(no subject)

Title:With Good Grace
Author/Penname:[Bad username or unknown identity: “deathjunke”]
Main Pairing: Triofic; Harry/Hermione/Ron
Secondary Pairing(s) (if applicable): Mentions of George/Fred twincest
Genre:Angst, Drama and just a dash of Romance
Rating:NC-17
Warnings:I’m hitting every squick button you got… M-Preg, het sex, mentions of twincest, manic and out of Character Arthur.
Word Count:43550. (The most words I've ever written for any story! ^^ its 7K away from being a Nano fic!)
Summary: All the Weasley men are hermaphrodites but it is kept a secret for the safety of the clan. When Ron gets pregnant at school, the secret is exposed. Triofic
Author's Notes:
Well there will be quite a few notes so please bear with me.

To start off I want to give a big warm thank you and lots of hugs to my ♥support team♥ who this fic is dedicated to. You ladies are impossibly wonderful! They betaed, cheered, had coffee with and poked me until this was all done. I have so much love and big hugs for [Bad username or unknown identity: ”Hull1984”], [Bad username or unknown identity: ”Songquake”] and [Bad username or unknown identity: ”wwmrsweasleydo”] that I don’t think that it could all fit I one room.

Thanks to the [Bad username or unknown identity: ”RBBMod”]s who were kind enough to set up, include me in the Ron love and be so totally understanding when I asked for an extention. ♥

Now for notes about this story;
The one spell I made up Percunctor et estus translates to inquire to health”. I used an online latin translator.

The wizarding world is heavily patriarchic in this fic. What ever the head male says goes and even though you are legally an adult by age 17 the elders of society don’t really take you serious until you've reached 40.

In this story the hermaphrodites have both sets of functioning sexual organs. Human hermaphrodites are fictional, snails qualify as hermaphrodites. Many of the pregnant women in my family fainted because of low blood pressure or cried for the slightest provocation. So everything dealing with pregnancy is based on my observations of family members

Weasley most ceriainly and without any doubt is my Kink King.

Learn to... be what you are, and learn to resign with a good grace all that you are not. ~Henri Frederic Amiel

Prelude: When I was a little kid, I remember bathing with my Brothers. Mum would shove three or four of us in the tub at a time until we could all bathe ourselves. Bath time is something I remember fondly. It was always a grand production. Mum would announce that it was bath time and the insanity began. Percy would whine that he could wash himself just fine and grumble that the twins always peed in the bath water. Fred and George would streak around the house screaming, causing havoc and making Mum chase them down one at a time, which never really worked because as soon as she got one where she wanted, the other was off like a shot. Eventually she had to resort to threats and bribery; no story before bed, early bedtime or an extra topping next time we went to Fortescues’. Me, well I always hung onto her skirts, determined to be the best behaved of all my brothers. She’d lock the bathroom door once she'd herded us all in and fill up that huge tub with hot water and powdered bubbles. We were all lifted into the tub in age order. I was first and closest to the tap. Then came George – or whichever twin decided to be George that day— and Fred. At the back of the tub was Percy, who complained that the water was always colder at the back of the tub (which it was). Mum would scrub us all, one after the next, and make us stand in the tub after she pulled the plug, before rinsing us all and wrapping towels around us, one after the next, until the lot of us were done and dry. Brushing teeth and putting on pajamas were all independent acts for us because Mum would get the kitchen sink ready for Ginny, who was too small to get in the tub with us. After a few years, Percy was allowed to bathe by himself and Ginny joined the twins and me in the tub. I was shifted back a spot; Ginny was now at by the tap and I was behind her. We were washed down like we always were and Mum said stand. It is with great embarrassment that I admit that I screamed.

“She’s broke! Mum, Ginny Broke! It’s gone!”

Fred and George pushed me out of the way to gawk at our baby sister. We were so frightened by the fact that Ginny’s penis broke off that we started to search the bottom of the tub. Mum laughed at us until Ginny started to cry. “I don't wanna be broked! Find it Ronnie! Find it!” She wailed and George and I patted down the bottom of the tub frantically, Fred could only stare dumbly. It was probably a loud commotion because the Dad and Percy came racing down to the bathroom. Dad looked winded and Percy was right behind him. Percy squawked and raced in staring, horrified, at Ginny. “Dad, Should I Floo-call St. Mungo’s while every one else gets dressed?” Dad let out a huge sigh and shook his head. He wrapped Ginny in a towel and handed her off to Mum, who left the bathroom, attempting to quiet her down. Dad pulled the towels off of the rack and draped the biggest one around the twins' shoulders and another towel around me. “Percy, come in here.” I caught glimpses of his face from under the towel as he dried me off. For a moment I was scared; his face was different, not smiling or amused like he usually was. He didn’t look mad like he did after that whole spider incident, but pale and drawn. “We need to talk, boys….” He smiled after he said boys, but it wasn’t a real smile but more like the smiles that we force when we would go to see Aunt Muriel. Percy came fully into the crowded bathroom and closed the door behind him. I looked off to the side and saw Fred and George helping each other to button up their pajama shirts. Dad held my nightshirt up for me, and I shoved my arms through before shrugging it on. All I could hear was the dripping of the water echoing in the room, and I shuddered. It was never quiet in this house. I knew as young as four that a quiet Burrow was a disturbed Burrow. “Dad what’s wrong with Ginny?” Percy whispered, sounding terrified and unsettled.
“Nothing is wrong with her. That’s what I need to talk to you lot about.” Dad lowered the lid of the toilet and took a seat before he pulled me up into his lap and used his other hand to drag one of the twins over, knowing that the other would follow. “Ginny is a girl. Do you boys know what that means?” “That’s easy! She wears dresses instead of trousers.” “Well yes George, that’s part of it, but what it really means is that she is built differently from the rest of us.” “But I saw! She has the other parts!” I said, not understanding what he could possibly mean. Ginny was just like the rest of us only she kept her hair long and wore dresses and she was broken. “Yes Ronnie. She does have some parts like us but not the others. She was born with only that part.” Dad looked at every single one of us and bit his lip the same way he always told Percy not to. “We are different from girls and different from other boys too.” Fred and George looked one another in the eye then shook their heads. “We don't understand,” they chorused. “We’re all boys!” “I know… I know…Daddy – Daddy didn’t explain it right. Let me try again, okay?” We all nodded and waited for him to continue. “Girls have vaginas, like the parts Ginny has. And boys have penises, the part that you boys all have in front.” “But Daddy,” Percy spoke up made the point we were all thinking of. “We’ve all got both. I’ve seen Charlie and Bill naked too. They’ve got both just like I do.” “I know Percy. I’ve got both, too,” he said. His voice was shaking a little and it made me nervous. “We aren’t really boys or girls. We are something different; people like us are called hermaphrodites. We are special because we have both parts.” “I never heard about that.” Percy whispered, as he picked at his nails.
“I know. It's because we have to keep it a secret.” Dad swallowed and wrapped an arm around my waist and squeezed me in a half hug. “It's just like that important rule I told you about.” “Do not trust anything if you cannot see where it hides its brain.” We all chorused together. That was the one rule that Dad, who was usually laid back and didn’t care much about rules, had always pushed us to remember. “Keeping this a secret is more important that even that.” We all stared at him agog and surprised. “When you all go to Hogwarts, you will be shown to the boys' dorm because your boy parts are going to keep you out of the girls' dorms and because there are no dorms for hermaphrodites.” “Why not?” “Hermaphrodites are very rare, Fred. And usually we don't get to go to school.” “Why? Are Hermaphrodites not allowed at Hogwarts?” Fred questioned, already upset and frowning. He couldn’t wait to get his letter, Hogwarts was all Bill and Charlie ever talked about. Well, all he talked about besides Dragons and Quidditch. “I want to go to school, Daddy!” “You’ll go, you all will.” Dad reassured him, and the rest of us, “but when you go you must be careful. Only shower alone. Never let anyone see you undressed, and when you turn twelve your mum or I will explain more about your girl parts to you.” Dad talked some more, giving tips on how to stay hidden, and answered all of our questions. After Dad was done talking, he herded us downstairs for a glass of water and then to bed. That night I was restless. I couldn’t help but wonder why we were all so different from other people. Was it something that ran in our family? Was it a curse? Was it a blessing like in the stories of the old magic? I didn’t think of it again for a few years. The next time that my gender—genders? I don't really know what to refer to it as – came up, I was ten and Ginny was nine. All of our older brothers were in school or overseas completing one apprenticeship or another, and Mum had chased us out of the house so she could clean in peace. We didn’t mind being turned out of the house; it had been hot and uncomfortable. It was so hot that the chickens refused to come out of their coop and the gnomes were hiding from the sun under the porch. The grass was beginning to turn brown from the heat of the sun and the air was stale and unmoving. Catchpole is a safe, strictly-wizarding village, and a small community on top of that. Ten families, maximum, lived there and even we were spaced apart by acres of land. So Mum would let us wander all the way to the boundaries of the woods and down to the creek by ourselves. Ginny and I were making our way to the stretch of creek that fell on our parent’s property, stripping all the way and hanging our clothes on the branches of trees as we walked. It was a habit we'd learned from Bill. He always said that by the time you walked back to the next piece of clothing you were dry enough to put it on, and he wasn’t wrong on that account. “Ronnie, when you go to Hogwarts next year will you write me?” Ginny asked as she draped her knickers on a low branch. “I don't know, maybe…” I couldn’t help but to stare at her privates, they just looked so odd to me. As far as I thought, she was supposed to have more bits. “If you want me to.” I was down to my briefs when I saw the water. The creek was running gently over the smooth rocks. The banks weren’t sandy, but they weren’t muddy either. It was a strange mix of dirt and wood chips that banked the water. I was just about to strip off my pants when I caught sight of one of the boys who lived across the creek, closer to the bend in the lane that led to the Muggle town not too far from Catchpole, lounging in the water. “’Lo, Weasleys!” He called coming closer to our bank “Hello, Christopher!” Ginny called back and treaded into the water. I waved and sat on the bank with my feet in the water. I didn’t want to go in and get my pants wet, they were white and already thin. If they got wet then I’d be completely visible. I didn’t want anyone to see. I was strange compared to the rest of the world, and I didn’t like it. That fear of being strange kept me on the bank more than the fear that I would not be able to go to Hogwarts. I watched Ginny go in with something like envy. She wasn’t supposed to swim naked if there were any boys near, but that was just part of being a proper girl. Like how Mum made her wear skirts half the time and told her to cross her legs and did up her hair with barrettes and stuff before we went to visit family during the holidays. I’d seen other boys, who weren’t my brothers—sometimes I wonder of we can really be called boys–their bits were similar, but too different to put me at ease. Their bits were settled lower than mine, and they didn’t have a slit that started just behind their bollocks. I heard Christopher tell Ginny that he had come to the creek just a few minutes ago. I knew he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon and I wouldn’t get to swim. I flopped onto my back and looked at the patches of sun that showed through the thick leaves, my feet still in the water, and dozed off. When Ginny was ready to go home, she’d wake me. When she did wake me up, the sun was going down and Christopher was walking along the opposite side of the creek, heading home. Everything glowed orange, and it made Ginny’s limp wet hair look like it was on fire. “Why didn’t you get in the water?” “I didn’t want Christopher to see me.” “That’s stupid, you’re both boys!” She threw up her hands in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “You’ve all got the same bits.” That was when I realize that Ginny didn’t remember how very different l was from other boys. I didn’t correct her; I knew that if she got mad at me she would probably blab about my strangeness just to get back at me. Don’t get me wrong, she’d feel bad afterwards, but that wouldn’t undo the damage. Everyone would know what a freak I was and I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Hogwarts like my brothers.

Part 01 It was more difficult to hide my differences once I got to Hogwarts. During first year I was nervous as all hell about bathing. The Hogwarts bathroom was massive. It was all one large room. There were three toilet stalls and three urinals along one wall, and a line of sinks and mirrors on the other. The showers were towards the back of the room, divided from the rest of the bathroom by a frosted glass wall. There were no shower stalls, but one large red-tiled room with ornate copper showerheads and drains on the floor. It was much too open for my taste. I took care to observe when everyone bathed and learn their pattern so that I could slip into the baths when I knew no one else was there. Seamus and Neville washed in the mornings. Dean liked to bathe just before bed. Harry was spontaneous about bathing; he bathed multiple times a day, at no given time. That was unnerving. I never wanted Harry of all people to know what I was. Bathing wasn’t the only challenge. During the weeks of summer and late spring my dorm mates would want to swim and goof off in the shallows of the lake. They would all troupe down to the edge of the lake, strip down to their skivvies and jump in. I wanted to so badly, but I always made up an excuse not to. ‘Nah, I just ate’, ‘I’m tired, I’ll go have a kip over there on the grass’, and ‘maybe another day’ were my most frequent lines. After a while they just thought I didn’t like water or couldn’t swim. That suited me just fine, except for the fact that I would have loved to go swimming when the weather became unbearably hot. I had to be careful when I masturbated as well. I couldn’t impregnate myself —thank goodness for small mercies —so I never had to worry much about that. I had to worry about being caught with my pants down, a very likely and common occurrence when you live in a dorm. If someone were to catch me, it would be awful! Although I did mess about with my boy bits, the sensations from my snatch were just too good to neglect. It was a difficult and involving process to satisfy both sets of genitalia at the same time but completely worth it. There were so many sensations all at once - pressure, friction, fullness, a slow aching heat and a whole fifty other things I just could never describe. Masturbation was carefully planned around my roommates’ schedules and detentions. It was a rare thing that I had the dorm to myself and wasn’t with Harry and Hermione. I dealt with the limited time, and appreciated the minutes that I had alone that much more. It all went well until fourth year. I had been pissed off with Harry; I thought he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me that he was going to put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and I was so annoyed that I couldn’t get comfortable. I was up fiddling with some thing or another when I felt strange. My stomach began to turn and I just felt off. I got off of the bed, straightening the Gryffindor red cover and headed for the bathroom. When I walked in I glanced at the mirror and nearly screamed. There was blood on my pajama pants and Dad had mentioned something like this but hell if I could remember just then. I ran to the bathroom door and shoved one of the towel racks against it. I didn’t want anyone seeing this. There was too much of it to be a cut, but I didn’t feel wounded either. I pulled the front of my pants far enough from my skin so that I could look down and see my bits. Everything was in order and there was no pain, but the blood was coming from behind my bollocks. With a whine, I shoved the towel rack back in place and raced over to my trunk. I fished out my dressing gown and shoved my arms into it. I was half-crazy with worry. I knew I couldn’t go to Madam Pomfrey; Dad had told me to always be wary of anyone seeing what I really was. Percy had graduated and I had no way of contacting him immediately, the common room Floo was much too public, and I couldn’t think. The twins were mad at me, and I didn’t think they would help me anyway with the mood they were in lately. I was pacing back and forth on the landing for the fourth year boys dorm. I didn't even realize that Lee Jordan was on his way down until he grabbed me by the shoulder. “Ron, you alright?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. I felt like he knew, like he could see, so I wrapped the dressing gown tighter around my body, pulled back and nodded. “Oh, come on!” He snatched my arm and before I could really register what was going on I had been shoved in the sixth-year dorms and the door was shut behind me.

Obviously he wasn’t convinced. Fred, George and some other guy who I didn’t know were standing there looking at me. I glanced around the room once and then my eyes were glued to my feet. The third guy took one look at me and walked out of the door. The silence was thick and I could feel my brothers communicating, in that wordless way they spoke between themselves. There was an agitated grunt, and then one of them stalked over to the far side of the room, where I knew the window was. I felt a brother’s blunt fingers wrap around the back of my neck before he tugged me forward and into his chest. That was when I knew it was George; he was quicker to forgive and a lot more physical and compassionate than Fred. “What is it, Ron?” “I can’t tell Madame Pomfrey! I’m bleeding… nothing hurts, but I’m bleeding.” I whispered, ashamed at how my voice quivered and how desperately I wanted him to make every thing better.

