him down into a kiss.

• To all the Snape fans out there, I hope I got his characterization right, even if it’s just a few lines.


Chapter Seven

“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew.” *

Harry halted, feeling Ron do the same beside him. He had never heard Hagrid use what could only be described as his bedroom voice, and Harry could happily go the rest of his life never hearing it again.

The boys were behind a huge statue of a reindeer, though not nearly as humongous as the people they were inadvertently spying upon. Hagrid and Madame Maxime appeared to be in rather intimate conversation, and Harry would have given anything to be able to grant them their privacy, while hopefully finding some of his own.

Just minutes ago, Harry had kissed Ron. To the outside observer, it might not have been anything to write home about, it may have even looked chaste, just two barely opened mouths pressing their dry, chapped lips together. For Harry, however, after a night of hardly being able to think about anything but getting his skin in contact with Ron’s, it was like fireworks. He ran his fingers through Ron’s hair like he wanted to make sure he’d touched every strand, mapped his face, stroked his ears, massaged his neck, dipped his fingers below the opened shirt button, went after every inch of exposed skin he could reach. Ron, for his part, after his wide, shocked eyes finally closed, wound his arms around Harry and pressed their chests so close together Harry could feel Ron’s heart pounding along with his own. When they broke apart to breathe, Harry knew it wasn’t the lack of air that left him dizzy.

Ron stepped back, and for a moment Harry wondered if he’d done the kiss wrong, but Ron grabbed his hand and started walking fast.

“What –” Harry began.

“Rosebush,” Ron answered, a hungry edge to his voice, “now.” Harry smiled and followed.

Their search, unfortunately, led them toward the fountain, and that was how they found themselves skulking behind an enormous reindeer, listening to Hagrid spill his scandalous secret to a near stranger, while watching Fleur and Davies behind their own clump of bushes doing exactly what Harry and Ron were itching to do. The boys watched as Hagrid laid himself bare for Maxime, only for her to throw it back in his face and storm off in denial, leaving Hagrid, if possible, more alone than ever.

“Let’s go back in,” Ron suggested afterwards, quietly. Somehow, after seeing their friend get his hopes dashed and possibly his heart broken, the mood had been lost. Harry did note that Ron held his hand the entire way back, and he smiled in response when Harry interlaced their fingers.

The Yule Ball was in its final hour, the Weird Sisters playing more slow songs now. Hermione danced with Krum, and something he said made her throw back her head and laugh. The boys found a table away from potential eavesdroppers, and compared thoughts on the conversations they’d overheard.

When their discussion reached a lull, Harry asked, “So, when did you know, or suspect? That you were, you know?”

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ron’s face turn pink so fast. “Um, a while. Years. And it took me nearly that long to work out it wasn’t just a phase.”

“When did you tell your family?”

“This summer,” Ron replied, “before you got there.”

“Does Hermione know?”

“I hadn’t told her yet, but I reckon she does now, thanks to Percy,” Ron scowled.

“But if you asked him not to say anything –”

“I asked him to keep quiet until I told you. Suppose he reckoned that since we showed up at the ball together I must’ve done it.”

Harry looked over at Percy, still schmoozing with whomever he could get to sit still. So the evening wasn’t exactly Percy’s fault, sort of.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“Are you still into birds?”

“Yeah,” Harry said immediately. It was true, he found girls just as attractive as before.

“Do you still like Cho?”

“Sort of,” Harry said, then took a gamble. “Do you like Hermione?”

Ron started, blushed again, then looked out at the dance floor, where again her laughter rang out like a bell.

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted with a small smile. “I mean, I had no idea she … well, she was a mate, wasn’t she? I kind of saw her like I see Ginny, you know? And now … Merlin, look at her! She’s –”

“Beautiful,” Harry finished Ron’s thought, “She always has been, really.”

They watched her and Krum, and Cho with Cedric, on the dance floor for a few minutes, then Harry asked, “So what does that mean for –” he pointed his finger at Ron and himself “– this?”

Ron looked at him, then covered Harry’s hand with his own. “I suppose it means we’ll need to talk about whether a bloke can still date girls without upsetting his boyfriend?” He sounded unsure, his eyes nervously searching Harry’s. He needn’t have worried. Any answer that confirmed there would be more chances to kiss Ron was exactly what Harry wanted to hear. He smiled and squeezed Ron’s hand, and Ron grinned back.

FLASH! The camera caught them both completely by surprise. Blinded, Harry and Ron never even saw the photographer’s face before he was lost in the crowd again. If it was Colin Creevey, Harry swore he would break that camera over the kid’s head.

“Yeah, time to call it a night,” Harry declared, at the same time the Weird Sisters announced the last song.

“Wait,” Ron grabbed his arm. When Harry looked back at him, he smiled shyly. “Last dance?”

This time Harry didn’t need to watch Ron’s feet, as they weren’t waltzing; in fact, they were barely moving. Arms around each other’s waists, Ron’s head bent down to touch Harry’s, they swayed to the music with their eyes closed.

* * *

Harry returned to the common room, tugging at his bow tie and still puzzling over Cedric’s advice. Honestly, Harry hadn’t said, “it’s something scaly,” or “wear fire-retardant underwear,” he said it was a dragon and they had to get past it. Why couldn’t Cedric have said something that specific? Take a bath, really?

He found Hermione waiting for him, still in her dress, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Well,” she said, “it certainly looks like you’re together now.” She barely held back a satisfied smirk.

What the hell, Harry decided, it was hardly a secret now. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“I knew it, I could see it in the entrance hall the moment you laid eyes on Ron. Everyone could see it!”

“What did they see?”

Hermione rolled her eyes in that ‘you are so dense’ way that Harry knew all too well. “The whole time Ron was on the stairs, you stared at each other like you were the only people in the entire hall.”

“Well –”

“You were also looking at Ron like you wanted to rip his clothes off,” Hermione said matter of factly.

Harry spluttered, and Hermione giggled at him. Then she sobered and asked, “Harry, are you okay with all of this?”

“I … don’t know. I don’t know if I’m bisexual now, or if I even count as that if I only like the one bloke. I don’t know how this is going to work, or what will happen when I like a girl. I –” and Harry sighed, facing his worst fear, “I don’t if I’ll still have my best mate if we break up.”

He was looking into the fire, so he didn’t know Hermione had approached him until he felt her hands on his shoulders. She pulled him into a hug.

“I’m pretty sure Ron has some of the same worries,” she said. “And I’m also quite sure that, after all you’ve survived, it would take a lot more than a break up to tear him from your side.” She pulled back to look in his eyes. “The same goes for me, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Now go on,” she pushed him towards the stairs. “I’m sure he’s waiting up for you.”

As he went, Harry remembered Ron’s proposal about dating girls on the side. He hoped Ron made that work with Hermione, because she could make for an incredible girlfriend.

* Quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling, Chapter 23.


Chapter Eight: This chapter contains sexual acts between two willing, teenaged boys. If that is not to your taste, please do not read further.

The dress robes lay neatly folded and tucked back into the box. Ron stood over them, back in his too-short pyjamas, his hand smoothing out the dress shirt. He turned as Harry entered.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I never thanked you for these earlier, did I?”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad I did it,” Harry said. “You looked … really sexy in them.” There, he’d said it aloud, put to words what he’d felt tonight. Instead of bringing on a small panic attack like it would have only an hour or so earlier, it just felt right.

Even in moonlight, Harry could see Ron’s ears go pink. “And now I’m back to these,” he gestured down at his pajamas, and towards his wardrobe of faded, ankle-baring school robes and worn, hand-me-down clothes.

And you’re still beautiful, Harry thought, but even with all the unexpected turns their relationship dynamic had taken tonight, it would still be weird to tell Ron that – they weren’t girls, after all. Of course, Harry realized, with that same frisson of heat he’d felt earlier, he could always show him.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor leading to their room, the voices of Dean, Neville, and Seamus bouncing off the walls. Thinking fast, Harry grabbed Ron’s arm, pulled him into his four poster bed, and closed the curtains. Snatching his wand off the nightstand, he said, “Quietus. No, wait, um, Silencio? No, um …” Harry let out an impatient noise. Where was Hermione when you needed her?

“Exmundius,”* Ron suggested, still wide-eyed at Harry’s daring, waving his hand in the air to demonstrate the wand movement. Harry copied him, and a shimmering bubble emerged from the tip of his wand, enlarging to enclose them and the bed before solidifying into a kind of transparent shell. Their dormitory mates’ voices cut off as if someone had pressed the mute button on a TV remote control. Harry looked at Ron in surprise.

“Yeah, and they can’t hear us, either,” Ron supplied.

“I’ve never seen this spell before.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have, would you? They don’t teach this one till seventh year, I think.”

“How do you know it?”