George pushed me back a bit and tugged the strap that held my dressing gown together loose. “Oh, Ronnie… No wonder.” He pulled me over to the bathroom and shoved me into the shower, clothes and all. George stripped down and began to pull my clothes off of me. “We’ve got to wash the blood out before the house elves see. If they see, they’ll know, and if they speak about it and someone else finds out, we’ll all be in a bad way,” he explained while rubbing soap into my pajama bottoms. By the time George was done explaining everything, from dealing with the blood to spells for clean up, and done shoving potions for everything from pain and bloating to headaches, I was ready to die of humiliation. My face was red and I was wrapped up in George's old T-shirt and boxers and my dressing gown, half sprawled across his bed. “You got all that, Ronnie?” he asked me for the third time that night. I nodded and sniffed pitifully. “Alright, you’ll sleep with me tonight. I don’t want you having to worry about your sheets in the morning.” Tears were streaming down my face. I tried to stop them, but I just couldn’t. It was all so humiliating! I liked thinking of myself as male. It made things so much better for me. I hated that I couldn’t swim with my friends and that I was bleeding and was supposed to consider it normal. I buried my face into George’s stomach, wrapped my arms around his waist and held on as tight as I could. Fred was still in the room, decidedly ignoring George and me. George, ever the sweet one, ran his finger through my hair, petting me the way he had when I was little and Percy would be a berk and refuse to let me play any of the games he started. I stayed buried in George’s belly for the better part of fifteen minutes, soaking his shirt, before he wrapped his fingers around my chin and pulled my face up so that he could see my face. “What’s wrong, Ronnie? Why all the tears?” I took a deep breath and let go, slumping into my brother’s arms once again. “I hate this. I want to be a guy, like a real guy with all the right bits. I just hate this.” “Suck it up, Ron,” Fred snapped at me from across the room. “Enough,” George barked back just as quickly. He never stopped petting me. I just closed my eyes and let those two have it out. When the twins were bickering, there was nothing and no one that could stop them. “Stop babying him! We all have to put up with this shit! We deal—he can, too!” “Yeah, we deal with it, but we all went to someone for comfort too. Do you not remember forcing me to go get Percy for you?” “Yeah, but there was no pity party then!” “What pity party!? I asked my brother a question and he answered me. Get over yourself.” “Get over myself? That takes some nerve. You’re so afraid of your body that you shut down every offer that comes your way! I have to deal with the fact that I’m stuck with only you for--” “Then find someone else to get you off!” George snarled. George’s body tensed, his hands stilled and clenched; he was angry and I could feel it. “You’re unstuck with me as of right now.” There was a minute where neither one of them spoke. I just let my mind wander for a moment. It was an open secret - or suspicion in this case - that the twins were closer than what was normal, but to hear it so blatantly put was a bit shocking. “I’m sorry.” I think it was Fred who spoke. Fred and George sound exactly the same but Fred is gruffer in the way he speaks. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Whatever, Fred. I don't care.” George nudged me so that I would scoot and closed the curtains. I fell asleep not long after that. The bleeding was uncomfortable, humiliating and just downright gross, but it wasn’t impossible to deal with, head and backaches non-withstanding. After a while, it got easier to deal with, almost normal, I guess. But after I fixed that issue another cropped up. This problem was a two-part one; A) Victor Krum and B) Cho Fucking Chang. I wanted to rip their throats out with my teeth. It was the way they began to ruin things that really got to me. Krum, as excellent a Quidditch player as he is, deserved a Bludger to the face the moment he decided to set his sights on Hermione. He made her distant and stupid—well no, nothing could ever make Hermione stupid. But he did make her giggly and secretive. The three of us, Hermione, Harry and me, were honest with each other – or as honest as we could be. But once Krum tried to force his way in, things started to change and Harry and I were left to our own devices. Harry occupied his time by making cow eyes at Cho Fucking Chang, who blew him off and flirted coyly when Diggory wasn’t looking. She loved Diggory, no doubt about it, but she loved to be desirable, too. After Cedric was murdered, she became a weeping drama queen who was desperate to find someone to fill that place which Cedric’s death had left empty. The stupid girl chose Harry. Poor Harry, who didn’t even bother to wear his heart on his sleeve; he always just gave it away freely. She was wrong for him and I knew it. While all this was going on, I occupied myself with Lavender Brown. She was not the brightest faerie in the bush (that was Hermione’s place after all). Lavender was sweet, fit, ten kinds of randy and made me feel like a real guy. She was every red-blooded man’s dream. That was what made everything more than a bit tense. I always had to think of how to deflect her. She would try to worm a hand down my pants more often than not, and I would redirect her with kisses, foreplay and once (or five times), oral sex. I made sure that I was always dressed and that she always got off. Lavender was less likely to bitch and ask questions if she was blissed out. The whole thing got old, redundant and tedious soon enough, and before winter break we were done.
(-)
The holidays were when everything kind of fell into place. The pieces didn’t snap together but I realized that they were all in the same place if that makes any kind of sense? It was a few days after Dad had been admitted to Saint Mungo’s. Mum, Ginny and the twins were at the hospital, taking advantage of the afternoon visiting hours. Harry, Hermione and I had gone in the morning with Professor Lupin and were now back, helping Sirius decorate the house. Grimmauld Place was still gloomy and depressing, but it was also a lot more festive. The creepy elf heads weren’t so scary when they had over-sized Father Christmas hats perched on their heads, and the little light fairies were happy and added a warm chatter to the rooms they occupied. It was a lot better than before. “Does this look even, Ron?” Hermione asked as she squinted across the mantle. “Yeah.” It didn’t, but I wasn’t going to stay here for another twenty minutes getting it perfect. Hermione and I were stringing up garlands all around the de-doxyed drawing room while Harry, being the only one who understood how exactly the stove worked, was in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Hermione and I had finished with our task and I wanted to get out of this eerie room. “Lets go. Harry’s probably done by now.” Hermione nodded and took one last look at the garland. She gave me an exasperated half-glare and threw the Spellotape at me. I chuckled as it bounced off of my head, knowing that I had been found out. “I don't want to fix it, either.” We left the room in good humor and snickered all the way down the hall. We crossed the threshold of the kitchen at the same time Harry was coming through with a loaded tray. I guess it was coincidence or maybe even fate that all three of us were crossing the threshold at the same time. Whatever it was, none of us could budge an inch from where we stood. Harry had opened his mouth to speak when he was cut off by a groan. “Ah, shit!” The three of us turned to see Sirius standing there with an almost rueful smirk. “That wasn’t meant for you guys! Little trouble-makers.” “We didn’t do this!” Hermione was indignant, probably from being grouped in with the ‘trouble makers’. “I know you didn’t. I set up the mistletoe.” Sirius pointed. The three of us looked up and groaned in unison, sending the awful prat into full-on laughter. “Sorry, you lot can’t move until there’ve been some kisses.” Sirius just looked at us expectantly leaning against the wall as if he’d expected us to be stubborn and try get out of what was a flawless trap, or maybe he wanted to see what would happen. We all looked at each other, pink faced and embarrassed. Harry refused to look up from his shoes, Hermione was tugging at the ends of her hair and I swore up and down that my face would catch fire. Hermione was the first to move. She made that little gesture with her hand that Harry and I knew to mean ‘get on with it’. So we did. I took a deep breath and leaned over towards Harry, mindful of the tray and pressed my lips softly against his. His eyes still didn’t look up but he opened his mouth to let me maneuver just a bit more. I slid my tongue into his mouth, exploring for a few seconds before I pulled back and let him have a turn. Harry kissed slowly and nipped my lips a few times, but it was pleasant overall. When I pulled back and took a look at his face, it was beyond red and his ears were nearly purple. I waited for a second, wondering what to do. Should I turn and kiss Hermione? Or would Harry do that? I got my answer not a moment later when Hermione put her hand on my forearm and braced herself against me as she and Harry exchanged a few short soft kisses. It was interesting to watch. I had never thought Hermione would be passive, but she was. Hermione was letting Harry lead her and set the pace of the kisses. There was no tongue there, just tender kisses and deep, slow, pleasant breaths. When the pair of them pulled apart Hermione turned to me and stood on her toes. I knew what was coming next and I grinned against her lips. It was honestly funny, we fought like Crup and Kneazle, but like this we were perfectly compatible. Her lips were soft and plush, and she let me enter her mouth and do just about anything I wanted, without rushing me or letting her tongue lie there like a dead thing. We were freed from the spell and took special care not to look at Sirius, who had probably watched the whole thing with that look of intense calculation and sorrow he always wore when he saw the three of us together. What had happened wasn’t personal, or maybe it was. I don't know. All I do know is that Hermione had never moved her hand from my arm and that Harry was smiling softly with pink cheeks and an easy stance. We made our way to the parlor and settled on “our couch.” The couch was a hideous, and yet cozy, oversized loveseat that fit the three of us comfortably. I sat closest to the window with my legs tangled like a pretzel under me. Harry was pressed against my side with his legs folded neatly beside him. Hermione took up the most space with her back against the armrest, her legs over Harry’s lap, and her toes tucked under my thigh. There we sipped our cocoa and pretended to not see Remus desperately trying to escape the mistletoe before Sirius realized he was trapped (in the end I wondered why he fought so hard if he wasn’t opposed to the indecent groping and making out). The mistletoe thing niggled in the back of my mind for some time. Even after we went back to school, I found myself thinking of those kisses. I couldn’t help but reflect on how much better it was kissing Harry and Hermione than Lavender. How different Harry and Hermione were from each other. Hermione was so soft and fit into my arms perfectly. All I could think about was how loving and passionate she could be, how clever she was, and how she was spunky enough to contend with just about anything I could throw at her. When my mind turned to Harry I could remember how seamlessly his body slotted against mine. My mind brought up how loving he was, in that quiet unobtrusive way of his, how he was giving and brave and easily hurt. My thoughts decided to wander as I slipped into the large tub in the Prefect’s bathroom one night. The images were so vivid. Hermione would be naked, sprawled between Harry and me as we moved across her body in sync, touching, tasting, feeling, while she wriggled and bucked. Her hair would fly everywhere and she’d make those half-laughing gasps she made when one of us would rub her shoulders after a big test. Somehow the focus shifted so it was just Hermione and me. She was gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise as I pumped my hips hard and frantically enough to push her against the headboard while she thrashed her head and chanted my name into the air. I looked to my left and saw Harry there, his hand around his cock, watching us with those intense green eyes. Again, I found myself in a new situation; I was on my back with one arm draped over Harry’s shoulder my hand fisting his hair and pulling him closer so we could kiss easily. My other arm was between us, clutching his forearm like a lifeline as he stroked my cock and filled me up. His rhythm was slow and halting. I peered over Harry’s shoulder and saw Hermione watching us with a look that screamed smug accomplishment. That was when I came; right hand knuckle deep in my cunt and my other hand squeezing my cock. I drained the tub and let it refill for a soak and a proper wash. Half an hour later, I was wandering back to the dorm in my dressing gown. When I slipped through the portrait hole, the first thing I noticed was that most of the guys from my year were sitting by the fire. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but the time was. At two in the morning, I expected the lot of them to be asleep. “Ron.” Dean looked up first and motioned me over. “What is it? Was there another fire in the fourth year’s dorm?” Neville shook his head and dragged over a tin bucket from the fire. “Harry’s had another nightmare,” Neville whispered while he passed each of us a bottle of warmed butterbeer. “I woke up and saw him thrashing around and screaming. We didn’t see you around so Shey rang for Hermione.” I nodded and opened the bottle. Hermione and I had altered Harry’s silencing charms to extend to my bed. If he was having a nightmare or beating off I’d know. With every sip, I forced down a bit of guilt; because I wasn’t in bed Harry had to suffer a nightmare alone and the guys had to wake Hermione. Though she wouldn’t mind terribly at being woken up – she had charmed the bell herself. Hermione’s call bell was a little silver service bell. The bell itself didn’t ever ring, but I guess the sound was transferred to her earrings because once you tapped it a few times Hermione was awake and at the door to our dorm room. “Thanks, you can come up in ten.” I said before tipping the last of the butterbeer into my mouth and heading up the stairs. I pushed open the heavy oak door and crossed over to my bed. It was the farthest from the door and closest to the window. I drew all but one of the curtains closed and tied them off so they wouldn’t open on their own. Two flicks of my wand had my bed expanded in wizard space (I’m a Weasley, I know how to economize) before I pulled off my robe and made my way to Harry’s bed. Hermione had Harry sitting up. His glasses were on and he was carefully sipping the water Hermione held to his lips. He was trembling all over, terrified. His scar wasn’t pink, swollen or bleeding, so I knew it was either a dream about whatever happened in that maze or possibly something that had happened at the Dursleys'. Harry’s nightmares were something I was familiar with. I could tell that this would be one of those nights. Hermione tittered nervously, afraid to touch Harry because he had probably been fighting her off before I came into the room. Harry loved to be touched —he craved it— but for some reason that he refused to ever admit he thought it was wrong to want to he held, to be needy at times. Tonight he would fight me the entire time if I gave him the slightest opening, so I didn’t. I shoved the pillows from Harry’s bed into Hermione’s arms and jerked my chin towards my bed. She understood and moved quickly to arrange the pillows, turned down the covers and slid between the sheets. Once she was settled I plucked Harry’s glasses from his face and dragged him forward toward the edge of the bed by his leg. In a move that I admit to be rather caveman-esque, I lifted him up and carried his stubborn wriggling arse over to my bed. “Ron, stop.” Harry fussed as I gently shoved him towards the middle of the bed. “I’m not eleven any more! I can sleep on my own.” “I’m sure you can.” I got in bed beside him and pulled the covers up over the three of us before I turned on my side and put my arm around Harry’s waist. He was held in place and unable to move. He didn’t really want to move either. He never did, but still he protested for form's sake and I ignored him. “Goodnight, Hermione.” “’Night, Ron.” The bed shifted as she came closer. I felt the heat of her body on the back of my hand. “’Night, Harry.” “Goodnight Harry.” I muttered and relaxed into the comfort of my bed. “No! No good night! I need to go back to my bed.” But Harry’s body was slack, and pressed between Hermione and my own. Harry was going nowhere and we all knew it.
(-)
The usual morning routine for the Gryffindor boys was what kept us all from being late to class. We counted on Seamus to wake up first and nudge Dean on his way to the shower. Dean, in turn, would shuffle about the room in his morning haze, dropping at least one textbook as he prepared his bag for the day. When the shower echoed through the room, Neville would lurch up from his bed and head for the lav in a stumbling dash. Right about then, Harry would wake up and knock on my bedpost, letting me know that it was time to shake a leg. That morning none of that happened. Because the lot of us fell back to sleep at around two-thirty, we were all asleep well into the morning. We had already missed two classes by the time McGonagall yanked the door open and stormed into the room. “What in Merlin’s name! Out of bed! All of you!” was all I heard before the red velvet curtains were pulled back and the sunlight was blinding me. The others had gotten the same treatment because the moans were simultaneous. I sat up and looked around groggy and not really thinking and nudged the two other bodies in my bed, halfheartedly urging them to sit up. McGonagall stared, flabbergasted and gaping, her eyes trained on my bed. “MISS GRANGER!” “Ah, feck,” Seamus groaned as he stumbled from his bed and looked at us. “You were supposed to send her back to her dorm, Weasley, not keep her in yer bed.” “Shut up, Seamus,” I mumbled and shoved back the covers as I got up so McGonagall could see that we were all dressed. I was wearing pajama bottoms and Harry wore his oversized jogging shorts and sweatshirt, while Hermione was in her old navy nightgown. None of us looked remotely sexy, or anything other than tired, but that didn’t stop McGonagall from screeching at us in outrage as we stumbled through our morning routines. Hermione managed to slip out of the door unnoticed and was back, dressed properly with her bag on her shoulder raking a brush through her hair, in ten minutes. I was still fussing with my shoes and Harry had completely given up on finding his missing tie. Dean was dressed and ready, nodding off on his feet as we waited for Neville and Seamus to come out of the bathroom, showered and dressed. Once Neville and Seamus were ready, McGonagall led us out of the dorm, down the corridors and past the other whispering and snickering students, to the History of Magic classroom. I could barely hold back a laugh: she had pulled us from our beds to take a nap. She left us at the door with the order to report to Filch once classes were over for our detentions. “Well,” Dean said as he pushed open the classroom door, “at least we missed Potions.” I knew there was a reason I liked that guy.

(-)
Detention wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Dean, Neville and Seamus were told to go polish everything in the trophy room by hand. While Harry, Hermione and I were assigned the Owlery, which wasn’t all that bad since owls don't shit unlike other birds. It was a short matter of sweeping out the old hay and molted feathers, mopping the floor and putting down new hay. The house elves would fill the water troughs and mouse tanks themselves. I sat in the corner of the room on a pile of fresh hay and took a deep breath. If I was lucky I could possibly doze off without moving. It didn’t take long for those hopes to be dashed. Pig was on my head bouncing around and making a nuisance of himself. I felt heat to my left and cracked open an eye. Harry was there, sitting with his knees bent and Hedwig perched on his shoulder, trying in vain to sort out his hair. “God, I can’t believe we slept through two classes.” Hermione was crouched in front of us, shaking her head in disbelief. “Sorry about that.” “Oh shut up, Harry,” Hermione grumbled and flopped forward. Her head was resting on Harry’s stomach and her hand was on my leg. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for stupid things like this. We wanted to help, so we did.” “Yeah, but —” Hermione cut him off by pressing her lips against his. I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched Harry turn red and slowly start to kiss back. I watched with mild interest as Harry’s hands found the hem of Hermione’s jumper. He hesitated for just minute before he let his fingers slip under the fabric. Hermione pulled back and let out a breathy giggle. “It tickles.” “You! Ticklish, really?” I don’t know why I was so shocked, but I was. I batted Pig away from me, sat back up and leaned forward to press my lips to Hermione’s neck. She squealed and pulled back. I couldn’t help but laugh. I flopped to the side, my head pillowed on Harry’s frighteningly thin legs. “Oi! Four-eyes, don’t just sit there looking pretty!”
Harry jabbed my shoulder and grinned down at me. I’ve got to say, sometimes I really appreciate how lanky I am. Sure, it makes it hell to find a decent-fitting pair of trousers or, Merlin forbid, a shirt with sleeves, but it was all worth it when I was able to sling my arm up around Harry’s neck and drag him down to my level for a thorough snog. “Are we supposed to—” “Cripes! And I thought Hermione talked too much!” “Well it's not exactly … Normal you know.” Harry muttered, doing his best to not look at either Hermione or myself. “Belt up, Harry.” Hermione cut him off abruptly. “You’re not normal, and you can’t expect to have normal friends or friendships, either.” “But— guys…” “Harry, you’ll let me help you fight off a mass murderer, locate a Dark Lord, and convince you to go into a cave that’s home to a hundred-and-fifty-foot snake, but I’m not allowed to suck your cock?” Both Harry and I balked at that. I had never heard Hermione speak so plainly or vulgarly before. It was a bit of a turn on. Hermione sighed and pointed her wand toward the Owlery door. I heard it slam shut and the bolt slide into place. The sound was surprisingly erotic. I sat up to watch the outcome. Hermione apparently had a lot less worries about normality or consequences – or even personal space. She just reached over, snagged one of Harry’s belt loops, and hauled him forward. Her hand was down his pants before I could blink, catch up or —hell— even breathe. I scooted behind Harry and rested my chin on his shoulder so I could have a better look at his reactions and Hermione’s jerk off prowess. Harry’s face was truly interesting Harry looked… It was an odd expression, as though he was caught somewhere between want, denial, guilt and that uninhibited pleasure that was so rare in him. Harry stood incredibly still for just a minute before his eyelids fluttered and shut. Whatever Hermione was doing must have felt incredible; Harry’s lips had parted and he was blushing. His breathing became shallow and raspy. He tried so hard to be still and quiet, but in the end he failed and turned his face into my neck. He moaned loudly despite the fact that he was biting his lips to stay silent. He looked so sweet like that, fighting himself and his obvious pleasure as he did his best to be still under Hermione’s touch. I couldn’t help but touch him. My fingers grazed the skin of his belly and chest. I scraped my nails along his skin the way I liked to do before I thumbed and pinched my nipples. Harry yowled like a cat and shuddered against my chest, spent. I looked at Harry who was lobster red and refusing to move his face from the crook of my neck then turned to Hermione. She grinned at me and came closer, climbing over Harry’s lap and straddling my thigh. While one hand was behind her, propping her up, the other was planted on the placket of my jeans, palming my erection. I could tell Hermione was just getting started. I shifted Harry’s body a bit so that he wouldn’t get in my way and I could keep my left arm around his waist while I supported Hermione with my right. She gyrated slowly against my thigh and I was doing my best to undo her buttons with my one free hand. When that failed Harry stepped in and unfastened the buttons. He tugged the belt loops gently, causing them to slip down over her hips and bunch mid thigh. I was actually surprised to see Hermione in pink lacy underwear. I guess it never dawned on me that she was really a girl. And no, I never thought she was a man, but I just couldn’t picture her in lace knickers. Let alone pink lace knickers. It really was a nice surprise. I rubbed the back of my knuckles along the fabric, loving the texture and as I got further away from her stomach, the damp press of flesh against my hand. I wriggled my finger into the side of the barely there fabric and pet her fuzzed folds with two of my fingers, eagerly slipping past the outer area and into a moist and slick part of her cunt. My fingers were suddenly inside of her. The heat was insane and the grip on my fingers was absolutely obscene. With a stuttering groan Hermione lifted herself up and shifted until she found a more comfortable spot to sit. Harry was more into it then I was. He had somehow in this odd exchange managed to lay on his stomach, while still lying across my lap tugging at Hermione’s knickers and kissing her fleshy second lips until she couldn’t make a single sound. She moved her hips with a desperate rhythmic movement. I was painfully hard but I could barely let it register. Hermione was in her own little world, her own happening and she dragged me there with her.
(-)
Things were good. Harry, Hermione and I were closer than ever, in more ways than one, but we kept our sexual forays quiet and short. It never went beyond heavy petting and mutual masturbation, finger fucking and oral sex. Well… Oral for the other two, I wanted their faces nowhere near my bits.
It was amazing how quickly you pick up the tricks and understanding it takes to make someone scream. If you scratched the small of Hermione’s back while you kissed she’d just about purr. The outer part of Harry’s ears are desensitized because of his glasses but the lobes are ultra-sensitive: if they’re licked, sucked or blown on, he’s as hard as steel almost instantly. I loved watching their reactions and learning their bodies. Watching them twist and writhe underneath me in satisfaction became my pleasure since I wouldn’t let them get much closer to my bits than a few gropes or kisses over the thin fabric of my pants.

Harry and Hermione did try to get me completely naked or worm their way into my shorts a few times. They didn’t succeed though; I was good at distracting them, and after about a month or so I got so good at turning the tide that I could stop the grabs at the waistband of my boxers before they were more than fluttering touches. To completely turn Hermione’s attention away from my pants, I had to be three knuckles deep in her cunt with my tongue working overtime. Harry took less convincing to pry away from the subject of my privates. Sucking him off wasn’t enough; to really distract him I had to have a finger in him poking at that little nub that made him gasp and squirm. Not that that was easy to get to, before I could even try to slip in a finger or two in I had to rim him and rub his thighs long enough to make him relax. It seems like I spent most of our escapades on my knees; whether we were necking in broom cupboards or sneaking out by the lake, it always ended the same: Harry and Hermione stated and naked while I loitered around in my pants, the three of us sprawled out with stupid grins. It was good for a while. We were able to put everything behind us when we were together. Hermione would unwind and became still when she pressed herself against Harry’s side. Content in the knowledge that he was alive and here and next to her, she would prop her head up on his shoulder. Then she would chatter at me, asking all kinds of questions about parts of the Wizarding world that to me seemed like common sense. Harry’s shoulders loosened as the weight of the Wizarding world, the stress of the DA and the cruelty of Umbitch fell away. He lay content between Hermione and me. Sometimes he’d look guilty and ask us if this was normal— if it was right. Whenever the topic came up, I’d pull him on top of me and kiss him softly so that I could see his brilliant green eyes go huge, the way they always did when we kissed him, like he couldn’t possibly believe someone wanted to touch him, let alone kiss him. “Ron…” he’d mutter when I started to pull away for a breath.

“Harry, if it makes you happy, it can't be wrong.” Hermione would somehow worm her way between us after that. No matter if we were standing, sitting or lying down so that she could suck hickies on to our necks before she started in on her lecture. “We are in what’s called an ‘Alternative Relationship,’ Harry.” “I know Hermione, you told me last time.” “In some countries it was a norm for a man to have two wives or more! Why shouldn’t we turn the tables, yeah?” She’d smirk and climb on top of Harry as she undid his trousers with whatever hand she had free. By the end of Fifth Year, after exams and when the fiasco at the Ministry was over and done with, we had come closer than ever before. We'd got intimate not only through sex, but through our support of each other and the fear of losing each other. Hermione’s scars were new, but I had already traced them multiple times. Harry’s scars were soul deep and, though I couldn’t see them, I tried my best to soothe them. We never slept apart anymore. I never even let Harry make what used to be the obligatory pretense of going to bed alone. I took his hand and led him to my bed when the day was over and bullied him under the covers. There were night terrors, crying jags and even the occasional grief-fueled tantrum, but I didn’t care. I had seen the dead look in Remus’ eyes when he realized that Sirius was gone. He was in an all too real and common hell that I never want to approach. Remus and Sirius were best friends on the surface, but I could tell ever since the Shack that they were more than that. They touched each other and basked in each other’s presence just like my mum and dad do. I would never be able to handle it if Hermione or Harry were taken away from me like that. From the day Hermione and I were released from the infirmary, Harry refused to let us get too far. Hermione was kept within reaching distance until she climbed the stairs to the girls' dorms and I was to never move out of his line of sight. We lived in each other’s pockets and kept the DA as close as possible. Something about the danger drove us together harder and made our touches deeper and desperate. Every spare moment we got we were at it like rabbits. By the time we stepped off of the Express in June, there wasn’t a single part of Harry or Hermione’s body that I wasn’t perfectly intimate with.

Part 2 I was in a mood by the time we got to the Burrow. I had watched Harry change into those awful parachutes that he tried to call clothes and get growled and shoved off to the car park by his great arse of an uncle. I knew how they treated him. I had told Dad and even the Headmaster, but somehow he always went back there the next summer. I was constantly worried for Hermione. Her parents, being Muggle and all, can’t ward a house. She couldn’t either, without getting expelled or something. Now that the Death Eaters weren’t even trying to hide, it would be nothing for them to find Hermione’s house and kill everyone in it. Not to mention that if I were You-Know-Who it would seem like the next logical step, attacking Harry where he was vulnerable and throwing him off balance. Needless to say, I wasn’t in good humor on the way home but I was even less thrilled to get there, only to find out I’d be rooming with the twins so that my bedroom could be given to Bill’s fiancée Fleur. It pissed me off so much that I went to go ask Mum why she couldn’t just stay with Ginny. I had stormed into the kitchen just to be dumbstruck by Fleur. She was gorgeous and I couldn’t seem to get a single thought across my brain; everything just blanked out completely and I was ready to give her everything and more. I watched her and Mum snipe at each other before Fleur stormed out. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings and un-stick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I opened my mouth to complain to Mum when I noticed how irritated she was. Mum’s movements were brisk and short. She slammed the knife down through the potatoes so hard that the table shook. I slid up next to her and took the knife silently and started cutting up the spuds. “You alright, Mum?” “Why her, Ronnie?” Mum said tiredly as she hauled the meat for the roast over to the counter. “That girl…She’s not right for Bill.” “He seems to think she’s just fine.” I got a half hearted shove and a sigh, “Of course! He’s smitten with the damn girl. But she’s got nothing for him! She can't cook, she’s not going to touch the laundry—I bet she won't want children so that she can keep that little figure of hers.” Mum scoffed. I swore I heard a little resentment in there. “Not to mention she’s too showy.” “What’s that got to do with anything?” My mother stopped rubbing the herb blend into the meat and looked me in the eye. She looked drawn and worried, the little lines on her forehead were deepening and her lips were pressed thin. “Think, Ronald. I need you to focus for a moment.” Mum spoke in an urgent whisper and I could only nod and give her my full attention. “Your brother is just like you. All of you, except for Ginny, are the same.” I frowned a bit, I knew that much but I couldn’t understand her point. “Hermaphrodites are rare, Ron. You all are sought after like never-fading invisibility cloaks, you are few and far between. Not to mention that generally Hermaphrodites produce magically strong children. If the wrong person finds out about any of you, it is only a matter of time before they find out about the rest of you. "They will take you all from me, they might hurt you and no one would care a whit because they would all be waiting for their turn. I will not allow that to happen, Ron.” “But, Ginny’s not--” “She carries the gene. Just like I do.” Mum briskly rubbed down the meat and layered the chopped veg in the casserole dish. “I told you before that your father and I eloped.” “Yeah, Mum. I remember.” I would never forget; that had been one of the stories Mum and Dad told us when we were still ankle biters. It was their fairy tale and the epic romance that my siblings and I held on to. “There was more to it then what I told you. The Weasleys they were going to marry your father off to a very wealthy pureblood man in Sweden. Arthur didn’t want to go, and the man was nearly eighty had had two other wives and children older than we were at the time, but his pockets were deep and his parents were greedy enough to sell their son. "I was supposed to marry Lucius Malfoy but I didn’t want to. Malfoy women don't get to raise their own children, ‘it's unbecoming and that’s what nannies are for!’” Mum spat out sharply. “Malfoy women also aren’t allowed to pursue careers of their own; they are trophy wives and brood mares. I had my own dreams and desires. So did your father.” I nearly choked on my tongue. This was nothing like the story of true love, sacrifice and magic that I recalled. Everything made a lot more sense now: Malfoy’s hatred of my father, why my parents have never once taken us to see our grandparents even though they’re alive, and why we are poor purebloods. “Don't misunderstand, Ron, we love each other. We always have, since we were children. However we were stuck in a bad situation and had to find our own way out. Then we protected ourselves as best we could.” She gave me a grim smile and made her way to the sink to wash her hands. “Why do you think your brother’s name is William?” I left the kitchen as fast as I could and stole into the den. There was a book there that I remember mum poring over when I was almost too young to remember. I skimmed the shelves until I found the right volume. I pulled it down and left the house, taking refuge from family secrets. I wandered for nearly an hour before I sat against a tree and cracked open the book of baby names and their meanings. William: German origin. Helmet, protection. Charlie: Derived from Charles. Free man. I knew the law, all pureblood children did. If you married against your parent’s wishes they could dissolve the marriage. If you had a child then the families would be have to choose who claimed the child and took them on as a part of the family tree. If there was a second child, the married couple was no longer bound to their families unless they chose to be. If what Mum told me in the kitchen was any indication of my great grandparents' personality, neither side had quit trying to claim Bill because he was the offspring of a Hermaphrodite, not to mention being one himself. The fact that my parents' fairy tale love story wasn’t true was for some reason really disturbing. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I mean, I’m enough to know fairy tales are never real, but it really did eat at me. In most pureblood families there is a tendency to treat marriage vows as a contract negotiation. I had thought my family was different, that because we were poor and had nothing to bring to the table but ourselves, marriage would take on a sacredness of its own. But I was wrong, it was just a tool for my mum and dad too. Sure, they’re happy now, but what about before? Were they awkward and odd with each other or— it made no sense to wonder about it now. With a heavy breath I flipped to a random page and began skimming through the names trying not to think. “ Faith, Faline, Fallon, Faricam, Farrahm, Fatima, Faustine, Fawn, Faye… ” Two hours and countless names and definitions later, I was ready to head back home and pretend my mother and I had never had that conversation. As I got closer to the house I recognized Fleur sitting on the porch. It wasn’t hard to know it was her; she was the only blonde in a house full of gingers. She sat with her chin propped in her hand as she hexed the little Gnomes as they scurried towards her in adoration. I was too far to make out her face, which was a plus because I didn’t want to be a jabbering fool. I turned on my heel and walked toward the shed. The brooms were all old but sturdy. I snatched up two, tossed the book behind a paint can and carried them back to the house. Fleur was already gone; Fred was sitting in her place. I threw the broom on the grass in front of him and mounted the one in my hand. The game of air-chase was quick and involving. It blotted out everything from my mind, which was just what I needed.
(-)
As usual, Hermione came to the Burrow before Harry did. Hermione’s father dropped her off, waiting until she entered the house to drive off. Hermione hugged Mum and Ginny first, spoke to Fleur in French, turned down the twins’ offer for a sweet and made me lug her trunk up to Ginny’s room. “So…. Fleur?” “Nope.” I said promptly. I didn’t know the question but I did know the answer! Whenever Hermione used that tone I knew that the answer was no. No, nope, nu-uh, absolutely not and No! She made a half humming half grunting noise and patted the space besides her on the cot that I had put up not even an hour ago. “Nah, you and I would be too much weight. That thing hasn’t been new since before the rise of Grindelwald and will fall apart at any moment.” “You had to set this thing up, right?” “Yeah, so I know how many pieces it's really missing. If Ginny had any sort of heart, she’d share her bed with you.” “I don’t want to share a bed with Ginny. She may be a red head but she’s not my type.” Hermione bumped me with her hip and I grinned at her and she took my hand and pulled me into the hall. “I’ve been stuck in my dad’s car for the last five hours. Let’s go walk around for a bit.” “Yeah, alright.” I let her lead the way to the back door and then realized that she had left her shoes by the front door. Before I could say anything, Hermione was already walking off the porch and into the grass. I shrugged and followed. I hadn’t expected Hermione to walk through the woods barefoot, but that was what she did. I was used to the grass and twigs and other random things that covered the loamy soil so I never really worried about shoes unless it was winter or I was leaving my family’s property; none of us really did. “So what have you been doing for the last few weeks?” “Nothing, really,” I mumbled, and felt her fingers slide into the gaps between my own. I squeezed her hand gently and relished the way she leaned into my side. “Just the usual stuff: dodging the twins' pranks, any arguments and just staying out of the way.” “I would think you liked being around your family.” “I do. Just smaller doses. There’s no privacy here, especially since Fleur took over my room.” “So who are you bunking with?” “Fred and George, Who else?” “You poor thing.” “Gonna kiss it better?” I inquired, wagging my eyebrows. It was meant to be a stupid joke but Hermione took it as more and guided our intertwined hands to her hip. She stood on her toes to kiss my lips. The canopy of trees mottled the sun but Hermione still glowed. Her clear brown eyes looked almost gold and her hair was blonde in the choppy rays of the sun Hermione pressed her free hand against my chest and allowed it to drag down the too-thin fabric of my shirt. I knew she could feel all of the contours of my body; I had never had visibly defined muscles but they could be felt easily under her fingertips. My arm circled Hermione’s waist and pressed her against me. Hermione tipped her face towards me and I lowered my head to press my lips to hers. When her hand had sipped past my waistband, I gasped. I wasn’t expecting that to happen so quickly but it did and I had no time to recover or pull back before Hermione went deeper and curled her fingers around my cock. I inhaled sharply, taking in the taste of Hermione. It was so intense. Before that moment I had been the only person to touch my cock, and then half the time it wasn’t anything more than a customary scratch or washing. I had never thought or known how good having another’s hand on you could feel. Hermione had somehow opened the placket of my trousers and was steadily pumping my cock as she kissed and sucked on my lips while I heaved and panted for air. I could barely breathe and thinking was completely out of the question. I came before I could even register what was happening. My underwear was wet and sticky and uncomfortable but I could barely care. Hermione drew her hand out of my pants and looked at the jizz on her hand with something close to wonder or maybe astonishment. She brought a glistening finger to her mouth and poked out her tongue like a cautious cat. She dragged her tongue across the pad of her finger and grimaced. “What’s it like?” “Dunno, bitter and something else too… wanna try?” “Not at all.” Hermione threw back her head and laughed at me. But I couldn't care less. I fit my hands to her hips and tugged her close to me. I wanted to feel her against me before I sank to my knees and worshipped her cunt. July passed quickly, with a lot of long walks make-out sessions, and a gratuitous amount of tomfoolery. I don’t think there was anything left to do that didn’t involve actual penetration. I got quite good at making her utter those odd little noises, and it was a for vanity’s sake that I never stopped sensation until I was sure that she got off. I know how sensitive female bits are and how long it takes to come anything close to an orgasm. I believe that is called empathy. Teaspoon my arse, Hermione. Teaspoon my arse.
(-)
Harry showed up late at night. I heard him come up the steps and sit down on the camp bed like he usually did. “You have to know that I won't let you sleep on that awful thing,” I rumbled, still half asleep. I shoved the blankets down and rolled to the side. “Bring your pillows and come here.” He put up the obligatory fuss, but in the end he laid beside me and we nodded off together. The next morning we were all awake around the table, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Hermione badgered Harry into telling her what assignments he had completed and Harry humored her while he rubbed Hedwig’s mantle. Having Hedwig at the table drove Mum mad but she’d never say anything to Harry about it. Anyone who knows Harry knows that he practically worships his owl. There’s never been a more spoiled bird. Harry was known to send Dobby to Diagon Alley for the white mice Hedwig preferred and sometimes even little rabbits. She had her own perch and nest box in the Owlery and ate breakfast with Harry everyday without fail. It was sweet, in an odd way. Breakfast was over, and the three of us were turned out of the house so Mum could clean and do whatever else it was that she did during the day. I led the way out back and grabbed the bucket that hung on the wall. “You know, I’ve always wondered— why chickens?” Harry asked as I filled the pail with feed. “Who the hell knows? We never eat them, only their eggs.” “Yeah, but you’ve a whole flock. Do you guys sell their eggs?” “Nope.” I gave the pail over to Hermione who seemed eager to toss the grain into the pen. “I reckon Mum just likes them.” We dawdled in the yard, doing a little of everything but mostly nothing until we decided that it wasn’t too early to slip into the woods. After we disappeared through the trees and were far enough away from the house, we walked more naturally, slowly and with touches between us. I slipped my hand into the back pocket of Hermione’s jeans and Harry shyly laced his fingers through mine. The trees above us got thick and the light filtered down in uneven and shifting patches. The brook was in earshot, and I didn’t really want to go any farther and risk anyone seeing the three of us together. If there was one thing I'd learned after last year, it was that the media would go to any lengths for the inside scoop on The-Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione pulled away from us and, as if she were reading my mind, settled herself under a tree. I followed suit, sitting across from her and pulled the Boy Wonder down between Hermione and me. “You know, it’s been two months since I’ve seen you last, and you’ve not even kissed me, Harry!” Hermione leaned forward, her hands splayed in the grass, hair wild and gleaming in the patchy light. Hermione’s breasts were easily seen; the V of her jumper seemed deeper in this position and I just couldn’t look away. “Hmm. I should fix that then, huh?” Harry murmured, his eyes hooded and focused on hers, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I would think so.” “Well then, I guess I have to. I’ve not known you to get such important things wrong.” I almost fucked up and mentioned Scabbers, I was able to keep my mouth shut and watch the pair of them trade kisses. The two of them together was always something special to watch. They were never rushed – it was like all their interactions were made of savory sensual sensations. Nothing like the rushed, half-wrestling tumbles I enjoyed when Harry was fresh off the pitch, or the rare times that Hermione was willing to sneak into an empty classroom and twist my brain and body to new adrenaline-and-dirty-talk-fueled heights. It was closer to those rare nights when the Astronomy Tower was empty and we reveled in all each of us had to offer. Harry’s hand had moved from his lap to Hermione’s waist and I watched as he fingered the little patches of skin that showed whenever her jumper rode up even the lightest bit. Those hands slowly disappeared under the pale wool, and I just knew that Harry was going to unhook her bra. Hermione was wriggling obscenely as she shifted up onto her hands and knees. The two separated just enough to draw breath before they started in again. This time it was hotter: they were nipping and biting, turning each other’s lips and necks red with their semi-coordinated nibbles. I couldn't stand watching a minute more. I moved closer, pressing myself flush against Hermione’s back. I could feel her shallow pants and the tightness of her muscles. I wrapped my arms around her waist and reached toward the placket of Harry’s denims. I didn’t even have to fumble with any stupid buttons for once. I groped him a few times through the fabric, slipped one hand past the cloth of his pants and rubbed and gripped his cock with as much care as I could. My free hand snaked up the front of Hermione’s shirt, and I kneaded one of her breasts lightly as I lapped at the shell of Hermione’s ear, making her still and moan in a completely indecent way. That long, breathless moan jump-started Harry into action. Suddenly he couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. He shoved the clothing off his legs as fast as he could, not even pausing to kick off his shoes first. I stripped Hermione of her top while she pushed back against me. As soon as the jumper was over her head, she turned to me and started on the buttons of my shirt. I laid on my back looking up at her and I couldn’t fight the goofy grin that plastered itself on my face. Her hair was more wild and bushy than ever before. Her face was pinched in a frustrated and focused expression as she tackled the irritatingly small buttons. ‘Mione’s skirt was rucked up to her hips. She wasn’t wearing knickers and the thatch of hair between her legs had been trimmed into an oddly intricate design —figures that she would have to excel at that, too. I was struck dumb when I realized that her breasts were loose and swaying with her every move. Her nipples were perky, and such a lovely brown that I felt the urge to put my mouth on them. I pressed my hand against her chest and pushed her back. It was amazing to see Hermione arch backward like that. Her legs were still folded as if she were still straddling me, but her back was flat on the ground, Her arms reached up to catch Harry and pull him down over her so she could practically fuck his mouth with her tongue. I kissed her collarbone and made her skin red with little bites and sucks until I came to those lovely little nipples. Again she moaned, but this time she wasn’t the only one. Harry, despite being occupied with Hermione, had managed to get his hands on the buttons of my jeans. I shoved his hand away, barely thinking anything of it, until he pulled away, completely yanking Hermione from her lusty haze. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked, shifting so that she was propped up on her elbows and moving so her legs were no longer folded underneath her. “If you aren’t into me like that, you should have just said so.”

“Wait, what? Hermione was into that. Can’t you tell?” I admit, it took me a minute to realize that Harry was talking to me. In my defense, most of my blood had long ago left my brain and was hanging around further south. “If we're only going to do this because Hermione likes it-” “Do what? I was into it, you were into it, Hermione was into it. What's the issue?” “You won't let me touch you, Ron.” Harry jerked a hand towards me, I looked down and suddenly realized I was still for the most part dressed. My pants were done up, my shirt, while pushed back, wasn’t off. “Every single time I try to, you distract me, push my hands away or suddenly have the urge to suck my cock!” Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck! “Look, it’s not like that at all. I’m just— just—” I couldn’t even figure out what to say. I was tripping over words like a gnome over turnips. “Look.” Hermione looked at me, then Harry, then me again, I could practically hear the wheels in her head turning. “You too?” Hermione piped in. I couldn’t help but cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath; they were acting like I wasn’t even there. “I just assumed he was body shy or something.” “Come on Ron, it can't be that small. You’ve showered with…” His voice trailed off, and I felt him come closer to me. I dragged my hands down my face, praying that this only be a wet dream gone horrendously bad when I opened my eyes. I had no such luck. When I opened my eyes, I had Harry’s face just inches from me, his green eyes studying me as if seeing me for the first time in a long while. “You’ve never been in the shower at the same time as anyone else… not that I can remember.” “Sure I have.” Harry snorted in a way that clearly meant ‘pull the other one – it has bells!’. Disbelief I expected; for him to just reach forward and start in on the buttons of my trousers wasn’t something I'd counted on. I stood there frozen for a moment before I pushed his hands away again. “Ron, just tell me what’s wrong. Are you shy? Is it freckled? Because to tell you the truth, I kind of expected that.” “Yes, it's freckled; no, there’s not a problem!” I snapped. “Is it small?” Both Harry and I turned to Hermione with looks of affront and blatant disbelief that Hermione— Little Miss Tact— would say something like that. “No, it’s not small!” “Then show us. It’s nothing that Hermione hasn’t seen or I don’t have.” I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. It was so stupid! We should have all been shagging like rabbits, or at least those two would go at it like bunnies while I maneuvered from the outside of the pairing. But instead, here I was, trying to keep my best friends from knowing what a complete freak I was. “For love and misery, Ron, quit it with the suspense!” Hermione wasn’t as patient or willing to wait as Harry. She shoved me backwards with both hands and pulled my clothes off, slapping my hands away when I went to shove hers off. Before I could try again, I felt the cool summer air on my skin and closed my eyes. I crossed my arms over my face and took a deep breath. There was no way out of this now. It was all over. I stayed perfectly still, refusing to move, hoping that I’d turn invisible. I knew it wouldn’t work; my accidental magic just set things ablaze when I was in a bad temper and always at an inopportune time. The silence was awful. I could feel their eyes on me and I could hear their gasps. But the lack of talking is what scared me the most. Harry and Hermione were probably disgusted with me. I wasn’t normal in any way, shape or form, I was a Halfling in the worst of ways- there was nothing that could possibly change the way I was. On top of that I'd lied and let them believe that I was normal all this time. “Oh my God.” Hermione’s whisper echoed through the forest as if it were a canyon. “How is this possible?” “Hermione,” Harry snapped, “We turn mice into tea cups! Stop and think for a second.” “Is this why, Ron?” Her voice seemed to thunder in my ears even though I knew she was whispering. I just couldn’t move, couldn’t talk… All I could do was breathe, and then I barely managed even that. “Does it all work? Is it all connected— it’s fascinating really. Do you menstruate?” Fuck! I mean, really, shut up, Hermione. “Hermione, shut up.” For about half a minute I though Harry could read my mind. That hypothesis was shot to hell once I felt blunt callused fingers on the skin of my inner thigh. I knew they were Harry’s hands; they were impossibly warm, square, and they scraped my skin lightly even though he was being gentle. They squeezed slightly and trailed up lightly to the source of my shame. I hadn’t expected for either of them to touch me —Harry even less so – but he did. It wasn’t like anything else. I had touched myself, frequently, and always with a certain lust driven carelessness that seemed to appear with masturbation. Harry’s movements were deliberate and careful. His hands were firm against my skin. I don’t know why, but having him touch me was better than touching myself had ever been. His hands circled the entrance of my cunt and I jerked my hips to the side. I don’t know if I was trying to get away or what, I just had to move. Harry paid the shift no mind and I felt him wiggle one finger in, rubbing and coaxing me open to more. I was at least ten times as sensitive under Harry’s deft hands. But I was completely incoherent under his tongue. “What the fuck!” I was spurred into action by the sensation. My thighs slammed together and I was propped up on my forearms, looking down at Harry. I knew I must have been blushing harder than ever before. It was so embarrassing and completely confusing. Harry was looking at me, my cock right next to his face, his fingers deep in my cunt. “You don’t like that?” “Do you always go licking strange things!?” “Ron, it's not all that strange. I’ve done it before, you watched.” “Yeah but Hermione doesn’t—“ “No she doesn’t have a cock but I’m pretty sure I do.” When he pinned me with those eyes, I knew I wouldn’t be able to turn away; his green eyes trapped me. “Granted, I’ve never seen both on the same person before, but it doesn’t matter to me, Ron. You’re still you.” Harry leaned forward and kissed me before I could even open my mouth again. I thought vaguely about how gross it should be to taste my own cunt, but I shrugged it off once Harry started fingering me again.