“I grew up with five older brothers, Harry, I’ve known that spell my whole life! The Burrow’s not great for, well, privacy.” On that last word, Ron curled his fingers to meet his thumb, then shook his hand back and forth near his crotch in an obvious gesture. Harry snorted out a laugh.

“So,” Ron said, inching forward on his knees until he was well in Harry’s space, “I never got around to kissing my date goodnight, did I?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry reminded him, smiling.

“It was for me,” Ron said, and captured Harry’s lips with his own. It should have felt strange, kissing another boy. Where Harry had been conditioned to expect yielding lips and maybe a hint of perfume, there was a strong jaw working against his own, and faint traces of the aftershave that had nearly driven him to distraction earlier. Not interested in closed mouth kissing this time, Ron suckled Harry’s lips, traced them with his tongue, practically begging for entrance. Harry couldn’t have resisted even if he’d wanted to. God, when had Ron learned to kiss like this? Ron’s tongue darted in, lightly massaged Harry’s, then pulled away so that Harry chased him, copied the technique. Eventually they came up for air after repeating that sequence several times, tongues exploring deeper with each turn. Ron’s hands were tangled in Harry’s hair, and Harry’s hands gripped Ron’s shoulders.

“Was –” Harry gasped. “Was that your first kiss?”

“Course not,” Ron breathed. “We kissed earlier tonight, remember?”

“You know what I mean.”

“There might have been one other boy,” Ron admitted after a pause. Then, at Harry’s look, “How do you think I worked myself out? You don’t think I just woke up one morning and accepted fancying blokes, do you? I had to find out for sure first.”

Harry didn’t know if he was jealous, curious, or grateful. Perhaps all three at once.

“And what else did your bloke teach you?”

Ron’s eyes darkened. “To show you that, you’d have to lose some of these clothes.”

Harry hesitated. Snogging was all well and good, but he hadn’t really thought beyond that. Well, alright, he had, he’d been thinking about it all bloody evening, but there was a big difference between fantasizing and actually doing it. Ron picked up on his nerves.

“What’s wrong?”

But what could Harry say? He was the one who dragged Ron into his bed and shut the curtains! What was Ron supposed to think? Of course he was expecting … that. “Um,” Harry began, “Could … could we not … um … just yet?” And then, desperate to clarify, Harry started babbling. “It’s just I’ve never even had a finger up there, and yeah, I’ve thought about it, I’ve thought about all kinds of stuff tonight, but I don’t even have any lube, and I don’t know if you do, but even if you did, I mean, that is, unless you want me to do it to you, and I suppose if you’re ready I could try that, but –”

“Whoa, hang on!” Ron held his hands in the air. “I wasn’t talking about anything, you know, hardcore,” he said quickly, with a blush. “Truth be told, I’m not ready for all that, either. But there’s stuff we could do that wouldn’t, you know, hurt or feel weird or anything.”

“Oh,” Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief, “okay,” then he huffed out a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

Ron breathed out a laugh, too. “S’alright. I’m glad you said something, really. Better than going into it when you don’t really want it.”

“I do want it,” Harry said instinctively, surprising himself and Ron, “and I want to do it to you, too. Just … somewhere down the road, maybe? We’ve got time, right?”

Ron looked at Harry like he was the most amazing thing in the world. It made Harry squirm a bit. “Yeah,” Ron agreed, “plenty of time. C’mere.”

They kissed again, and this time Ron’s hands were a bit busier, unknotting Harry’s bow tie, pulling open his shirt and vest buttons, pushing all the garments off his shoulders to pool on his bed. Every place Ron’s fingers touched him left his skin tingling. Harry couldn’t take his hands off Ron’s arms, squeezing and stroking the lean muscles as if trying to make up for not appreciating them sooner. Then Ron took the hem of his pyjama top and pulled the whole thing over his head, and suddenly Harry found other things more fascinating than Ron’s arms. He absolutely needed to know how firm Ron’s pecs would feel under his hands, how Ron would react if Harry licked his nipples (a jerk and a soft gasp), if Ron had a ticklish navel (he did). Harry worked his way back up Ron’s torso, his mouth exploring up front while his hands mapped Ron’s back. Amazing, just a few short hours ago Harry had never even considered touching another male body, and now he couldn’t imagine ever not wanting to touch Ron, taste his skin, make him gasp and sigh like this.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, and gently pushed him away. Ron sat back, breathing a bit heavier than before. Then, looking at Harry as if to gauge his reaction, Ron hooked his thumbs into his pyjama bottoms, and pulled them and his underwear down past his feet, leaving them bunched on the mattress behind him.