I’m not too clear on how it happened —I blame the sensation overload— but in the end I was balls deep in Hermione, who was seated on my cock and sprawled on my chest with her arms tight around my shoulders. Her face pressed into the nape of my neck, where I was sure I was going to have bruises from her teeth. Harry must have been built for endurance because even though Hermione and I were completely spent and fucked stupid, he was still going strong. My legs were splayed wide and his thighs were kind of propping up my lower half as he angled into my cunt just right on each thrust. The friction had hurt a bit, but not in a bad way. I knew I’d feel it later when it was time to move, but until then… When Harry was done, the three of us sprawled on the grass lethargically. Everything was quiet and still when I realized I was still completely naked and not freaking out. “So.” I turned my head to face Hermione, who had finally pulled her face from my poor mauled neck to speak. “Do you menstruate or not?” I couldn’t even blame Harry for laughing. I was too.
(-)
I said my good-byes at the platform and waved to my parents as the train pulled off. I had felt muzzy all morning and I was exhausted. I had stayed up late the night before and was dead on my feet, but still I was standing in the front car with the other Prefects and Professor Flitwick, who was the train’s chaperone this trip. I slouched in my chair as the Head Boy gave his speech; a general recap of last year, the new rules or changes, and who was taking the first shift of the year. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes against the rocking of the train. “Ron, are you alright?” I heard a voice in my ear and turned to see Melody, a Ravenclaw prefect hovering at my shoulder while Hermione sat across from me looking equal parts disapproving and concerned. “Yeah, thanks.” I nodded for a second and then stopped when my head spun. “I’ve got a bit of a head ache. Couldn’t turn off yesterday.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and continued to ignore Darcy’s speech about the dangers of not steering the firsties away from the fifth floor swamp. I made a few rounds, barely able to keep my eyes open as I passed from car to car. The first three cars were almost always firsties and they were pretty timid and quiet so I had no problems whatsoever. It didn’t take long for me to find the car I had left Harry in and doze off. The dream I had was trippy. I was sitting at the head table in the Great Hall next to ferret face Malfoy and eating black rabbits. I woke up feeling more tired than before the nap and hated the train for a few good minutes. Luckily enough my head ache and nausea was gone.
I didn’t see Harry when I left the train but I hadn’t thought much of it. He was probably in a carriage with Neville or Luna or maybe even one of our roommates. So I rode up to the school in one of the last carriages with Hermione and some random 'Puff. It wasn’t until we walked into the Great Hall and went to sit at his sides at our table that we realized that he wasn’t there. Hermione told McGonagall that Harry was MIA, and she told us to wait, that the train was currently being checked for any sleeping or missed students. It was a tense half-hour before Snape walked in with Harry at his shoulder. There was a little bit of blood on Harry’s face, but I didn’t question it, not where everyone could hear. He slid into place between Hermione and me and started to pile up his plate. We followed suit and started in on our now cold food. I grimaced at the metallic taste in my mouth and lost most of my appetite. It didn’t matter much anyway; I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

Things went the same way they usually did; classes were long, essays were tedious, Snape and Harry were at each other’s throats and Quidditch tryouts were coming up. Every time I thought about it, I got nauseous. My mouth would start to water and I could taste bile, which was annoying as all hell because Quidditch was all I thought about. The day of tryouts I was a wreck. I could barely catch anything, my head was spinning and I felt like I was going to throw up. But I had apparently done better than the others because I made the team and they didn’t complain. I guess my name finally worked to my advantage there, Weasleys were always on the Gryffindor house team. Quidditch and having babies by the dozen were what we were known for. I expected complaining about nepotism and all that jazz. The team and the lot that had tried out all hit the showers. I was shocked that the locker room had shower stalls, but I guess if there is a co-ed team, you can't have just dorm-like shower rooms. I washed up and dressed in the same stall; there was too many people here for me risk anything (not that I would). I left the stall only to run into Harry, who was still pretty much naked with only a towel around his hips. I couldn’t help but to look him over appreciatively. Wet and naked looked good on him. His glasses weren’t on his face; they were useless in the heat of the locker room as the steam fogged them up hopelessly. “You’ve got to be the most modest person I’ve ever known, Ron.” “Well of course. I mean, no need to go around telling people how fantastic I am. It would only make them jealous.” Harry pretended not to crack a smile as he rolled his eyes. “Nah, I’m just a bit body-shy… I’m not…I’m freckled everywhere, you know. Not a good look.” “I don’t mind the freckles, all that much.” I turned and saw Hermione standing in the door way, grinning. “It goes along with the whole ginger thing,” she teased me while she blatantly eyed up Harry. “Good point.” “Oi, shut up you two.” I shoved Harry lightly as he fell into step besides me. “Some red heads don’t have any freckles at all.” “Then they got into the Manic Panic!” Harry quipped, threading his arm through mine as Hermione practically pranced in front of us. Hermione snickered and I was lost. Apparently it must have been really funny because had she lagged for a moment to laugh and fell into step with us. It must be one of those Muggle things; they had weird names and even weirder uses. Like the felly-tone, what good was a conversation if you can’t talk face to face? Just write a letter! We passed the Whomping Willow, and a few second-years when I noticed that something felt off. Hermione had stopped laughing and she looked really pale. Before I could ask if she was all right she pitched forward. Harry —bless him and his kneazle-like reflexes— snatched the back of her jumper and held her up just long enough for me to get a hold of her. “’Mione, ‘Mionie… OI!” I couldn’t think of anything to do but shake her. Which apparently didn’t help, she was still out cold. “Fuck, fuck… Harry, what the hell happened?” Hermione’s body lifted into a horizontal position slowly and she hovered there in front of me. Her face was pale, the areas under her eyes were dark, her hair was glossy and her cheeks, oddly enough, looked fuller. “Mobilicorpus.” The incantation strapped Hermione to an invisible stretcher. “We’ve got to get her to Pomfrey.” I nodded and rushed to the other side of Hermione. I could protect her from this side while Harry had the other. We took off at a run, unwilling to allow whoever had tried to kill her a second chance. Harry and I burst into the infirmary out of breath and calling for Madam Pomfrey, who came running out of her office (I had no idea that old battle axe could move so quick) with her wand at the ready. “Mr. Potter! What’s happened?” She somehow took control of the spell and maneuvered Hermione’s limp body to the far bed that was usually occupied by Harry. “We don’t know!” Harry spat out; he was starting to look pale too. His eyes were huge and more pupil than anything else. “She just collapsed. We were talking and she just fell!” “Percunctor et estus” The incantation was something I had heard a million times before. Any time something was wrong with one of us, Mum would use that spell to find out what it was. Pomfrey waved her wand over Hermione moving from toe to head and back. Her eyebrows drew together and her mouth pinched. The matron jerked her wand sharply at the curtains, which slid closed, shutting Harry and me out of Hermione’s immediate area. Harry took a step forward, but then stopped him self, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on behind that curtain. I watched him carefully stare blankly at the dividers, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. With a quick check to make sure no one was around to see, I wrapped one long arm around Harry’s thin shoulders and pulled him back to my chest. I stood straight and firm as he leaned into me and pressed my nose into his hair. It always smelled the same, minty and pleasant like the shampoo Dobby had taken to making for him back in second year. “She’ll be fine, right?” he whispered into my collarbone. “She’ll be right as rain in no time.” Harry’s fingers dug painfully into my waist, but I ignored it and rubbed his shoulder. “Pomfrey will fix her up just like she does you. And you’re good as new every time.” “I don’t want her to die…” My stomach worked itself into a horrid knot and I cringed inwardly. I already knew where that train of thought was headed. “Everyone… they die.” “No, Harry. Everyone you love doesn’t die.” “I didn’t say that.” I felt more than heard that mumble. “I know, I’m just putting that out there. You know, just in case other parties have that assumption.” “Git.” He snorted as he pulled away from me. “Oh, hush up, you.” It wasn’t even a full ten minutes before Madame Pomfrey emerged from the sectioned off area. “Ms. Granger is perfectly fine.” It was easy to see that she was more than a little annoyed and very grim which didn’t make her words all that believable. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. Please return to your common room and send for your Head of House. Ms Granger will be staying the night.” “If she’s fine then why does she have to stay?” “Mr. Potter, there is something called patient confidentiality.” “Yeah, but,” Harry protested, trying to make his way around Madame Pomfrey, who matched him step for step. “It’s Hermione!” “Yes. It is Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter. That changes nothing about the circumstances,” she said with an air of finality. She placed a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder and steered him, and apparently me too, towards the door. “I will alert you when Ms Granger awakens,” she said, with a remarkable amount of compassion for someone who was used to just issuing orders.
(-)
As I’m sure you guessed by now, after Harry and I had told McGonagall we threw the invisibility cloak over our shoulders and hurried after her. It was no easy thing to rush after McGonagall quietly enough not to alert her. Her legs were long, and I would have been able to keep up but Harry was shorter and took longer to cover the same ground. But we managed. The most difficult thing was slipping in behind McGonagall just as the door closed and not bumping into her. As silently as possible we crept forward towards the curtains, crouching as low as we could to make sure that the cloak would cover us completely, and waited. Madame Pomfrey looked at McGonagall with a skeptical eye. “I find it hard to believe that those two didn’t follow you down.” “I didn’t see Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley at all after I left the tower.” “They’ll show up.” Pomfrey slid the white curtain to the side with her hand and sighed heavily. “They won't leave one of their own alone for long.” “Gryffindors are—” “No, Minerva. I wasn’t talking about your House. I was talking about those boys. When Ms. Granger had that potions mishap with the cat hair, they came and sat on the other side of the screen when she refused to see them. When the girl was practically turned to stone, they still came every day and sat beside her.” “Yes well, they’re a very tight-knit trio.” “Which is why I don’t want Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley to know what’s happened. There would be murder on school grounds, and the way I figure it, those two wouldn’t even care to hide the body.” I felt my breath catch in my chest and froze. Was Hermione not going to be okay? Was this the work of some junior Death Eater? “Well Poppy, what could possibly be so very wrong that it calls for all this drama and secrecy?” “The girl is pregnant, Minerva. She collapsed from a dizzy spell.” I wanted to laugh. Hermione pregnant! It seemed impossible! I mean, she was the one who was always so hyped up on being safe and responsible and everything else. “Ms. Granger? Are you sure, Poppy?” McGonagall’s eyes widened and strode closer to the curtain. “That is unlike her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew at least thirteen different contraception charms.” “I am very sure, Minerva.” Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtains and my breath got caught in my throat. There was Hermione, lying on the hospital bed in one of those thin paper gowns. “What I don’t know is if she knows or not.” “Right then, ennerverate.” Harry and I scuttled closer but still gave the ladies wide berth. It wouldn’t do to be caught eavesdropping. We watched Hermione wake just like she always did, taking a deep breath before dragging her hands over her face and cracking her eyes open. “Professor?” She rubbed her face again and looked around. “Where are Harry and Ron?” I won’t lie, it felt really good to know that we were the first thing Hermione asked about. “They are in their dorm room Ms Granger.” It was a testament to our knowledge of each other that she looked around the room trying to see any hint of where we might be. A sunken chair cushion, a patch of depressed carpet, a small area where the dust motes didn’t fly, they were all giveaways that Mad Eye Moody had taught us to look for. I don’t think she saw us, but with Hermione you never really know. “What happened? I was watching the Quidditch try outs and then—” “You fainted Ms Granger.” Madame Pomfrey shoved a vial toward Hermione who downed it immediately. “Ms Granger… You are in a bit of a delicate situation. Did you know?” “Am I sick or something? I mean I thought I was a bit off, but I didn’t think it was anything very serious.” McGonagall sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Hermione’s thigh. “Child, you’re not sick.” “Then what’s wrong?” McGonagall and Pomfrey were making pitying faces that were making Hermione visibly nervous. She fidgeted, pulling at her fingers and nipping at her lip. “Where the guys? Why aren’t they here?” Harry had apparently thought that a cue because he brushed his fingers over the divider curtains to make them sway a bit. “I thought I would be best if they stayed in their dorm for this one. After all, it’s a very personal thing.” Madame Pomfrey took the empty vial from Hermione and sighed. “What is a personal thing? Do I have an infection? What is it?” “Dear girl, have you been getting these short dizzy spells for a while now?” Hermione nodded. “Nausea? Vomiting? Loss of appetite? Fatigue?” Thinking back I tried to remember if Hermione hadn’t looked well. But all I could remember was the last time I was throwing up and beat. “Yes, I just thought I wasn’t getting enough sleep. I’ve been revising all my old notes.” She flushed and looked down ashamed, “I slacked off this summer and haven’t really studied as much as I ought." McGonagall smiled sadly and I didn’t understand why —so what if there was a baby? It wasn’t like Hermione would have to drop out of school. There are three of us, and Mum would watch a kid during the day; she did it for more than half of our cousins. “Ms Granger, Hermione. You’re pregnant.” “No, I’m not,” Hermione blurted. “I can't b—” I felt guilt in the pit of my stomach as realization dawned on her. We hadn’t even bothered with contraception. We never intended to go that far. We hadn’t thought we were ready just yet. “Really dear, you are.” Madame Pomfrey said and produced a palm sized white ball and little orange vial. “This ball—” She pressed it into Hermione’s small hand, “—will glow green if you are pregnant and stay white if you are not. After that, if you want to know the gender, just shake it and it will turn blue for female and red for male.” I could feel Harry holding tightly onto my forearm as he leaned forward to see what color the ball was. He turned back toward me with a look of awe and I knew without another hint the ball was green. “Now, Ms Granger. I understand this is a lot to take in at once…” Madame Pomfrey had taken the visitor’s chair besides the hospital cot and leaned forward so she could face Hermione fully. “But you have some …tough, choices to make. And please remember that these choices are all yours to make, since you are legally an adult. "There are a few things we can do. If you want, we can contact your parents and ask them to help you sort this all out. We can inform the father, and get him to come and help you decide what you want to do about the pregnancy.” “Wait, what do you mean, to do about the pregnancy?” “Please know that no matter what you decide, this won't leave the room unless you want it to, and I certainly won't judge you, either.” Madame Pomfrey sat up, brushed invisible dirt off of her apron, pulled at the hem and then opened her hand to show Hermione the little orange vial. “This is a potion that would abort the pregnancy. It is one option. The others are keeping and raising the child or giving the child up for adoption.” I don’t know who was more horrified at the idea of giving away or even killing the baby. Hermione looked sick, Harry was shaking like a leaf, and I could barely breathe. “No, thank you. I won't need the potion,” Hermione whispered, but it echoed through the infirmary, bringing with it relief. “Can I have a minute though? It’s a lot to process….” “Of course, dear. Give a shout if you need me.” Madame Pomfrey checked Hermione over once more before leading McGonagall into her office. As soon as the door shut, the cloak was off and we were at Hermione’s bedside. It was quiet for a minute. Hermione was fidgeting when Harry reached over and grabbed her hand. His fingers laced with hers and I put a hand on her shoulder. I had no idea what to say we all just looked at each other for a while. “Thank you…” Harry’s green eyes were glassy and his lips quivered. He might have seen me watching him because he bowed his head and took a deep shuddering breath. Harry leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Hermione’s. “Thank you so much, Hermione.” I made my way to the other side of her bed so that I could rub her shoulders and pull the little ball from her clenched hands. Even as I tried to comfort her I kept one eye on the ball. It flared green when it sat in my palm. I put the ball on the side table before anyone else could see and hid my face in the wild mane of brown hair. I was fucked —no. Actually, I was pregnant.
(-)
“Madame Pomfrey says I collapsed because my blood pressure dropped too quickly. It's been a bit on the low side.” Hermione visited the subject tentatively, as if she weren’t seated between Harry and me on my bed as we looked through magazines, books and medical journals about pregnancy. “I’m two months pregnant, I’ll be three months towards the end of October.” Harry nodded and pulled a book from behind him. He flipped through the pages and passed it towards Hermione when he got to whatever page it was. “Yeah, they said it might go up and down quickly while you’re in the first few months. It’s a pretty common thing.” I waved my wand over the article and copied it to a blank piece of parchment. We were keeping all tips or helpful articles in a folder. We would sort through them all later. Hermione accused me of being thoughtful; I blushed because I knew that I was being more than a little selfish. All of the research we did for Hermione would benefit me, too. “Harry, what do we do about it?” Again, this was my selfishness. Please don’t think I don’t care about the baby Hermione is carrying— I do, really— it's just that things were dangerous. This was a wartime generation, and I was attached to the figurehead of the of the resistance". I would never be able to bring myself to down a little orange vial. I understood why some did, but it wasn’t for me. “What are we going to do?” Hermione echoed, bewildered with horror etched in her face. “I thought we already decided to keep the baby.” Harry looked ready to haul off and punch me. I knew he'd always wanted a family, but I never really knew how much. The fury in his face made it very clear. “Not about that, our living arrangements.” The other two relaxed, and I wondered just for a minute if they really knew me as well as I had thought they did. “We can’t stay with my parents like this! They’ll have a fit, plus that house is much too small. Hermione’s parents aren’t magic, they can't put up wards and things, and the Dursleys are a no-go.” “The baby will be a target.” Hermione picked up on the point immediately. I expected nothing less from her. I knew I couldn’t say the words myself. I felt just awful for bringing it up once I saw the look of devastation on her face and the way her body seemed to suddenly curl around her stomach. “I’m Muggle born, Ron is a Pureblood whose family is publicly anti-Voldemort, and you too, Harry… We can’t risk this.” It was strange how, although we had known about the baby for almost a week, I was still detached. I knew Hermione would be a mum soon, and I knew I was going to give birth, too. These were all things I knew but they seemed strange and foreign —almost unreal. Yet, here I was, still worrying about them. I nibbled at my lip and skimmed through the possibilities. Harry owned Grimmauld Place, but that wasn’t really secure, not when Kreacher could make a mess of things again. Not that I would want to live or raise a kid in such a depressing place; Sirius said that house had driven him mad as a kid, that it was worse than Azkaban in several ways. “We’ll buy a house of our own, somewhere Muggle, maybe even out of the country if we can manage it. We can ward it and everything else. That way we won't have to worry too much.” “We can use my trust fund. My parents left me more than enough gold... I’ve got inheritance from…” he let his sentence tape off. We all knew he wanted to say Sirius, but couldn’t bring himself to say the name. I gagged once or twice on my pride before swallowing it all down. I wouldn’t be able to afford a house straight out of school and having kids in flats seemed fundamentally wrong to me. The Burrow may not have been big, but it never mattered much to my family, we were out side playing and exploring most of the time. Hermione protested in the way I couldn’t afford to. “Harry, that’s for school, isn’t it? And even if it wasn’t, that’s your money! We can't just—” “I’ve got more than enough. And it's not like I’m wasting it all on something stupid -- it’s a house.” Harry smiled widely and my heart and stomach plummeted to my shoes, the very same way a Bludger drops out of the sky when the enchantments wear off mid-game. Harry never smiled. I mean sure, I had seen him grin, smirk and even on the rare occasion that there was something too funny to pass off with an amused quirk of his lips, he snickered. I had see Harry enraged, sad, lonely and even depressed; he was very open with his emotions, all of them except for happiness. I'd always thought Harry was afraid to be happy. He always smothered any signs of joy, like if someone knew he was happy, they would take it away. But here he was, smiling. It was a genuine smile that reached his eyes and made him radiate excitement and joy. “I finally get to have my own family. Let me be selfish and take care of thing for once, alright?” There wasn’t much Hermione and I could bring ourselves to say to that. In the end, we just nodded and agreed. “Great, so what are we looking for in a house? I want a big kitchen.” Part 03 November rolled around faster than I thought it would. Harry was caught up in his lessons with Dumbledore, being frustratingly helpless when Hermione wasn’t feeling her best and chose to sharpen her claws on him, fending off Ginny’s advances and Slughorn’s attempts to entangle him in the “Slug Club.” He was, more often than not, dealing with the general crap that came with his name and position in the Wizarding World. and writing letters to Remus and the Goblins who were acting on his behalf when it came to the house business. Hermione was handling this beautifully, in my opinion. She all but floated and glowed when moved. She was bubbly and cheerful most of the time, but during the early afternoons she was would scream or snap at Harry. Luckily, I was spared her wrath because she liked the way I rubbed her shoulders, and held her hair back when she threw up. At night, she craved chocolate-covered pretzels or pickled pears, and was always cold. Her nighttime chills were so bad that she and Harry switched sleeping spots. Hermione started to spell her skirts looser and wear my uniform shirts, but mostly she wore oversized sweaters and my old robes around the castle. It was odd, but she looked cute practically swimming in my former clothes. For me, things were less pleasant. Food had become the enemy; I was always nauseous and couldn’t stomach anything more than fruits, salads and bread. Spotted Dick still looked and smelled as appetizing as mucous-covered flobber worm dung. My new eating habits got me strange looks from some of my housemates, and Harry picked up the habit too. He might have thought that I was trying to sympathize with Hermione My nose wouldn’t stop running and I was always burning hot and sweating. My hair wouldn’t stop growing and thickening and after a while I gave up trimming it. I was perpetually tired, suffering from heartburn, and always had to pee. My stupid shite body was changing on top of that. I managed to get a bit of pudge around my middle, and my hips hurt and ached at night. I guess my body was making room for the baby in residence. I was glad that I had kept the habit of showering alone and at obscure times because the changes were happening further south as well; my balls and even the lips of my cunt were tinted purple (yet another marvelous pregnancy side effect). And to make matters worse, I was fighting off tears at the drop of a hat, and had and got the insane urge to knit when no one was looking. It was embarrassing, so I shoved the yarn and pair of needles I stole from Hermione under my pillow every time I thought someone was looking my way.
(-)

I was already a complete mess, but Quidditch practice made it worse. I was awful. I wasn’t awake enough to be alert and attentive, I fumbled every time the ball was thrown my way, and I was ready to throw in the towel by the end. Then I got to see Dean and my sister sucking face behind the bleachers. I could have been more rational about things, yes I know. But have a little courtesy! Tell a guy before you go about snogging his sister behind the pitch! The worst I would have done was punch him once, and even then probably in the arm at that! I actually liked Dean, as opposed to that irritating Corner kid. But I was hurt and irrational, so I was a bit rash. We shouted at each other a bit, and true to form, Ginny snapped something ugly and personal, then stormed off. I patted myself on the back for having the foresight not to remind her about the family secret when we were younger. That would have definitely been thrown in my face. I left Harry standing stupidly with Dean and stormed off to the locker room. It took me until after I'd showered and was on my way to the Gryffindor dorms to realize that I was knackered. Trudging up the tower stairs was excruciating, and climbing to the boys' dorm room was even worse. I flopped down onto my bed, drew the curtains, and pulled out my yarn balls, needles and the mostly-done baby blanket from the nightstand. Everything but the rhythm of needles and a stupid rhyme seemed to melt into the background.
“Under the fence, catch the sheep. Back we come, off we leap.” The whole thing, from yarn to rhyme, reminded me of my mother. For the first time since I was eleven, I was homesick and letting the tears stream freely down my face. It was humiliating, and I was so glad to be alone that I didn’t even hear the door open.
“Ron,” Hermione opened the curtains of the bed, and I shoved the ball of yarn under the pillow. She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It's alright, Ron. I know you knit.” “Belt up and get in here.” Hermione grinned and slipped in behind the curtain and climbed over my legs to get to her place beside me. She just lay there watching me work the yarn over the needles quickly. I was grateful for the curtains, they gave everything a reddish glow so she couldn’t see the blush on my face. “You’re really good at that. Much better than me, everything I make looks horrid. I haven’t even tried to make anything for the baby.” “Mum taught me when I was little and made me help her do the Christmas jumpers when my brothers were at school.” “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry too much. Ginny’s got no talent for it, can’t cook a whit either, now that I think of it.” I nudge Hermione’s side a bit, trying to get a smile from her.
“How much stuff have you made so far?” she asked me as she ran her hands over the mostly completed blanket; this one I would keep for my baby. “A few dozen layette sets, six blankets and a thick amount of booties.” I muttered. Knitting at the speed of light isn’t exactly something that I’m proud of. “I’m bored but I don’t want to do anything that includes getting out of bed or revising, so this is it.” “I know something we can do!” Hermione said cheerfully, her fingers pushed away the yarn and needles and rested on my chest I turned my head to the side and caught her Cheshire cat grin. “We don’t even have to leave the comfort of bed!” When Hermione crawled on top of me, I realized that this, this was the one side effect of pregnancy that I loved. Hermione had a serious case of nymphomania. Between classes, after classes, during lunch… It was insane and intense because I was matching her, orgasm for orgasm. At night after we turned in, the two of us would start making out and messing around; Harry was relegated to watching. Something about him made Hermione angry and I wasn’t about to lose my daytime shag partner because I let Harry have his way. However, I made up for the times I snubbed Harry during the times that I had free periods with him and Hermione was off in Arithmancy or Astronomy.
(-)
By December 1st I had figured out that bananas stopped the vomiting, going at saltines like a beaver at wood would hold off the worst of the nausea, that if I ate ice cubes and drank cranberry juice, I wouldn’t be running for the bathroom during every class or sweating like Goyle, and somehow had made it to number one on Hermione’s shit-list. I gave up on trying to follow what was going on with everyone to hole up in the library, learning concealment spells. My stomach was getting large and more obvious by the day, and ‘notice-me-not’ spells weren’t going to hide this forever. Hermione was always suspicious of seeing me in the library. She’d glare at me and refuse to say a word, and I just didn’t get it. We were sitting across from each other, looking up charms, when suddenly she sprung up from her seat , grabbed my arm and pressed it to the hidden lump of her stomach. I was going to ask her what the hell she was doing when I felt it. It was barely more than a flutter but I still felt it. A little thump against my palm was all that I needed to yank Hermione down into my lap and kiss her as best as I could. For the first time since we landed in this situation I had proof. Tangible proof that I wasn’t alone; proof that Hermione was pregnant just like I was, proof that we would all be a family just as soon as I worked up the nerve to tell the truth.
(-)
“You’re not going to come to the Burrow with us?” Harry asked as we settled down on the sofa towards the back of the common room. I looked at Hermione over the handkerchief I was using; it would be odd, after all this time, to not have her icy toes pressed against my thighs. “No —get down, Crookshanks!” The stupid cat yowled when Hermione shoved him off of her lap again. “This is probably the last Christmas that I’ll spend with just my parents.” I nodded, understanding, and Harry backed off with minimal pouting. “So, I meant to ask you guys. Is it alright if I tell them?” She gestured vaguely to her stomach and I blanched. I hadn’t even told my mother about any of this yet, and telling Dad was not an option. Usually Dad was the one that we could turn to for an understanding and sympathetic ear. He was the go-to if you were afraid to confess to Mum or just couldn’t bear the embarrassment of a situation. But when it came to things like this, where exposure was possible, he was a tyrant. I remembered when I was six and Charlie had been sent home from school, suspended for indecent behavior behind the greenhouses with some girl a year above him. Ginny and I were in the next room and could hear the shouting. Nothing had happened; they hadn’t gone very far, but that there was a possibility that she could have seen— would have told —had sent Dad into a frenzy. I don’t honestly know what happened, but I know that when Dad had stormed out of the house, Charlie was in tears. He was wailing and inconsolable. Mum held him and tried to soothe him, but still he cried until he had exhausted himself. Charlie hadn’t been himself for a few days afterward. He steered clear of Dad and seemed to be on pins and needles like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He barely ate, and had carried me into his room when I was asleep more than once. Every day of the week that Charlie had been suspended I woke up in his bed. Whatever Dad had said, shown or had done to Charlie was so terrifying that he was afraid to sleep alone. And I, for one, didn't want to know what it was. I sighed and tipped my head back against the sofa cushions. "Hermione, tell them if you want to. It's not like they have to know all of the gritty details." My fingers itched for those stupid knitting needles just to get rid of the nervous energy that cropped up out of nowhere. “Will they make you…” Harry licked his lips nervously and threaded his fingers between Hermione’s, gripping hard and desperately. “Will they make you go to a clinic?” “Honestly, I don’t see what the problem with that is. Don’t Muggles have those machines that let you actually see the baby? I think that would be pretty cool.” “Not that kind of clinic, Ron.” Hermione looked at my twitching fingers and waved her wand about a bit. “No Harry, they won't make me. If I don’t want to, they’ll respect that. But if you want me to, Harry, I’ll tell them I’m six months in.” My hand drifted towards my own stomach at the thought of killing the little thing that fluttered and squirmed inside of me but I caught myself just in time and stilled my hand. Just then I saw my knitting drift down the stairs and into my lap. I gave Hermione a token glare for exposing my shameful secret, but took up the needles anyway; my hands were itching something awful. “You knit?” Harry ran his fingers over the finished portion of the baby sack. This one was for me to keep; I loved the mix of gray and teal. “Yeah. You’ve met my mum, right?” “Well yeah, but I didn’t know she'd taught you how to knit. Aunt Petunia showed me how to crochet when I was little.” He got that look on his face that I knew meant he was thinking of something that he would never tell us. “I don’t have the patience for it, anymore.” I just nodded and continued with the hood of the sack. We sat there tangled with each other on the sofa until the clock in the corner read one-thirty. I shoved the knitting into my bag and shuffled through the contents to make sure I had my Potions text. Slughorn liked Harry and Hermione, he even liked Ginny enough to overlook them not being prepared, but I wasn’t a beneficiary of his nepotism. Hermione pulled her legs from under my thighs and stood up to stretch. “I’ve got to go to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey is calling in that Pediatrics Healer to meet with me.” “During a class? Potions, nonetheless?” “This is the only time the woman can make it, so I need to go. I’m grateful that she’s even meeting with me at all.” Hermione shrugged. “Besides, it's not like Slughorn will care, or deviate from the text any. Snape may have been an unfair berk, but he was a better Potions teacher.” Harry sighed, put away the shea

With Good Grace by DeathJunke

Title:With Good Grace
Author/Penname:deathjunke
Main Pairing: Triofic; Harry/Hermione/Ron
Secondary Pairing(s) (if applicable): Mentions of George/Fred twincest
Genre:Angst, Drama and just a dash of Romance
Rating:NC-17
Warnings:I’m hitting every squick button you got… M-Preg, het sex, mentions of twincest, manic and out of Character Arthur.
Word Count:43550. (The most words I've ever written for any story! ^^ its 7K away from being a Nano fic!)
Summary: All the Weasley men are hermaphrodites but it is kept a secret for the safety of the clan. When Ron gets pregnant at school, the secret is exposed. Triofic
Author's Notes:
Well there will be quite a few notes so please bear with me.

To start off I want to give a big warm thank you and lots of hugs to my ♥support team♥ who this fic is dedicated to. You ladies are impossibly wonderful! They betaed, cheered, had coffee with and poked me until this was all done. I have so much love and big hugs for hull1984, songquake and wwmrsweasleydo that I don’t think that it could all fit I one room.

Thanks to the ronbigbang_mods who were kind enough to set up, include me in the Ron love and be so totally understanding when I asked for an extention. ♥

Now for notes about this story;
The one spell I made up Percunctor et estus translates to inquire to health”. I used an online latin translator.

The wizarding world is heavily patriarchic in this fic. What ever the head male says goes and even though you are legally an adult by age 17 the elders of society don’t really take you serious until you've reached 40.

In this story the hermaphrodites have both sets of functioning sexual organs. Human hermaphrodites are fictional, snails qualify as hermaphrodites. Many of the pregnant women in my family fainted because of low blood pressure or cried for the slightest provocation. So everything dealing with pregnancy is based on my observations of family members

Weasley most ceriainly and without any doubt is my Kink King.

Titles: "Inevitable", "Expectation", & "Family"
Artist: venturous1
Pairing: Ron/Harry, Hermione/Ron/Harry, Ron/Hermione/Harry
Rating: NC-17, PG,
Media: photoshop.
Artist’s Notes: For "Inevitable"-At last their passion is expressed, and Ron has nothing to hide anymore. For "Expectation"-I had a blast drawing trio, especially considering their interesting family developments! Hugs and kudos to patient mods and lovely author, and especially to Ron. For "Family"- I loved making this loving Trio.




Learn to... be what you are, and learn to resign with a good grace all that you are not. ~Henri Frederic Amiel

Prelude:

When I was a little kid, I remember bathing with my Brothers. Mum would shove three or four of us in the tub at a time until we could all bathe ourselves. Bath time is something I remember fondly.

It was always a grand production. Mum would announce that it was bath time and the insanity began. Percy would whine that he could wash himself just fine and grumble that the twins always peed in the bath water. Fred and George would streak around the house screaming, causing havoc and making Mum chase them down one at a time, which never really worked because as soon as she got one where she wanted, the other was off like a shot. Eventually she had to resort to threats and bribery; no story before bed, early bedtime or an extra topping next time we went to Fortescues’. Me, well I always hung onto her skirts, determined to be the best behaved of all my brothers.

She’d lock the bathroom door once she'd herded us all in and fill up that huge tub with hot water and powdered bubbles. We were all lifted into the tub in age order. I was first and closest to the tap. Then came George – or whichever twin decided to be George that day— and Fred. At the back of the tub was Percy, who complained that the water was always colder at the back of the tub (which it was).

Mum would scrub us all, one after the next, and make us stand in the tub after she pulled the plug, before rinsing us all and wrapping towels around us, one after the next, until the lot of us were done and dry. Brushing teeth and putting on pajamas were all independent acts for us because Mum would get the kitchen sink ready for Ginny, who was too small to get in the tub with us.

After a few years, Percy was allowed to bathe by himself and Ginny joined the twins and me in the tub. I was shifted back a spot; Ginny was now at by the tap and I was behind her. We were washed down like we always were and Mum said stand.

It is with great embarrassment that I admit that I screamed.

“She’s broke! Mum, Ginny Broke! It’s gone!”

Fred and George pushed me out of the way to gawk at our baby sister. We were so frightened by the fact that Ginny’s penis broke off that we started to search the bottom of the tub. Mum laughed at us until Ginny started to cry.

“I don't wanna be broked! Find it Ronnie! Find it!” She wailed and George and I patted down the bottom of the tub frantically, Fred could only stare dumbly.

It was probably a loud commotion because the Dad and Percy came racing down to the bathroom. Dad looked winded and Percy was right behind him. Percy squawked and raced in staring, horrified, at Ginny. “Dad, Should I Floo-call St. Mungo’s while every one else gets dressed?”

Dad let out a huge sigh and shook his head. He wrapped Ginny in a towel and handed her off to Mum, who left the bathroom, attempting to quiet her down. Dad pulled the towels off of the rack and draped the biggest one around the twins' shoulders and another towel around me.

“Percy, come in here.” I caught glimpses of his face from under the towel as he dried me off. For a moment I was scared; his face was different, not smiling or amused like he usually was. He didn’t look mad like he did after that whole spider incident, but pale and drawn. “We need to talk, boys….” He smiled after he said boys, but it wasn’t a real smile but more like the smiles that we force when we would go to see Aunt Muriel.

Percy came fully into the crowded bathroom and closed the door behind him. I looked off to the side and saw Fred and George helping each other to button up their pajama shirts. Dad held my nightshirt up for me, and I shoved my arms through before shrugging it on. All I could hear was the dripping of the water echoing in the room, and I shuddered. It was never quiet in this house. I knew as young as four that a quiet Burrow was a disturbed Burrow.

“Dad what’s wrong with Ginny?” Percy whispered, sounding terrified and unsettled.

“Nothing is wrong with her. That’s what I need to talk to you lot about.” Dad lowered the lid of the toilet and took a seat before he pulled me up into his lap and used his other hand to drag one of the twins over, knowing that the other would follow. “Ginny is a girl. Do you boys know what that means?”

“That’s easy! She wears dresses instead of trousers.”

“Well yes George, that’s part of it, but what it really means is that she is built differently from the rest of us.”

“But I saw! She has the other parts!” I said, not understanding what he could possibly mean. Ginny was just like the rest of us only she kept her hair long and wore dresses and she was broken.

“Yes Ronnie. She does have some parts like us but not the others. She was born with only that part.” Dad looked at every single one of us and bit his lip the same way he always told Percy not to. “We are different from girls and different from other boys too.”

Fred and George looked one another in the eye then shook their heads. “We don't understand,” they chorused. “We’re all boys!”

“I know… I know…Daddy – Daddy didn’t explain it right. Let me try again, okay?” We all nodded and waited for him to continue. “Girls have vaginas, like the parts Ginny has. And boys have penises, the part that you boys all have in front.”

“But Daddy,” Percy spoke up made the point we were all thinking of. “We’ve all got both. I’ve seen Charlie and Bill naked too. They’ve got both just like I do.”

“I know Percy. I’ve got both, too,” he said. His voice was shaking a little and it made me nervous. “We aren’t really boys or girls. We are something different; people like us are called hermaphrodites. We are special because we have both parts.”

“I never heard about that.” Percy whispered, as he picked at his nails.

“I know. It's because we have to keep it a secret.” Dad swallowed and wrapped an arm around my waist and squeezed me in a half hug. “It's just like that important rule I told you about.”

“Do not trust anything if you cannot see where it hides its brain.” We all chorused together. That was the one rule that Dad, who was usually laid back and didn’t care much about rules, had always pushed us to remember.

“Keeping this a secret is more important that even that.” We all stared at him agog and surprised. “When you all go to Hogwarts, you will be shown to the boys' dorm because your boy parts are going to keep you out of the girls' dorms and because there are no dorms for hermaphrodites.”

“Why not?”

“Hermaphrodites are very rare, Fred. And usually we don't get to go to school.”

“Why? Are Hermaphrodites not allowed at Hogwarts?” Fred questioned, already upset and frowning. He couldn’t wait to get his letter, Hogwarts was all Bill and Charlie ever talked about. Well, all he talked about besides Dragons and Quidditch. “I want to go to school, Daddy!”

“You’ll go, you all will.” Dad reassured him, and the rest of us, “but when you go you must be careful. Only shower alone. Never let anyone see you undressed, and when you turn twelve your mum or I will explain more about your girl parts to you.” Dad talked some more, giving tips on how to stay hidden, and answered all of our questions. After Dad was done talking, he herded us downstairs for a glass of water and then to bed.

That night I was restless. I couldn’t help but wonder why we were all so different from other people. Was it something that ran in our family? Was it a curse? Was it a blessing like in the stories of the old magic?

I didn’t think of it again for a few years.

The next time that my gender—genders? I don't really know what to refer to it as – came up, I was ten and Ginny was nine. All of our older brothers were in school or overseas completing one apprenticeship or another, and Mum had chased us out of the house so she could clean in peace.

We didn’t mind being turned out of the house; it had been hot and uncomfortable. It was so hot that the chickens refused to come out of their coop and the gnomes were hiding from the sun under the porch. The grass was beginning to turn brown from the heat of the sun and the air was stale and unmoving.

Catchpole is a safe, strictly-wizarding village, and a small community on top of that. Ten families, maximum, lived there and even we were spaced apart by acres of land. So Mum would let us wander all the way to the boundaries of the woods and down to the creek by ourselves.

Ginny and I were making our way to the stretch of creek that fell on our parent’s property, stripping all the way and hanging our clothes on the branches of trees as we walked. It was a habit we'd learned from Bill. He always said that by the time you walked back to the next piece of clothing you were dry enough to put it on, and he wasn’t wrong on that account.

“Ronnie, when you go to Hogwarts next year will you write me?” Ginny asked as she draped her knickers on a low branch.

“I don't know, maybe…” I couldn’t help but to stare at her privates, they just looked so odd to me. As far as I thought, she was supposed to have more bits. “If you want me to.”

I was down to my briefs when I saw the water. The creek was running gently over the smooth rocks. The banks weren’t sandy, but they weren’t muddy either. It was a strange mix of dirt and wood chips that banked the water. I was just about to strip off my pants when I caught sight of one of the boys who lived across the creek, closer to the bend in the lane that led to the Muggle town not too far from Catchpole, lounging in the water.

“’Lo, Weasleys!” He called coming closer to our bank.

“Hello, Christopher!” Ginny called back and treaded into the water.

I waved and sat on the bank with my feet in the water. I didn’t want to go in and get my pants wet, they were white and already thin. If they got wet then I’d be completely visible. I didn’t want anyone to see. I was strange compared to the rest of the world, and I didn’t like it. That fear of being strange kept me on the bank more than the fear that I would not be able to go to Hogwarts.

I watched Ginny go in with something like envy. She wasn’t supposed to swim naked if there were any boys near, but that was just part of being a proper girl. Like how Mum made her wear skirts half the time and told her to cross her legs and did up her hair with barrettes and stuff before we went to visit family during the holidays.

I’d seen other boys, who weren’t my brothers—sometimes I wonder of we can really be called boys–their bits were similar, but too different to put me at ease. Their bits were settled lower than mine, and they didn’t have a slit that started just behind their bollocks.

I heard Christopher tell Ginny that he had come to the creek just a few minutes ago. I knew he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon and I wouldn’t get to swim. I flopped onto my back and looked at the patches of sun that showed through the thick leaves, my feet still in the water, and dozed off. When Ginny was ready to go home, she’d wake me.

When she did wake me up, the sun was going down and Christopher was walking along the opposite side of the creek, heading home. Everything glowed orange, and it made Ginny’s limp wet hair look like it was on fire.

“Why didn’t you get in the water?”

“I didn’t want Christopher to see me.”

“That’s stupid, you’re both boys!” She threw up her hands in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “You’ve all got the same bits.”

That was when I realize that Ginny didn’t remember how very different l was from other boys. I didn’t correct her; I knew that if she got mad at me she would probably blab about my strangeness just to get back at me. Don’t get me wrong, she’d feel bad afterwards, but that wouldn’t undo the damage. Everyone would know what a freak I was and I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Hogwarts like my brothers.


Part 01

It was more difficult to hide my differences once I got to Hogwarts. During first year I was nervous as all hell about bathing. The Hogwarts bathroom was massive. It was all one large room. There were three toilet stalls and three urinals along one wall, and a line of sinks and mirrors on the other. The showers were towards the back of the room, divided from the rest of the bathroom by a frosted glass wall. There were no shower stalls, but one large red-tiled room with ornate copper showerheads and drains on the floor.

It was much too open for my taste.

I took care to observe when everyone bathed and learn their pattern so that I could slip into the baths when I knew no one else was there. Seamus and Neville washed in the mornings. Dean liked to bathe just before bed. Harry was spontaneous about bathing; he bathed multiple times a day, at no given time. That was unnerving. I never wanted Harry of all people to know what I was.

Bathing wasn’t the only challenge. During the weeks of summer and late spring my dorm mates would want to swim and goof off in the shallows of the lake. They would all troupe down to the edge of the lake, strip down to their skivvies and jump in. I wanted to so badly, but I always made up an excuse not to.

‘Nah, I just ate’, ‘I’m tired, I’ll go have a kip over there on the grass’, and ‘maybe another day’ were my most frequent lines. After a while they just thought I didn’t like water or couldn’t swim. That suited me just fine, except for the fact that I would have loved to go swimming when the weather became unbearably hot.

I had to be careful when I masturbated as well. I couldn’t impregnate myself —thank goodness for small mercies —so I never had to worry much about that. I had to worry about being caught with my pants down, a very likely and common occurrence when you live in a dorm.

If someone were to catch me, it would be awful!

Although I did mess about with my boy bits, the sensations from my snatch were just too good to neglect. It was a difficult and involving process to satisfy both sets of genitalia at the same time but completely worth it. There were so many sensations all at once - pressure, friction, fullness, a slow aching heat and a whole fifty other things I just could never describe.

Masturbation was carefully planned around my roommates’ schedules and detentions. It was a rare thing that I had the dorm to myself and wasn’t with Harry and Hermione. I dealt with the limited time, and appreciated the minutes that I had alone that much more.

It all went well until fourth year.

I had been pissed off with Harry; I thought he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me that he was going to put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and I was so annoyed that I couldn’t get comfortable. I was up fiddling with some thing or another when I felt strange. My stomach began to turn and I just felt off. I got off of the bed, straightening the Gryffindor red cover and headed for the bathroom.

When I walked in I glanced at the mirror and nearly screamed. There was blood on my pajama pants and Dad had mentioned something like this but hell if I could remember just then. I ran to the bathroom door and shoved one of the towel racks against it. I didn’t want anyone seeing this. There was too much of it to be a cut, but I didn’t feel wounded either. I pulled the front of my pants far enough from my skin so that I could look down and see my bits. Everything was in order and there was no pain, but the blood was coming from behind my bollocks.

With a whine, I shoved the towel rack back in place and raced over to my trunk. I fished out my dressing gown and shoved my arms into it. I was half-crazy with worry. I knew I couldn’t go to Madam Pomfrey; Dad had told me to always be wary of anyone seeing what I really was.

Percy had graduated and I had no way of contacting him immediately, the common room Floo was much too public, and I couldn’t think. The twins were mad at me, and I didn’t think they would help me anyway with the mood they were in lately. I was pacing back and forth on the landing for the fourth year boys dorm. I didn't even realize that Lee Jordan was on his way down until he grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Ron, you alright?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. I felt like he knew, like he could see, so I wrapped the dressing gown tighter around my body, pulled back and nodded. “Oh, come on!” He snatched my arm and before I could really register what was going on I had been shoved in the sixth-year dorms and the door was shut behind me.

Obviously he wasn’t convinced.

Fred, George and some other guy who I didn’t know were standing there looking at me. I glanced around the room once and then my eyes were glued to my feet. The third guy took one look at me and walked out of the door. The silence was thick and I could feel my brothers communicating, in that wordless way they spoke between themselves.

There was an agitated grunt, and then one of them stalked over to the far side of the room, where I knew the window was.

I felt a brother’s blunt fingers wrap around the back of my neck before he tugged me forward and into his chest. That was when I knew it was George; he was quicker to forgive and a lot more physical and compassionate than Fred.

“What is it, Ron?”

“I can’t tell Madame Pomfrey! I’m bleeding… nothing hurts, but I’m bleeding.” I whispered, ashamed at how my voice quivered and how desperately I wanted him to make every thing better.

George pushed me back a bit and tugged the strap that held my dressing gown together loose. “Oh, Ronnie… No wonder.” He pulled me over to the bathroom and shoved me into the shower, clothes and all.

George stripped down and began to pull my clothes off of me. “We’ve got to wash the blood out before the house elves see. If they see, they’ll know, and if they speak about it and someone else finds out, we’ll all be in a bad way,” he explained while rubbing soap into my pajama bottoms.