Harry hesitated to look, and couldn’t understand why. He’d seen it before, had countless chances over the years. But this was different, this was an invitation to stare, to study, to desire. He looked at Ron’s face instead, and saw a need that hadn’t been there before. Ron leaned in to kiss him again, then rested their foreheads together.

“C’mon, Harry,” Ron murmured, “look at me.”

Surrounded by a nest of wiry, reddish orange hair, Ron’s cock jutted straight up, pointed at Harry as if returning his stare. Turned out it was true what they said about blokes with big feet – true in Ron’s case, at any rate. Harry found himself extremely glad they’d established there wouldn’t be any penetration happening tonight. Harry saw a hand inching towards Ron, and realized it was his own. He jerked it away, but Ron gently caught his wrist and guided him back.

“It’s okay,” Ron said.

It felt warm and heavy in Harry’s hand, heavier than his own. A hint of its scent, pungent with arousal, reached Harry’s nostrils. With a jolt, Harry realized he’d like to get closer, inhale that smell, learn the taste that went with it … and at the same time, he knew he wasn’t ready to do that tonight. It was just something he knew he would do, would want to do, another time.

Bringing his other hand into it, Harry gave Ron’s cock a gentler version of the stroking, squeezing attention Harry had paid to his arms, also curiously tracing the wrinkled sac behind it with his fingertips. Ron’s hips kept twitching, his hands fisting and releasing the sheets. His gasps and sighs graduated to moans, and he bit his lower lip.

“Harry, stop!” he pleaded.

Harry snatched his hands away as if burnt. “What’s wrong?”

Ron gripped the base of his cock with his hand as he got his breathing back under control. The sight of him, stark naked, his hand fisted around his own cock, staring at Harry like he wanted to eat him alive, made Harry’s already uncomfortable trousers downright unbearable. “Sorry,” he said, figuring this wouldn’t help Ron maintain his control, and kicked off his trousers and underwear to join his pile of dress robes.

Ron whimpered. “That’s … that’s just what I was going to ask you to do.” Ron drank in the sight of him, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. In the mirror Harry always saw someone shorter than most boys, skinnier than most kids, with a cock that he supposed was average at best. Ron, however, ravished Harry with his eyes, like he was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Letting go of himself, Ron crawled on all fours towards Harry, kissed him deeply, then started kissing his way down Harry’s body.

How Ron stayed still when Harry did this to him, Harry would never know. He felt like he was trembling and gasping every time Ron’s lips touched him, squirming and whining whenever Ron’s tongue left a wet trail, jumping and yelping with every tiny nibble of Ron’s teeth. When Ron buried his face in the thatch of hair below Harry’s navel he nearly cried out loud … and when Harry felt kisses and licks along the underside of his cock he did cry out loud.

After laving and bussing Harry until he couldn’t remember his own name, Ron rested his head against Harry’s stomach. “Sorry,” Ron whispered, and he did look it, “don’t mean to be a tease, but I don’t really know how to do it, and I don’t want to get you with my teeth or anything. But I’ve got an idea for something we can do. Lie back.”

Unable to form a sentence, much less argue, Harry did as told. Ron laid down on top of him and, after stealing another kiss, lined up their hips. Harry felt the weight of Ron’s heavy cock pressing down on his own. “Oh, god!” And here he thought he was past words.

Ron began to move, slowly, propping himself up at the elbows, his hands on either side of Harry’s head. Before he even realized he was doing it, Harry spread and bent his legs, planted his feet on the mattress, and started rocking in time with Ron, who moaned his appreciation. Harry’s hands found Ron’s bum, firm and with its own thin scattering of hair. He kneaded the flesh under his hands, and Ron’s moans increased in volume. He dragged his fingernails along the skin, and Ron hissed, not entirely in pain. He spanked him, and with a yelp, Ron began to thrust faster. Finally, Harry’s finger circled his hole, and Ron whined, rolling his hips, and Harry knew, just knew Ron was dying for him to slip it in. We’ll try that, too, Harry thought, we’ll get there.

It didn’t matter that there was no penetration, that no one had gotten sucked, that a proper hand job hadn’t even been given. This was sex. Ron loomed over him, rutting hard now, one arm stretched out above Harry to hold the headboard, his face contorting into something primal as he chased his orgasm. Harry, sure he was leaving bruises and fingernail marks in the meat of Ron’s arse, bucked up into him wildly, his grunts getting louder in his ears, his jaw almost hurting from clenching his teeth.