By the time George was done explaining everything, from dealing with the blood to spells for clean up, and done shoving potions for everything from pain and bloating to headaches, I was ready to die of humiliation. My face was red and I was wrapped up in George's old T-shirt and boxers and my dressing gown, half sprawled across his bed.

“You got all that, Ronnie?” he asked me for the third time that night. I nodded and sniffed pitifully. “Alright, you’ll sleep with me tonight. I don’t want you having to worry about your sheets in the morning.”

Tears were streaming down my face. I tried to stop them, but I just couldn’t. It was all so humiliating! I liked thinking of myself as male. It made things so much better for me. I hated that I couldn’t swim with my friends and that I was bleeding and was supposed to consider it normal. I buried my face into George’s stomach, wrapped my arms around his waist and held on as tight as I could.

Fred was still in the room, decidedly ignoring George and me.

George, ever the sweet one, ran his finger through my hair, petting me the way he had when I was little and Percy would be a berk and refuse to let me play any of the games he started. I stayed buried in George’s belly for the better part of fifteen minutes, soaking his shirt, before he wrapped his fingers around my chin and pulled my face up so that he could see my face. “What’s wrong, Ronnie? Why all the tears?”

I took a deep breath and let go, slumping into my brother’s arms once again. “I hate this. I want to be a guy, like a real guy with all the right bits. I just hate this.”

“Suck it up, Ron,” Fred snapped at me from across the room.

“Enough,” George barked back just as quickly. He never stopped petting me. I just closed my eyes and let those two have it out. When the twins were bickering, there was nothing and no one that could stop them.

“Stop babying him! We all have to put up with this shit! We deal—he can, too!”

“Yeah, we deal with it, but we all went to someone for comfort too. Do you not remember forcing me to go get Percy for you?”

“Yeah, but there was no pity party then!”

“What pity party!? I asked my brother a question and he answered me. "Get over yourself.”

“Get over myself? That takes some nerve. You’re so afraid of your body that you shut down every offer that comes your way! I have to deal with the fact that I’m stuck with only you for--”

“Then find someone else to get you off!” George snarled. George’s body tensed, his hands stilled and clenched; he was angry and I could feel it. “You’re unstuck with me as of right now.”

There was a minute where neither one of them spoke. I just let my mind wander for a moment. It was an open secret - or suspicion in this case - that the twins were closer than what was normal, but to hear it so blatantly put was a bit shocking.

“I’m sorry.” I think it was Fred who spoke. Fred and George sound exactly the same but Fred is gruffer in the way he speaks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever, Fred. I don't care.” George nudged me so that I would scoot and closed the curtains. I fell asleep not long after that.

The bleeding was uncomfortable, humiliating and just downright gross, but it wasn’t impossible to deal with, head and backaches non-withstanding. After a while, it got easier to deal with, almost normal, I guess.

But after I fixed that issue another cropped up. This problem was a two-part one; A) Victor Krum and B) Cho Fucking Chang. I wanted to rip their throats out with my teeth. It was the way they began to ruin things that really got to me. Krum, as excellent a Quidditch player as he is, deserved a Bludger to the face the moment he decided to set his sights on Hermione. He made her distant and stupid—well no, nothing could ever make Hermione stupid. But he did make her giggly and secretive. The three of us, Hermione, Harry and me, were honest with each other – or as honest as we could be. But once Krum tried to force his way in, things started to change and Harry and I were left to our own devices.

Harry occupied his time by making cow eyes at Cho Fucking Chang, who blew him off and flirted coyly when Diggory wasn’t looking. She loved Diggory, no doubt about it, but she loved to be desirable, too. After Cedric was murdered, she became a weeping drama queen who was desperate to find someone to fill that place which Cedric’s death had left empty. The stupid girl chose Harry. Poor Harry, who didn’t even bother to wear his heart on his sleeve; he always just gave it away freely. She was wrong for him and I knew it.

While all this was going on, I occupied myself with Lavender Brown. She was not the brightest faerie in the bush (that was Hermione’s place after all). Lavender was sweet, fit, ten kinds of randy and made me feel like a real guy. She was every red-blooded man’s dream.

That was what made everything more than a bit tense. I always had to think of how to deflect her. She would try to worm a hand down my pants more often than not, and I would redirect her with kisses, foreplay and once (or five times), oral sex. I made sure that I was always dressed and that she always got off. Lavender was less likely to bitch and ask questions if she was blissed out. The whole thing got old, redundant and tedious soon enough, and before winter break we were done.

(-)

The holidays were when everything kind of fell into place. The pieces didn’t snap together but I realized that they were all in the same place if that makes any kind of sense?

It was a few days after Dad had been admitted to Saint Mungo’s. Mum, Ginny and the twins were at the hospital, taking advantage of the afternoon visiting hours. Harry, Hermione and I had gone in the morning with Professor Lupin and were now back, helping Sirius decorate the house.

Grimmauld Place was still gloomy and depressing, but it was also a lot more festive. The creepy elf heads weren’t so scary when they had over-sized Father Christmas hats perched on their heads, and the little light fairies were happy and added a warm chatter to the rooms they occupied. It was a lot better than before.

“Does this look even, Ron?” Hermione asked as she squinted across the mantle.

“Yeah.” It didn’t, but I wasn’t going to stay here for another twenty minutes getting it perfect. Hermione and I were stringing up garlands all around the de-doxyed drawing room while Harry, being the only one who understood how exactly the stove worked, was in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Hermione and I had finished with our task and I wanted to get out of this eerie room. “Lets go. Harry’s probably done by now.”

Hermione nodded and took one last look at the garland. She gave me an exasperated half-glare and threw the Spellotape at me. I chuckled as it bounced off of my head, knowing that I had been found out.

“I don't want to fix it, either.”

We left the room in good humor and snickered all the way down the hall. We crossed the threshold of the kitchen at the same time Harry was coming through with a loaded tray. I guess it was coincidence or maybe even fate that all three of us were crossing the threshold at the same time. Whatever it was, none of us could budge an inch from where we stood.

Harry had opened his mouth to speak when he was cut off by a groan.

“Ah, shit!” The three of us turned to see Sirius standing there with an almost rueful smirk. “That wasn’t meant for you guys! Little trouble-makers.”

“We didn’t do this!” Hermione was indignant, probably from being grouped in with the ‘trouble makers’.

“I know you didn’t. I set up the mistletoe.” Sirius pointed. The three of us looked up and groaned in unison, sending the awful prat into full-on laughter. “Sorry, you lot can’t move until there’ve been some kisses.” Sirius just looked at us expectantly leaning against the wall as if he’d expected us to be stubborn and try get out of what was a flawless trap, or maybe he wanted to see what would happen.

We all looked at each other, pink faced and embarrassed. Harry refused to look up from his shoes, Hermione was tugging at the ends of her hair and I swore up and down that my face would catch fire.

Hermione was the first to move. She made that little gesture with her hand that Harry and I knew to mean ‘get on with it’.

So we did. I took a deep breath and leaned over towards Harry, mindful of the tray and pressed my lips softly against his. His eyes still didn’t look up but he opened his mouth to let me maneuver just a bit more. I slid my tongue into his mouth, exploring for a few seconds before I pulled back and let him have a turn. Harry kissed slowly and nipped my lips a few times, but it was pleasant overall. When I pulled back and took a look at his face, it was beyond red and his ears were nearly purple.

I waited for a second, wondering what to do. Should I turn and kiss Hermione? Or would Harry do that? I got my answer not a moment later when Hermione put her hand on my forearm and braced herself against me as she and Harry exchanged a few short soft kisses. It was interesting to watch. I had never thought Hermione would be passive, but she was. Hermione was letting Harry lead her and set the pace of the kisses. There was no tongue there, just tender kisses and deep, slow, pleasant breaths.

When the pair of them pulled apart Hermione turned to me and stood on her toes. I knew what was coming next and I grinned against her lips. It was honestly funny, we fought like Crup and Kneazle, but like this we were perfectly compatible. Her lips were soft and plush, and she let me enter her mouth and do just about anything I wanted, without rushing me or letting her tongue lie there like a dead thing.

We were freed from the spell and took special care not to look at Sirius, who had probably watched the whole thing with that look of intense calculation and sorrow he always wore when he saw the three of us together. What had happened wasn’t personal, or maybe it was. I don't know. All I do know is that Hermione had never moved her hand from my arm and that Harry was smiling softly with pink cheeks and an easy stance.

We made our way to the parlor and settled on “our couch.” The couch was a hideous, and yet cozy, oversized loveseat that fit the three of us comfortably. I sat closest to the window with my legs tangled like a pretzel under me. Harry was pressed against my side with his legs folded neatly beside him. Hermione took up the most space with her back against the armrest, her legs over Harry’s lap, and her toes tucked under my thigh. There we sipped our cocoa and pretended to not see Remus desperately trying to escape the mistletoe before Sirius realized he was trapped (in the end I wondered why he fought so hard if he wasn’t opposed to the indecent groping and making out).

The mistletoe thing niggled in the back of my mind for some time. Even after we went back to school, I found myself thinking of those kisses. I couldn’t help but reflect on how much better it was kissing Harry and Hermione than Lavender. How different Harry and Hermione were from each other. Hermione was so soft and fit into my arms perfectly. All I could think about was how loving and passionate she could be, how clever she was, and how she was spunky enough to contend with just about anything I could throw at her. When my mind turned to Harry I could remember how seamlessly his body slotted against mine. My mind brought up how loving he was, in that quiet unobtrusive way of his, how he was giving and brave and easily hurt.

My thoughts decided to wander as I slipped into the large tub in the Prefect’s bathroom one night. The images were so vivid. Hermione would be naked, sprawled between Harry and me as we moved across her body in sync, touching, tasting, feeling, while she wriggled and bucked. Her hair would fly everywhere and she’d make those half-laughing gasps she made when one of us would rub her shoulders after a big test.

Somehow the focus shifted so it was just Hermione and me. She was gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise as I pumped my hips hard and frantically enough to push her against the headboard while she thrashed her head and chanted my name into the air. I looked to my left and saw Harry there, his hand around his cock, watching us with those intense green eyes.

Again, I found myself in a new situation; I was on my back with one arm draped over Harry’s shoulder my hand fisting his hair and pulling him closer so we could kiss easily. My other arm was between us, clutching his forearm like a lifeline as he stroked my cock and filled me up. His rhythm was slow and halting. I peered over Harry’s shoulder and saw Hermione watching us with a look that screamed smug accomplishment.

That was when I came; right hand knuckle deep in my cunt and my other hand squeezing my cock. I drained the tub and let it refill for a soak and a proper wash. Half an hour later, I was wandering back to the dorm in my dressing gown. When I slipped through the portrait hole, the first thing I noticed was that most of the guys from my year were sitting by the fire. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but the time was. At two in the morning, I expected the lot of them to be asleep.

“Ron.” Dean looked up first and motioned me over.

“What is it? Was there another fire in the fourth year’s dorm?”

Neville shook his head and dragged over a tin bucket from the fire. “Harry’s had another nightmare,” Neville whispered while he passed each of us a bottle of warmed butterbeer. “I woke up and saw him thrashing around and screaming. We didn’t see you around so Shey rang for Hermione.”

I nodded and opened the bottle. Hermione and I had altered Harry’s silencing charms to extend to my bed. If he was having a nightmare or beating off I’d know. With every sip, I forced down a bit of guilt; because I wasn’t in bed Harry had to suffer a nightmare alone and the guys had to wake Hermione. Though she wouldn’t mind terribly at being woken up – she had charmed the bell herself.

Hermione’s call bell was a little silver service bell. The bell itself didn’t ever ring, but I guess the sound was transferred to her earrings because once you tapped it a few times Hermione was awake and at the door to our dorm room.

“Thanks, you can come up in ten.” I said before tipping the last of the butterbeer into my mouth and heading up the stairs.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and crossed over to my bed. It was the farthest from the door and closest to the window. I drew all but one of the curtains closed and tied them off so they wouldn’t open on their own. Two flicks of my wand had my bed expanded in wizard space (I’m a Weasley, I know how to economize) before I pulled off my robe and made my way to Harry’s bed.

Hermione had Harry sitting up. His glasses were on and he was carefully sipping the water Hermione held to his lips. He was trembling all over, terrified. His scar wasn’t pink, swollen or bleeding, so I knew it was either a dream about whatever happened in that maze or possibly something that had happened at the Dursleys'. Harry’s nightmares were something I was familiar with.

I could tell that this would be one of those nights.

Hermione tittered nervously, afraid to touch Harry because he had probably been fighting her off before I came into the room. Harry loved to be touched —he craved it— but for some reason that he refused to ever admit he thought it was wrong to want to he held, to be needy at times. Tonight he would fight me the entire time if I gave him the slightest opening, so I didn’t.

I shoved the pillows from Harry’s bed into Hermione’s arms and jerked my chin towards my bed. She understood and moved quickly to arrange the pillows, turned down the covers and slid between the sheets. Once she was settled I plucked Harry’s glasses from his face and dragged him forward toward the edge of the bed by his leg. In a move that I admit to be rather caveman-esque, I lifted him up and carried his stubborn wriggling arse over to my bed.

“Ron, stop.” Harry fussed as I gently shoved him towards the middle of the bed. “I’m not eleven any more! I can sleep on my own.”

“I’m sure you can.” I got in bed beside him and pulled the covers up over the three of us before I turned on my side and put my arm around Harry’s waist. He was held in place and unable to move. He didn’t really want to move either. He never did, but still he protested for form's sake and I ignored him. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

“’Night, Ron.” The bed shifted as she came closer. I felt the heat of her body on the back of my hand. “’Night, Harry.”

“Goodnight Harry.” I muttered and relaxed into the comfort of my bed.

“No! No good night! I need to go back to my bed.” But Harry’s body was slack, and pressed between Hermione and my own. Harry was going nowhere and we all knew it.

(-)

The usual morning routine for the Gryffindor boys was what kept us all from being late to class. We counted on Seamus to wake up first and nudge Dean on his way to the shower. Dean, in turn, would shuffle about the room in his morning haze, dropping at least one textbook as he prepared his bag for the day. When the shower echoed through the room, Neville would lurch up from his bed and head for the lav in a stumbling dash. Right about then, Harry would wake up and knock on my bedpost, letting me know that it was time to shake a leg.

That morning none of that happened.

Because the lot of us fell back to sleep at around two-thirty, we were all asleep well into the morning. We had already missed two classes by the time McGonagall yanked the door open and stormed into the room.

“What in Merlin’s name! Out of bed! All of you!” was all I heard before the red velvet curtains were pulled back and the sunlight was blinding me. The others had gotten the same treatment because the moans were simultaneous. I sat up and looked around groggy and not really thinking and nudged the two other bodies in my bed, halfheartedly urging them to sit up.

McGonagall stared, flabbergasted and gaping, her eyes trained on my bed.
“MISS GRANGER!”

“Ah, feck,” Seamus groaned as he stumbled from his bed and looked at us. “You were supposed to send her back to her dorm, Weasley, not keep her in yer bed.”

“Shut up, Seamus,” I mumbled and shoved back the covers as I got up so McGonagall could see that we were all dressed. I was wearing pajama bottoms and Harry wore his oversized jogging shorts and sweatshirt, while Hermione was in her old navy nightgown. None of us looked remotely sexy, or anything other than tired, but that didn’t stop McGonagall from screeching at us in outrage as we stumbled through our morning routines.

Hermione managed to slip out of the door unnoticed and was back, dressed properly with her bag on her shoulder raking a brush through her hair, in ten minutes. I was still fussing with my shoes and Harry had completely given up on finding his missing tie. Dean was dressed and ready, nodding off on his feet as we waited for Neville and Seamus to come out of the bathroom, showered and dressed.

Once Neville and Seamus were ready, McGonagall led us out of the dorm, down the corridors and past the other whispering and snickering students, to the History of Magic classroom. I could barely hold back a laugh: she had pulled us from our beds to take a nap. She left us at the door with the order to report to Filch once classes were over for our detentions.

“Well,” Dean said as he pushed open the classroom door, “at least we missed Potions.”

I knew there was a reason I liked that guy.

(-)

Detention wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Dean, Neville and Seamus were told to go polish everything in the trophy room by hand. While Harry, Hermione and I were assigned the Owlery, which wasn’t all that bad since owls don't shit unlike other birds. It was a short matter of sweeping out the old hay and molted feathers, mopping the floor and putting down new hay. The house elves would fill the water troughs and mouse tanks themselves.

I sat in the corner of the room on a pile of fresh hay and took a deep breath. If I was lucky I could possibly doze off without moving. It didn’t take long for those hopes to be dashed. Pig was on my head bouncing around and making a nuisance of himself. I felt heat to my left and cracked open an eye. Harry was there, sitting with his knees bent and Hedwig perched on his shoulder, trying in vain to sort out his hair.

“God, I can’t believe we slept through two classes.” Hermione was crouched in front of us, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh shut up, Harry,” Hermione grumbled and flopped forward. Her head was resting on Harry’s stomach and her hand was on my leg. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for stupid things like this. We wanted to help, so we did.”

“Yeah, but —” Hermione cut him off by pressing her lips against his. I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched Harry turn red and slowly start to kiss back. I watched with mild interest as Harry’s hands found the hem of Hermione’s jumper. He hesitated for just minute before he let his fingers slip under the fabric.

Hermione pulled back and let out a breathy giggle. “It tickles.”

“You! Ticklish, really?” I don’t know why I was so shocked, but I was. I batted Pig away from me, sat back up and leaned forward to press my lips to Hermione’s neck. She squealed and pulled back. I couldn’t help but laugh. I flopped to the side, my head pillowed on Harry’s frighteningly thin legs. “Oi! Four-eyes, don’t just sit there looking pretty!”

Harry jabbed my shoulder and grinned down at me.

I’ve got to say, sometimes I really appreciate how lanky I am. Sure, it makes it hell to find a decent-fitting pair of trousers or, Merlin forbid, a shirt with sleeves, but it was all worth it when I was able to sling my arm up around Harry’s neck and drag him down to my level for a thorough snog.

“Are we supposed to—”

“Cripes! And I thought Hermione talked too much!”

“Well it's not exactly … Normal you know.” Harry muttered, doing his best to not look at either Hermione or myself.

“Belt up, Harry.” Hermione cut him off abruptly. “You’re not normal, and you can’t expect to have normal friends or friendships, either.”

“But— guys…”

“Harry, you’ll let me help you fight off a mass murderer, locate a Dark Lord, and convince you to go into a cave that’s home to a hundred-and-fifty-foot snake, but I’m not allowed to suck your cock?”

Both Harry and I balked at that. I had never heard Hermione speak so plainly or vulgarly before. It was a bit of a turn on. Hermione sighed and pointed her wand toward the Owlery door. I heard it slam shut and the bolt slide into place. The sound was surprisingly erotic.

I sat up to watch the outcome.

Hermione apparently had a lot less worries about normality or consequences – or even personal space. She just reached over, snagged one of Harry’s belt loops, and hauled him forward. Her hand was down his pants before I could blink, catch up or —hell— even breathe.

I scooted behind Harry and rested my chin on his shoulder so I could have a better look at his reactions and Hermione’s jerk off prowess. Harry’s face was truly interesting.

Harry looked… It was an odd expression, as though he was caught somewhere between want, denial, guilt and that uninhibited pleasure that was so rare in him. Harry stood incredibly still for just a minute before his eyelids fluttered and shut. Whatever Hermione was doing must have felt incredible; Harry’s lips had parted and he was blushing. His breathing became shallow and raspy. He tried so hard to be still and quiet, but in the end he failed and turned his face into my neck. He moaned loudly despite the fact that he was biting his lips to stay silent.

He looked so sweet like that, fighting himself and his obvious pleasure as he did his best to be still under Hermione’s touch. I couldn’t help but touch him. My fingers grazed the skin of his belly and chest. I scraped my nails along his skin the way I liked to do before I thumbed and pinched my nipples. Harry yowled like a cat and shuddered against my chest, spent.

I looked at Harry who was lobster red and refusing to move his face from the crook of my neck then turned to Hermione. She grinned at me and came closer, climbing over Harry’s lap and straddling my thigh. While one hand was behind her, propping her up, the other was planted on the placket of my jeans, palming my erection.

I could tell Hermione was just getting started.

I shifted Harry’s body a bit so that he wouldn’t get in my way and I could keep my left arm around his waist while I supported Hermione with my right. She gyrated slowly against my thigh and I was doing my best to undo her buttons with my one free hand. When that failed Harry stepped in and unfastened the buttons. He tugged the belt loops gently, causing them to slip down over her hips and bunch mid thigh.

I was actually surprised to see Hermione in pink lacy underwear. I guess it never dawned on me that she was really a girl. And no, I never thought she was a man, but I just couldn’t picture her in lace knickers. Let alone pink lace knickers. It really was a nice surprise.

I rubbed the back of my knuckles along the fabric, loving the texture and as I got further away from her stomach, the damp press of flesh against my hand. I wriggled my finger into the side of the barely there fabric and pet her fuzzed folds with two of my fingers, eagerly slipping past the outer area and into a moist and slick part of her cunt. My fingers were suddenly inside of her. The heat was insane and the grip on my fingers was absolutely obscene. With a stuttering groan Hermione lifted herself up and shifted until she found a more comfortable spot to sit.

Harry was more into it then I was. He had somehow in this odd exchange managed to lay on his stomach, while still lying across my lap tugging at Hermione’s knickers and kissing her fleshy second lips until she couldn’t make a single sound. She moved her hips with a desperate rhythmic movement. I was painfully hard but I could barely let it register.

Hermione was in her own little world, her own happening and she dragged me there with her.

(-)


Things were good.

Harry, Hermione and I were closer than ever, in more ways than one, but we kept our sexual forays quiet and short. It never went beyond heavy petting and mutual masturbation, finger fucking and oral sex. Well… Oral for the other two, I wanted their faces nowhere near my bits.

It was amazing how quickly you pick up the tricks and understanding it takes to make someone scream. If you scratched the small of Hermione’s back while you kissed she’d just about purr. The outer part of Harry’s ears are desensitized because of his glasses but the lobes are ultra-sensitive: if they’re licked, sucked or blown on, he’s as hard as steel almost instantly. I loved watching their reactions and learning their bodies. Watching them twist and writhe underneath me in satisfaction became my pleasure since I wouldn’t let them get much closer to my bits than a few gropes or kisses over the thin fabric of my pants.

Harry and Hermione did try to get me completely naked or worm their way into my shorts a few times. They didn’t succeed though; I was good at distracting them, and after about a month or so I got so good at turning the tide that I could stop the grabs at the waistband of my boxers before they were more than fluttering touches.

To completely turn Hermione’s attention away from my pants, I had to be three knuckles deep in her cunt with my tongue working overtime. Harry took less convincing to pry away from the subject of my privates. Sucking him off wasn’t enough; to really distract him I had to have a finger in him poking at that little nub that made him gasp and squirm. Not that that was easy to get to, before I could even try to slip in a finger or two in I had to rim him and rub his thighs long enough to make him relax.

It seems like I spent most of our escapades on my knees; whether we were necking in broom cupboards or sneaking out by the lake, it always ended the same: Harry and Hermione stated and naked while I loitered around in my pants, the three of us sprawled out with stupid grins.

It was good for a while.

We were able to put everything behind us when we were together.

Hermione would unwind and became still when she pressed herself against Harry’s side. Content in the knowledge that he was alive and here and next to her, she would prop her head up on his shoulder. Then she would chatter at me, asking all kinds of questions about parts of the Wizarding world that to me seemed like common sense. Harry’s shoulders loosened as the weight of the Wizarding world, the stress of the DA and the cruelty of Umbitch fell away. He lay content between Hermione and me. Sometimes he’d look guilty and ask us if this was normal— if it was right.

Whenever the topic came up, I’d pull him on top of me and kiss him softly so that I could see his brilliant green eyes go huge, the way they always did when we kissed him, like he couldn’t possibly believe someone wanted to touch him, let alone kiss him.

“Ron…” he’d mutter when I started to pull away for a breath.

“Harry, if it makes you happy, it can't be wrong.”

Hermione would somehow worm her way between us after that. No matter if we were standing, sitting or lying down so that she could suck hickies on to our necks before she started in on her lecture. “We are in what’s called an ‘Alternative Relationship,’ Harry.”

“I know Hermione, you told me last time.”

“In some countries it was a norm for a man to have two wives or more! Why shouldn’t we turn the tables, yeah?” She’d smirk and climb on top of Harry as she undid his trousers with whatever hand she had free.

By the end of Fifth Year, after exams and when the fiasco at the Ministry was over and done with, we had come closer than ever before. We'd got intimate not only through sex, but through our support of each other and the fear of losing each other. Hermione’s scars were new, but I had already traced them multiple times. Harry’s scars were soul deep and, though I couldn’t see them, I tried my best to soothe them.

We never slept apart anymore. I never even let Harry make what used to be the obligatory pretense of going to bed alone. I took his hand and led him to my bed when the day was over and bullied him under the covers. There were night terrors, crying jags and even the occasional grief-fueled tantrum, but I didn’t care.

I had seen the dead look in Remus’ eyes when he realized that Sirius was gone. He was in an all too real and common hell that I never want to approach. Remus and Sirius were best friends on the surface, but I could tell ever since the Shack that they were more than that. They touched each other and basked in each other’s presence just like my mum and dad do. I would never be able to handle it if Hermione or Harry were taken away from me like that.

From the day Hermione and I were released from the infirmary, Harry refused to let us get too far. Hermione was kept within reaching distance until she climbed the stairs to the girls' dorms and I was to never move out of his line of sight. We lived in each other’s pockets and kept the DA as close as possible.

Something about the danger drove us together harder and made our touches deeper and desperate. Every spare moment we got we were at it like rabbits. By the time we stepped off of the Express in June, there wasn’t a single part of Harry or Hermione’s body that I wasn’t perfectly intimate with.

Part 2

I was in a mood by the time we got to the Burrow.

I had watched Harry change into those awful parachutes that he tried to call clothes and get growled and shoved off to the car park by his great arse of an uncle. I knew how they treated him. I had told Dad and even the Headmaster, but somehow he always went back there the next summer.

I was constantly worried for Hermione. Her parents, being Muggle and all, can’t ward a house. She couldn’t either, without getting expelled or something. Now that the Death Eaters weren’t even trying to hide, it would be nothing for them to find Hermione’s house and kill everyone in it. Not to mention that if I were You-Know-Who it would seem like the next logical step, attacking Harry where he was vulnerable and throwing him off balance.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in good humor on the way home but I was even less thrilled to get there, only to find out I’d be rooming with the twins so that my bedroom could be given to Bill’s fiancée Fleur. It pissed me off so much that I went to go ask Mum why she couldn’t just stay with Ginny.

I had stormed into the kitchen just to be dumbstruck by Fleur. She was gorgeous and I couldn’t seem to get a single thought across my brain; everything just blanked out completely and I was ready to give her everything and more. I watched her and Mum snipe at each other before Fleur stormed out. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings and un-stick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

I opened my mouth to complain to Mum when I noticed how irritated she was. Mum’s movements were brisk and short. She slammed the knife down through the potatoes so hard that the table shook. I slid up next to her and took the knife silently and started cutting up the spuds.

“You alright, Mum?”

“Why her, Ronnie?” Mum said tiredly as she hauled the meat for the roast over to the counter. “That girl…She’s not right for Bill.”

“He seems to think she’s just fine.”

I got a half hearted shove and a sigh, “Of course! He’s smitten with the damn girl. But she’s got nothing for him! She can't cook, she’s not going to touch the laundry—I bet she won't want children so that she can keep that little figure of hers.” Mum scoffed. I swore I heard a little resentment in there. “Not to mention she’s too showy.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

My mother stopped rubbing the herb blend into the meat and looked me in the eye. She looked drawn and worried, the little lines on her forehead were deepening and her lips were pressed thin. “Think, Ronald. I need you to focus for a moment.”

Mum spoke in an urgent whisper and I could only nod and give her my full attention.

“Your brother is just like you. All of you, except for Ginny, are the same.”

I frowned a bit, I knew that much but I couldn’t understand her point.

“Hermaphrodites are rare, Ron. You all are sought after like never-fading invisibility cloaks, you are few and far between. Not to mention that generally Hermaphrodites produce magically strong children. If the wrong person finds out about any of you, it is only a matter of time before they find out about the rest of you.

"They will take you all from me, they might hurt you and no one would care a whit because they would all be waiting for their turn. I will not allow that to happen, Ron.”

“But, Ginny’s not--”

“She carries the gene. Just like I do.” Mum briskly rubbed down the meat and layered the chopped veg in the casserole dish. “I told you before that your father and I eloped.”

“Yeah, Mum. I remember.” I would never forget; that had been one of the stories Mum and Dad told us when we were still ankle biters. It was their fairy tale and the epic romance that my siblings and I held on to.

“There was more to it then what I told you. The Weasleys they were going to marry your father off to a very wealthy pureblood man in Sweden. Arthur didn’t want to go, and the man was nearly eighty had had two other wives and children older than we were at the time, but his pockets were deep and his parents were greedy enough to sell their son.

"I was supposed to marry Lucius Malfoy but I didn’t want to. Malfoy women don't get to raise their own children, ‘it's unbecoming and that’s what nannies are for!’” Mum spat out sharply. “Malfoy women also aren’t allowed to pursue careers of their own; they are trophy wives and brood mares. I had my own dreams and desires. So did your father.”

I nearly choked on my tongue. This was nothing like the story of true love, sacrifice and magic that I recalled. Everything made a lot more sense now: Malfoy’s hatred of my father, why my parents have never once taken us to see our grandparents even though they’re alive, and why we are poor purebloods.

“Don't misunderstand, Ron, we love each other. We always have, since we were children. However we were stuck in a bad situation and had to find our own way out. Then we protected ourselves as best we could.” She gave me a grim smile and made her way to the sink to wash her hands. “Why do you think your brother’s name is William?”

I left the kitchen as fast as I could and stole into the den. There was a book there that I remember mum poring over when I was almost too young to remember. I skimmed the shelves until I found the right volume. I pulled it down and left the house, taking refuge from family secrets. I wandered for nearly an hour before I sat against a tree and cracked open the book of baby names and their meanings.

William: German origin. Helmet, protection. Charlie: Derived from Charles. Free man.

I knew the law, all pureblood children did. If you married against your parent’s wishes they could dissolve the marriage. If you had a child then the families would be have to choose who claimed the child and took them on as a part of the family tree. If there was a second child, the married couple was no longer bound to their families unless they chose to be. If what Mum told me in the kitchen was any indication of my great grandparents' personality, neither side had quit trying to claim Bill because he was the offspring of a Hermaphrodite, not to mention being one himself.

The fact that my parents' fairy tale love story wasn’t true was for some reason really disturbing. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I mean, I’m enough to know fairy tales are never real, but it really did eat at me.

In most pureblood families there is a tendency to treat marriage vows as a contract negotiation. I had thought my family was different, that because we were poor and had nothing to bring to the table but ourselves, marriage would take on a sacredness of its own. But I was wrong, it was just a tool for my mum and dad too.

Sure, they’re happy now, but what about before? Were they awkward and odd with each other or— it made no sense to wonder about it now. With a heavy breath I flipped to a random page and began skimming through the names trying not to think. “ Faith, Faline, Fallon, Faricam, Farrahm, Fatima, Faustine, Fawn, Faye… ”

Two hours and countless names and definitions later, I was ready to head back home and pretend my mother and I had never had that conversation. As I got closer to the house I recognized Fleur sitting on the porch. It wasn’t hard to know it was her; she was the only blonde in a house full of gingers. She sat with her chin propped in her hand as she hexed the little Gnomes as they scurried towards her in adoration. I was too far to make out her face, which was a plus because I didn’t want to be a jabbering fool.

I turned on my heel and walked toward the shed. The brooms were all old but sturdy. I snatched up two, tossed the book behind a paint can and carried them back to the house. Fleur was already gone; Fred was sitting in her place. I threw the broom on the grass in front of him and mounted the one in my hand. The game of air-chase was quick and involving. It blotted out everything from my mind, which was just what I needed.

(-)

As usual, Hermione came to the Burrow before Harry did. Hermione’s father dropped her off, waiting until she entered the house to drive off. Hermione hugged Mum and Ginny first, spoke to Fleur in French, turned down the twins’ offer for a sweet and made me lug her trunk up to Ginny’s room.

“So…. Fleur?”

“Nope.” I said promptly. I didn’t know the question but I did know the answer! Whenever Hermione used that tone I knew that the answer was no. No, nope, nu-uh, absolutely not and No!

She made a half humming half grunting noise and patted the space besides her on the cot that I had put up not even an hour ago.

“Nah, you and I would be too much weight. That thing hasn’t been new since before the rise of Grindelwald and will fall apart at any moment.”

“You had to set this thing up, right?”

“Yeah, so I know how many pieces it's really missing. If Ginny had any sort of heart, she’d share her bed with you.”

“I don’t want to share a bed with Ginny. She may be a red head but she’s not my type.” Hermione bumped me with her hip and I grinned at her and she took my hand and pulled me into the hall. “I’ve been stuck in my dad’s car for the last five hours. Let’s go walk around for a bit.”

“Yeah, alright.” I let her lead the way to the back door and then realized that she had left her shoes by the front door. Before I could say anything, Hermione was already walking off the porch and into the grass. I shrugged and followed. I hadn’t expected Hermione to walk through the woods barefoot, but that was what she did. I was used to the grass and twigs and other random things that covered the loamy soil so I never really worried about shoes unless it was winter or I was leaving my family’s property; none of us really did.

“So what have you been doing for the last few weeks?”

“Nothing, really,” I mumbled, and felt her fingers slide into the gaps between my own. I squeezed her hand gently and relished the way she leaned into my side. “Just the usual stuff: dodging the twins' pranks, any arguments and just staying out of the way.”

“I would think you liked being around your family.”

“I do. Just smaller doses. There’s no privacy here, especially since Fleur took over my room.”

“So who are you bunking with?”

“Fred and George, Who else?”

“You poor thing.”

“Gonna kiss it better?” I inquired, wagging my eyebrows. It was meant to be a stupid joke but Hermione took it as more and guided our intertwined hands to her hip. She stood on her toes to kiss my lips.

The canopy of trees mottled the sun but Hermione still glowed. Her clear brown eyes looked almost gold and her hair was blonde in the choppy rays of the sun

Hermione pressed her free hand against my chest and allowed it to drag down the too-thin fabric of my shirt. I knew she could feel all of the contours of my body; I had never had visibly defined muscles but they could be felt easily under her fingertips. My arm circled Hermione’s waist and pressed her against me. Hermione tipped her face towards me and I lowered my head to press my lips to hers.

When her hand had sipped past my waistband, I gasped. I wasn’t expecting that to happen so quickly but it did and I had no time to recover or pull back before Hermione went deeper and curled her fingers around my cock. I inhaled sharply, taking in the taste of Hermione.

It was so intense. Before that moment I had been the only person to touch my cock, and then half the time it wasn’t anything more than a customary scratch or washing. I had never thought or known how good having another’s hand on you could feel.

Hermione had somehow opened the placket of my trousers and was steadily pumping my cock as she kissed and sucked on my lips while I heaved and panted for air. I could barely breathe and thinking was completely out of the question. I came before I could even register what was happening. My underwear was wet and sticky and uncomfortable but I could barely care.

Hermione drew her hand out of my pants and looked at the jizz on her hand with something close to wonder or maybe astonishment. She brought a glistening finger to her mouth and poked out her tongue like a cautious cat. She dragged her tongue across the pad of her finger and grimaced.

“What’s it like?”

“Dunno, bitter and something else too… wanna try?”

“Not at all.”

Hermione threw back her head and laughed at me. But I couldn't care less. I fit my hands to her hips and tugged her close to me. I wanted to feel her against me before I sank to my knees and worshipped her cunt.

July passed quickly, with a lot of long walks make-out sessions, and a gratuitous amount of tomfoolery. I don’t think there was anything left to do that didn’t involve actual penetration. I got quite good at making her utter those odd little noises, and it was a for vanity’s sake that I never stopped sensation until I was sure that she got off. I know how sensitive female bits are and how long it takes to come anything close to an orgasm.

I believe that is called empathy.

Teaspoon my arse, Hermione. Teaspoon my arse.

(-)

Harry showed up late at night. I heard him come up the steps and sit down on the camp bed like he usually did.

“You have to know that I won't let you sleep on that awful thing,” I rumbled, still half asleep. I shoved the blankets down and rolled to the side. “Bring your pillows and come here.” He put up the obligatory fuss, but in the end he laid beside me and we nodded off together.

The next morning we were all awake around the table, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Hermione badgered Harry into telling her what assignments he had completed and Harry humored her while he rubbed Hedwig’s mantle. Having Hedwig at the table drove Mum mad but she’d never say anything to Harry about it.

Anyone who knows Harry knows that he practically worships his owl. There’s never been a more spoiled bird. Harry was known to send Dobby to Diagon Alley for the white mice Hedwig preferred and sometimes even little rabbits. She had her own perch and nest box in the Owlery and ate breakfast with Harry everyday without fail.

It was sweet, in an odd way.

Breakfast was over, and the three of us were turned out of the house so Mum could clean and do whatever else it was that she did during the day. I led the way out back and grabbed the bucket that hung on the wall.

“You know, I’ve always wondered— why chickens?” Harry asked as I filled the pail with feed.

“Who the hell knows? We never eat them, only their eggs.”

“Yeah, but you’ve a whole flock. Do you guys sell their eggs?”

“Nope.” I gave the pail over to Hermione who seemed eager to toss the grain into the pen. “I reckon Mum just likes them.”

We dawdled in the yard, doing a little of everything but mostly nothing until we decided that it wasn’t too early to slip into the woods. After we disappeared through the trees and were far enough away from the house, we walked more naturally, slowly and with touches between us. I slipped my hand into the back pocket of Hermione’s jeans and Harry shyly laced his fingers through mine.

The trees above us got thick and the light filtered down in uneven and shifting patches. The brook was in earshot, and I didn’t really want to go any farther and risk anyone seeing the three of us together. If there was one thing I'd learned after last year, it was that the media would go to any lengths for the inside scoop on The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione pulled away from us and, as if she were reading my mind, settled herself under a tree. I followed suit, sitting across from her and pulled the Boy Wonder down between Hermione and me.

“You know, it’s been two months since I’ve seen you last, and you’ve not even kissed me, Harry!” Hermione leaned forward, her hands splayed in the grass, hair wild and gleaming in the patchy light. Hermione’s breasts were easily seen; the V of her jumper seemed deeper in this position and I just couldn’t look away.

“Hmm. I should fix that then, huh?” Harry murmured, his eyes hooded and focused on hers, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“I would think so.”

“Well then, I guess I have to. I’ve not known you to get such important things wrong.”

I almost fucked up and mentioned Scabbers, I was able to keep my mouth shut and watch the pair of them trade kisses. The two of them together was always something special to watch. They were never rushed – it was like all their interactions were made of savory sensual sensations. Nothing like the rushed, half-wrestling tumbles I enjoyed when Harry was fresh off the pitch, or the rare times that Hermione was willing to sneak into an empty classroom and twist my brain and body to new adrenaline-and-dirty-talk-fueled heights. It was closer to those rare nights when the Astronomy Tower was empty and we reveled in all each of us had to offer.

Harry’s hand had moved from his lap to Hermione’s waist and I watched as he fingered the little patches of skin that showed whenever her jumper rode up even the lightest bit. Those hands slowly disappeared under the pale wool, and I just knew that Harry was going to unhook her bra.

Hermione was wriggling obscenely as she shifted up onto her hands and knees. The two separated just enough to draw breath before they started in again. This time it was hotter: they were nipping and biting, turning each other’s lips and necks red with their semi-coordinated nibbles.

I couldn't stand watching a minute more. I moved closer, pressing myself flush against Hermione’s back. I could feel her shallow pants and the tightness of her muscles. I wrapped my arms around her waist and reached toward the placket of Harry’s denims. I didn’t even have to fumble with any stupid buttons for once. I groped him a few times through the fabric, slipped one hand past the cloth of his pants and rubbed and gripped his cock with as much care as I could.

My free hand snaked up the front of Hermione’s shirt, and I kneaded one of her breasts lightly as I lapped at the shell of Hermione’s ear, making her still and moan in a completely indecent way. That long, breathless moan jump-started Harry into action. Suddenly he couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. He shoved the clothing off his legs as fast as he could, not even pausing to kick off his shoes first.

I stripped Hermione of her top while she pushed back against me. As soon as the jumper was over her head, she turned to me and started on the buttons of my shirt. I laid on my back looking up at her and I couldn’t fight the goofy grin that plastered itself on my face. Her hair was more wild and bushy than ever before. Her face was pinched in a frustrated and focused expression as she tackled the irritatingly small buttons.

‘Mione’s skirt was rucked up to her hips. She wasn’t wearing knickers and the thatch of hair between her legs had been trimmed into an oddly intricate design —figures that she would have to excel at that, too. I was struck dumb when I realized that her breasts were loose and swaying with her every move. Her nipples were perky, and such a lovely brown that I felt the urge to put my mouth on them.

I pressed my hand against her chest and pushed her back. It was amazing to see Hermione arch backward like that. Her legs were still folded as if she were still straddling me, but her back was flat on the ground, Her arms reached up to catch Harry and pull him down over her so she could practically fuck his mouth with her tongue.

I kissed her collarbone and made her skin red with little bites and sucks until I came to those lovely little nipples. Again she moaned, but this time she wasn’t the only one. Harry, despite being occupied with Hermione, had managed to get his hands on the buttons of my jeans. I shoved his hand away, barely thinking anything of it, until he pulled away, completely yanking Hermione from her lusty haze.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked, shifting so that she was propped up on her elbows and moving so her legs were no longer folded underneath her.

“If you aren’t into me like that, you should have just said so.”

“Wait, what? Hermione was into that. Can’t you tell?” I admit, it took me a minute to realize that Harry was talking to me. In my defense, most of my blood had long ago left my brain and was hanging around further south.

“If we're only going to do this because Hermione likes it-”

“Do what? I was into it, you were into it, Hermione was into it. What's the issue?”

“You won't let me touch you, Ron.” Harry jerked a hand towards me, I looked down and suddenly realized I was still for the most part dressed. My pants were done up, my shirt, while pushed back, wasn’t off. “Every single time I try to, you distract me, push my hands away or suddenly have the urge to suck my cock!”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck!

“Look, it’s not like that at all. I’m just— just—” I couldn’t even figure out what to say. I was tripping over words like a gnome over turnips. “Look.”

Hermione looked at me, then Harry, then me again, I could practically hear the wheels in her head turning.

“You too?” Hermione piped in. I couldn’t help but cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath; they were acting like I wasn’t even there. “I just assumed he was body shy or something.”

“Come on Ron, it can't be that small. You’ve showered with…” His voice trailed off, and I felt him come closer to me.

I dragged my hands down my face, praying that this only be a wet dream gone horrendously bad when I opened my eyes. I had no such luck. When I opened my eyes, I had Harry’s face just inches from me, his green eyes studying me as if seeing me for the first time in a long while.

“You’ve never been in the shower at the same time as anyone else… not that I can remember.”

“Sure I have.”

Harry snorted in a way that clearly meant ‘pull the other one – it has bells!’. Disbelief I expected; for him to just reach forward and start in on the buttons of my trousers wasn’t something I'd counted on. I stood there frozen for a moment before I pushed his hands away again.

“Ron, just tell me what’s wrong. Are you shy? Is it freckled? Because to tell you the truth, I kind of expected that.”

“Yes, it's freckled; no, there’s not a problem!” I snapped.