With a roar that sounded like it started somewhere around his toes, Ron came, splashing Harry and the headboard behind them. The look on Ron’s face, almost a rictus of pain, then morphing into pure bliss, made the fire that had been raging through Harry’s skin, his muscles, his mind, finally fly up and out. Muted, almost as if from far away, he heard himself scream, saw his body bowing through unfocused eyes, but all he really knew was the feeling, soaring, skyrocketing, more amazing than anything he even knew he could feel.

* * *

Harry woke to find Ron, his head propped on one arm, smiling down at him. Harry preferred it by far to waking to Dobby’s face inches from his own. He fumbled for his glasses, smudged and half under the pillow, to get a better look; he couldn’t even remember when they’d fallen off.

“Morning,” Ron whispered. His hair was a tangled mess, he had morning breath, there was crust in the corners of his eyes, he smelled of the sweat he’d worked up last night, and his voice was rough from sleep. Harry thought he looked gorgeous.

“Hey,” Harry whispered back. He stretched languorously, and felt a really nice tingle wash over his skin. He imagined his body would feel the aftereffects all day.

“How’re you feeling?”

“M’alright,” Harry smiled. “You?”

“Well,” Ron laid back and rested his hands behind his head, “Last night I had a shag with the famous Harry Potter, so I’d say my day’s starting out pretty good.”

“And was I everything the rumours claim?”

“Well, I didn’t get the dirty talk in Parseltongue, you don’t seem to have a fetish for having your scar licked, and I don’t recollect you begging me to call you ‘Dark Lord Killer’ in bed, but other than that you weren’t bad.”

Harry sat up, laughing. “You’re joking! People really say that?”

“That and more, mate, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Harry shook his head. “Well, I guess we’ve given them plenty more to talk about now.” He looked at Ron in concern. “Are you ready for what’s coming? The teasing for coming out will be bad enough, but now they’ll all be calling you ‘Harry Potter’s boyfriend.’”

Ron smiled. “I am Harry Potter’s boyfriend,” he said, getting a smile out of Harry, too.

“You know –”

“Yeah, Harry, I know what you mean. I won’t pretend there won’t be times when I’m ready to thump someone … probably Malfoy, but he brings that out in me, anyway. But I said it before, I don’t want to hide. And I’ve faced death every bloody year since I met you – I still have nightmares about those spiders – this isn’t much compared to that. Besides, I sort of took the risk of people talking when I agreed to go to the ball with you, didn’t I?”

Harry considered this. “Right, okay.” Then, “At any rate, you’ll finally get some of that attention you think I enjoy so much. See how well you like it.”

Ron looked abashed. “Harry, you know I never meant any of that, right?”

“I know,” Harry said, already regretting bringing it up again, “and I told you to forget it.”

“No.” Ron repositioned himself so that he knelt, straddling Harry. “No, I won’t. I almost lost my best mate over that, and now it turns out I could’ve missed my shot at a lot more. I’m sorry.”

Harry ran his hands up Ron’s thighs, still marvelling that it was allowed, that he wanted to, that they both got pleasure from it, “You weren’t going to lose me. You were about to get your arse kicked, but we would have still been friends after that. Look, if you won’t forget it, can we at least leave it at ‘I forgive you?’”

Ron had that expression on his face again, the one that made Harry uncomfortable last night, like he thought Harry was the eighth wonder of the world or something. Then he smiled, said “I think I can do that,” and leaned in for a kiss.

There would be jeers, Harry knew, rumours and taunting. Some from people who hated gays in general, others from people who hated or envied him or Ron in particular, and yet still others who just needed to hurt someone. Ron’s resolve that he’d rather live in the open would be sorely tested, as would this new relationship and maybe even their friendship, perhaps to the breaking point. And of course, now Ron had an even bigger target painted on his back, the better for Harry’s enemies to aim.

But right then, with Ron pressed against him, surrounded by his scent and lost in his kiss, Harry couldn’t be bothered to care. Ron was like a Christmas gift that Harry never even knew he wanted, and the best one he could ever have hoped for.

Two months later, when the second Triwizard Task chose Ron as the treasure Harry would miss above all others, no one was surprised.

* The Exmundius spell came from an excellent Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover fic called “Old Country,” written by Astolat: http://intimations.org/fanfic/supernatural/Old%20Country.html or http://archiveofourown.org/works/164479