“Is it small?” Both Harry and I turned to Hermione with looks of affront and blatant disbelief that Hermione— Little Miss Tact— would say something like that.

“No, it’s not small!”

“Then show us. It’s nothing that Hermione hasn’t seen or I don’t have.”

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. It was so stupid! We should have all been shagging like rabbits, or at least those two would go at it like bunnies while I maneuvered from the outside of the pairing. But instead, here I was, trying to keep my best friends from knowing what a complete freak I was.

“For love and misery, Ron, quit it with the suspense!” Hermione wasn’t as patient or willing to wait as Harry. She shoved me backwards with both hands and pulled my clothes off, slapping my hands away when I went to shove hers off. Before I could try again, I felt the cool summer air on my skin and closed my eyes. I crossed my arms over my face and took a deep breath. There was no way out of this now. It was all over. I stayed perfectly still, refusing to move, hoping that I’d turn invisible. I knew it wouldn’t work; my accidental magic just set things ablaze when I was in a bad temper and always at an inopportune time.

The silence was awful. I could feel their eyes on me and I could hear their gasps. But the lack of talking is what scared me the most. Harry and Hermione were probably disgusted with me. I wasn’t normal in any way, shape or form, I was a Halfling in the worst of ways- there was nothing that could possibly change the way I was. On top of that I'd lied and let them believe that I was normal all this time.

“Oh my God.” Hermione’s whisper echoed through the forest as if it were a canyon. “How is this possible?”

“Hermione,” Harry snapped, “We turn mice into tea cups! Stop and think for a second.”

“Is this why, Ron?” Her voice seemed to thunder in my ears even though I knew she was whispering. I just couldn’t move, couldn’t talk… All I could do was breathe, and then I barely managed even that. “Does it all work? Is it all connected— it’s fascinating really. Do you menstruate?”

Fuck! I mean, really, shut up, Hermione.

“Hermione, shut up.” For about half a minute I though Harry could read my mind. That hypothesis was shot to hell once I felt blunt callused fingers on the skin of my inner thigh.

I knew they were Harry’s hands; they were impossibly warm, square, and they scraped my skin lightly even though he was being gentle. They squeezed slightly and trailed up lightly to the source of my shame. I hadn’t expected for either of them to touch me —Harry even less so – but he did. It wasn’t like anything else. I had touched myself, frequently, and always with a certain lust driven carelessness that seemed to appear with masturbation.

Harry’s movements were deliberate and careful. His hands were firm against my skin. I don’t know why, but having him touch me was better than touching myself had ever been. His hands circled the entrance of my cunt and I jerked my hips to the side. I don’t know if I was trying to get away or what, I just had to move. Harry paid the shift no mind and I felt him wiggle one finger in, rubbing and coaxing me open to more.

I was at least ten times as sensitive under Harry’s deft hands. But I was completely incoherent under his tongue.

“What the fuck!” I was spurred into action by the sensation. My thighs slammed together and I was propped up on my forearms, looking down at Harry. I knew I must have been blushing harder than ever before. It was so embarrassing and completely confusing. Harry was looking at me, my cock right next to his face, his fingers deep in my cunt.

“You don’t like that?”

“Do you always go licking strange things!?”

“Ron, it's not all that strange. I’ve done it before, you watched.”

“Yeah but Hermione doesn’t—“

“No she doesn’t have a cock but I’m pretty sure I do.” When he pinned me with those eyes, I knew I wouldn’t be able to turn away; his green eyes trapped me. “Granted, I’ve never seen both on the same person before, but it doesn’t matter to me, Ron. You’re still you.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed me before I could even open my mouth again. I thought vaguely about how gross it should be to taste my own cunt, but I shrugged it off once Harry started fingering me again.

I’m not too clear on how it happened —I blame the sensation overload— but in the end I was balls deep in Hermione, who was seated on my cock and sprawled on my chest with her arms tight around my shoulders. Her face pressed into the nape of my neck, where I was sure I was going to have bruises from her teeth. Harry must have been built for endurance because even though Hermione and I were completely spent and fucked stupid, he was still going strong. My legs were splayed wide and his thighs were kind of propping up my lower half as he angled into my cunt just right on each thrust.

The friction had hurt a bit, but not in a bad way. I knew I’d feel it later when it was time to move, but until then…





When Harry was done, the three of us sprawled on the grass lethargically. Everything was quiet and still when I realized I was still completely naked and not freaking out.

“So.” I turned my head to face Hermione, who had finally pulled her face from my poor mauled neck to speak.

“Do you menstruate or not?” I couldn’t even blame Harry for laughing. I was too.

(-)

I said my good-byes at the platform and waved to my parents as the train pulled off. I had felt muzzy all morning and I was exhausted. I had stayed up late the night before and was dead on my feet, but still I was standing in the front car with the other Prefects and Professor Flitwick, who was the train’s chaperone this trip.

I slouched in my chair as the Head Boy gave his speech; a general recap of last year, the new rules or changes, and who was taking the first shift of the year. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes against the rocking of the train.

“Ron, are you alright?”

I heard a voice in my ear and turned to see Melody, a Ravenclaw prefect hovering at my shoulder while Hermione sat across from me looking equal parts disapproving and concerned. “Yeah, thanks.” I nodded for a second and then stopped when my head spun. “I’ve got a bit of a head ache. Couldn’t turn off yesterday.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile and continued to ignore Darcy’s speech about the dangers of not steering the firsties away from the fifth floor swamp.

I made a few rounds, barely able to keep my eyes open as I passed from car to car. The first three cars were almost always firsties and they were pretty timid and quiet so I had no problems whatsoever. It didn’t take long for me to find the car I had left Harry in and doze off.

The dream I had was trippy. I was sitting at the head table in the Great Hall next to ferret face Malfoy and eating black rabbits. I woke up feeling more tired than before the nap and hated the train for a few good minutes. Luckily enough my head ache and nausea was gone.

I didn’t see Harry when I left the train but I hadn’t thought much of it. He was probably in a carriage with Neville or Luna or maybe even one of our roommates. So I rode up to the school in one of the last carriages with Hermione and some random 'Puff. It wasn’t until we walked into the Great Hall and went to sit at his sides at our table that we realized that he wasn’t there.

Hermione told McGonagall that Harry was MIA, and she told us to wait, that the train was currently being checked for any sleeping or missed students. It was a tense half-hour before Snape walked in with Harry at his shoulder. There was a little bit of blood on Harry’s face, but I didn’t question it, not where everyone could hear.

He slid into place between Hermione and me and started to pile up his plate.

We followed suit and started in on our now cold food. I grimaced at the metallic taste in my mouth and lost most of my appetite. It didn’t matter much anyway; I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

Things went the same way they usually did; classes were long, essays were tedious, Snape and Harry were at each other’s throats and Quidditch tryouts were coming up. Every time I thought about it, I got nauseous. My mouth would start to water and I could taste bile, which was annoying as all hell because Quidditch was all I thought about.

The day of tryouts I was a wreck. I could barely catch anything, my head was spinning and I felt like I was going to throw up. But I had apparently done better than the others because I made the team and they didn’t complain.

I guess my name finally worked to my advantage there, Weasleys were always on the Gryffindor house team. Quidditch and having babies by the dozen were what we were known for. I expected complaining about nepotism and all that jazz.

The team and the lot that had tried out all hit the showers. I was shocked that the locker room had shower stalls, but I guess if there is a co-ed team, you can't have just dorm-like shower rooms. I washed up and dressed in the same stall; there was too many people here for me risk anything (not that I would).

I left the stall only to run into Harry, who was still pretty much naked with only a towel around his hips. I couldn’t help but to look him over appreciatively. Wet and naked looked good on him. His glasses weren’t on his face; they were useless in the heat of the locker room as the steam fogged them up hopelessly.

“You’ve got to be the most modest person I’ve ever known, Ron.”

“Well of course. I mean, no need to go around telling people how fantastic I am. It would only make them jealous.” Harry pretended not to crack a smile as he rolled his eyes. “Nah, I’m just a bit body-shy… I’m not…I’m freckled everywhere, you know. Not a good look.”

“I don’t mind the freckles, all that much.” I turned and saw Hermione standing in the door way, grinning. “It goes along with the whole ginger thing,” she teased me while she blatantly eyed up Harry.

“Good point.”

“Oi, shut up you two.” I shoved Harry lightly as he fell into step besides me. “Some red heads don’t have any freckles at all.”

“Then they got into the Manic Panic!” Harry quipped, threading his arm through mine as Hermione practically pranced in front of us.

Hermione snickered and I was lost. Apparently it must have been really funny because had she lagged for a moment to laugh and fell into step with us.

It must be one of those Muggle things; they had weird names and even weirder uses. Like the felly-tone, what good was a conversation if you can’t talk face to face? Just write a letter!

We passed the Whomping Willow, and a few second-years when I noticed that something felt off. Hermione had stopped laughing and she looked really pale. Before I could ask if she was all right she pitched forward.

Harry —bless him and his kneazle-like reflexes— snatched the back of her jumper and held her up just long enough for me to get a hold of her.

“’Mione, ‘Mionie… OI!” I couldn’t think of anything to do but shake her. Which apparently didn’t help, she was still out cold. “Fuck, fuck… Harry, what the hell happened?”

Hermione’s body lifted into a horizontal position slowly and she hovered there in front of me. Her face was pale, the areas under her eyes were dark, her hair was glossy and her cheeks, oddly enough, looked fuller.

“Mobilicorpus.” The incantation strapped Hermione to an invisible stretcher. “We’ve got to get her to Pomfrey.”

I nodded and rushed to the other side of Hermione. I could protect her from this side while Harry had the other. We took off at a run, unwilling to allow whoever had tried to kill her a second chance.

Harry and I burst into the infirmary out of breath and calling for Madam Pomfrey, who came running out of her office (I had no idea that old battle axe could move so quick) with her wand at the ready.

“Mr. Potter! What’s happened?” She somehow took control of the spell and maneuvered Hermione’s limp body to the far bed that was usually occupied by Harry.

“We don’t know!” Harry spat out; he was starting to look pale too. His eyes were huge and more pupil than anything else. “She just collapsed. We were talking and she just fell!”

“Percunctor et estus” The incantation was something I had heard a million times before. Any time something was wrong with one of us, Mum would use that spell to find out what it was.

Pomfrey waved her wand over Hermione moving from toe to head and back. Her eyebrows drew together and her mouth pinched. The matron jerked her wand sharply at the curtains, which slid closed, shutting Harry and me out of Hermione’s immediate area.

Harry took a step forward, but then stopped him self, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on behind that curtain. I watched him carefully stare blankly at the dividers, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. With a quick check to make sure no one was around to see, I wrapped one long arm around Harry’s thin shoulders and pulled him back to my chest.

I stood straight and firm as he leaned into me and pressed my nose into his hair. It always smelled the same, minty and pleasant like the shampoo Dobby had taken to making for him back in second year.

“She’ll be fine, right?” he whispered into my collarbone.

“She’ll be right as rain in no time.” Harry’s fingers dug painfully into my waist, but I ignored it and rubbed his shoulder. “Pomfrey will fix her up just like she does you. And you’re good as new every time.”

“I don’t want her to die…” My stomach worked itself into a horrid knot and I cringed inwardly. I already knew where that train of thought was headed. “Everyone… they die.”

“No, Harry. Everyone you love doesn’t die.”

“I didn’t say that.” I felt more than heard that mumble.

“I know, I’m just putting that out there. You know, just in case other parties have that assumption.”

“Git.” He snorted as he pulled away from me.

“Oh, hush up, you.”

It wasn’t even a full ten minutes before Madame Pomfrey emerged from the sectioned off area. “Ms. Granger is perfectly fine.” It was easy to see that she was more than a little annoyed and very grim which didn’t make her words all that believable. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. Please return to your common room and send for your Head of House. Ms Granger will be staying the night.”

“If she’s fine then why does she have to stay?”

“Mr. Potter, there is something called patient confidentiality.”

“Yeah, but,” Harry protested, trying to make his way around Madame Pomfrey, who matched him step for step. “It’s Hermione!”

“Yes. It is Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter. That changes nothing about the circumstances,” she said with an air of finality. She placed a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder and steered him, and apparently me too, towards the door. “I will alert you when Ms Granger awakens,” she said, with a remarkable amount of compassion for someone who was used to just issuing orders.

(-)

As I’m sure you guessed by now, after Harry and I had told McGonagall we threw the invisibility cloak over our shoulders and hurried after her. It was no easy thing to rush after McGonagall quietly enough not to alert her. Her legs were long, and I would have been able to keep up but Harry was shorter and took longer to cover the same ground. But we managed. The most difficult thing was slipping in behind McGonagall just as the door closed and not bumping into her.

As silently as possible we crept forward towards the curtains, crouching as low as we could to make sure that the cloak would cover us completely, and waited.

Madame Pomfrey looked at McGonagall with a skeptical eye. “I find it hard to believe that those two didn’t follow you down.”

“I didn’t see Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley at all after I left the tower.”

“They’ll show up.” Pomfrey slid the white curtain to the side with her hand and sighed heavily. “They won't leave one of their own alone for long.”

“Gryffindors are—”

“No, Minerva. I wasn’t talking about your House. I was talking about those boys. When Ms. Granger had that potions mishap with the cat hair, they came and sat on the other side of the screen when she refused to see them. When the girl was practically turned to stone, they still came every day and sat beside her.”

“Yes well, they’re a very tight-knit trio.”

“Which is why I don’t want Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley to know what’s happened. There would be murder on school grounds, and the way I figure it, those two wouldn’t even care to hide the body.”

I felt my breath catch in my chest and froze. Was Hermione not going to be okay? Was this the work of some junior Death Eater?

“Well Poppy, what could possibly be so very wrong that it calls for all this drama and secrecy?”

“The girl is pregnant, Minerva. She collapsed from a dizzy spell.”

I wanted to laugh. Hermione pregnant! It seemed impossible! I mean, she was the one who was always so hyped up on being safe and responsible and everything else.

“Ms. Granger? Are you sure, Poppy?” McGonagall’s eyes widened and strode closer to the curtain. “That is unlike her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew at least thirteen different contraception charms.”

“I am very sure, Minerva.” Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtains and my breath got caught in my throat. There was Hermione, lying on the hospital bed in one of those thin paper gowns. “What I don’t know is if she knows or not.”

“Right then, ennerverate.”

Harry and I scuttled closer but still gave the ladies wide berth. It wouldn’t do to be caught eavesdropping. We watched Hermione wake just like she always did, taking a deep breath before dragging her hands over her face and cracking her eyes open.

“Professor?” She rubbed her face again and looked around. “Where are Harry and Ron?”

I won’t lie, it felt really good to know that we were the first thing Hermione asked about.

“They are in their dorm room Ms Granger.” It was a testament to our knowledge of each other that she looked around the room trying to see any hint of where we might be. A sunken chair cushion, a patch of depressed carpet, a small area where the dust motes didn’t fly, they were all giveaways that Mad Eye Moody had taught us to look for. I don’t think she saw us, but with Hermione you never really know.

“What happened? I was watching the Quidditch try outs and then—”

“You fainted Ms Granger.” Madame Pomfrey shoved a vial toward Hermione who downed it immediately. “Ms Granger… You are in a bit of a delicate situation. Did you know?”

“Am I sick or something? I mean I thought I was a bit off, but I didn’t think it was anything very serious.”

McGonagall sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Hermione’s thigh. “Child, you’re not sick.”

“Then what’s wrong?” McGonagall and Pomfrey were making pitying faces that were making Hermione visibly nervous. She fidgeted, pulling at her fingers and nipping at her lip. “Where the guys? Why aren’t they here?” Harry had apparently thought that a cue because he brushed his fingers over the divider curtains to make them sway a bit.

“I thought I would be best if they stayed in their dorm for this one. After all, it’s a very personal thing.” Madame Pomfrey took the empty vial from Hermione and sighed.

“What is a personal thing? Do I have an infection? What is it?”

“Dear girl, have you been getting these short dizzy spells for a while now?” Hermione nodded. “Nausea? Vomiting? Loss of appetite? Fatigue?”

Thinking back I tried to remember if Hermione hadn’t looked well. But all I could remember was the last time I was throwing up and beat.

“Yes, I just thought I wasn’t getting enough sleep. I’ve been revising all my old notes.” She flushed and looked down ashamed, “I slacked off this summer and haven’t really studied as much as I ought."

McGonagall smiled sadly and I didn’t understand why —so what if there was a baby? It wasn’t like Hermione would have to drop out of school. There are three of us, and Mum would watch a kid during the day; she did it for more than half of our cousins.

“Ms Granger, Hermione. You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not,” Hermione blurted. “I can't b—” I felt guilt in the pit of my stomach as realization dawned on her. We hadn’t even bothered with contraception. We never intended to go that far. We hadn’t thought we were ready just yet.

“Really dear, you are.” Madame Pomfrey said and produced a palm sized white ball and little orange vial. “This ball—” She pressed it into Hermione’s small hand, “—will glow green if you are pregnant and stay white if you are not. After that, if you want to know the gender, just shake it and it will turn blue for female and red for male.”

I could feel Harry holding tightly onto my forearm as he leaned forward to see what color the ball was. He turned back toward me with a look of awe and I knew without another hint the ball was green.

“Now, Ms Granger. I understand this is a lot to take in at once…” Madame Pomfrey had taken the visitor’s chair besides the hospital cot and leaned forward so she could face Hermione fully. “But you have some …tough, choices to make. And please remember that these choices are all yours to make, since you are legally an adult.

"There are a few things we can do. If you want, we can contact your parents and ask them to help you sort this all out. We can inform the father, and get him to come and help you decide what you want to do about the pregnancy.”

“Wait, what do you mean, to do about the pregnancy?”

“Please know that no matter what you decide, this won't leave the room unless you want it to, and I certainly won't judge you, either.” Madame Pomfrey sat up, brushed invisible dirt off of her apron, pulled at the hem and then opened her hand to show Hermione the little orange vial. “This is a potion that would abort the pregnancy. It is one option. The others are keeping and raising the child or giving the child up for adoption.”

I don’t know who was more horrified at the idea of giving away or even killing the baby. Hermione looked sick, Harry was shaking like a leaf, and I could barely breathe.

“No, thank you. I won't need the potion,” Hermione whispered, but it echoed through the infirmary, bringing with it relief. “Can I have a minute though? It’s a lot to process….”

“Of course, dear. Give a shout if you need me.” Madame Pomfrey checked Hermione over once more before leading McGonagall into her office.

As soon as the door shut, the cloak was off and we were at Hermione’s bedside. It was quiet for a minute. Hermione was fidgeting when Harry reached over and grabbed her hand. His fingers laced with hers and I put a hand on her shoulder. I had no idea what to say we all just looked at each other for a while.

“Thank you…” Harry’s green eyes were glassy and his lips quivered. He might have seen me watching him because he bowed his head and took a deep shuddering breath. Harry leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Hermione’s. “Thank you so much, Hermione.”

I made my way to the other side of her bed so that I could rub her shoulders and pull the little ball from her clenched hands. Even as I tried to comfort her I kept one eye on the ball. It flared green when it sat in my palm. I put the ball on the side table before anyone else could see and hid my face in the wild mane of brown hair.

I was fucked —no. Actually, I was pregnant.

(-)

“Madame Pomfrey says I collapsed because my blood pressure dropped too quickly. It's been a bit on the low side.” Hermione visited the subject tentatively, as if she weren’t seated between Harry and me on my bed as we looked through magazines, books and medical journals about pregnancy. “I’m two months pregnant, I’ll be three months towards the end of October.”

Harry nodded and pulled a book from behind him. He flipped through the pages and passed it towards Hermione when he got to whatever page it was. “Yeah, they said it might go up and down quickly while you’re in the first few months. It’s a pretty common thing.”

I waved my wand over the article and copied it to a blank piece of parchment. We were keeping all tips or helpful articles in a folder. We would sort through them all later. Hermione accused me of being thoughtful; I blushed because I knew that I was being more than a little selfish. All of the research we did for Hermione would benefit me, too.

“Harry, what do we do about it?” Again, this was my selfishness. Please don’t think I don’t care about the baby Hermione is carrying— I do, really— it's just that things were dangerous. This was a wartime generation, and I was attached to the figurehead of the of the resistance". I would never be able to bring myself to down a little orange vial. I understood why some did, but it wasn’t for me.

“What are we going to do?” Hermione echoed, bewildered with horror etched in her face.

“I thought we already decided to keep the baby.” Harry looked ready to haul off and punch me. I knew he'd always wanted a family, but I never really knew how much. The fury in his face made it very clear.

“Not about that, our living arrangements.” The other two relaxed, and I wondered just for a minute if they really knew me as well as I had thought they did. “We can’t stay with my parents like this! They’ll have a fit, plus that house is much too small. Hermione’s parents aren’t magic, they can't put up wards and things, and the Dursleys are a no-go.”

“The baby will be a target.” Hermione picked up on the point immediately. I expected nothing less from her. I knew I couldn’t say the words myself. I felt just awful for bringing it up once I saw the look of devastation on her face and the way her body seemed to suddenly curl around her stomach. “I’m Muggle born, Ron is a Pureblood whose family is publicly anti-Voldemort, and you too, Harry… We can’t risk this.”

It was strange how, although we had known about the baby for almost a week, I was still detached. I knew Hermione would be a mum soon, and I knew I was going to give birth, too. These were all things I knew but they seemed strange and foreign —almost unreal. Yet, here I was, still worrying about them.

I nibbled at my lip and skimmed through the possibilities. Harry owned Grimmauld Place, but that wasn’t really secure, not when Kreacher could make a mess of things again. Not that I would want to live or raise a kid in such a depressing place; Sirius said that house had driven him mad as a kid, that it was worse than Azkaban in several ways.

“We’ll buy a house of our own, somewhere Muggle, maybe even out of the country if we can manage it. We can ward it and everything else. That way we won't have to worry too much.”

“We can use my trust fund. My parents left me more than enough gold... I’ve got inheritance from…” he let his sentence tape off. We all knew he wanted to say Sirius, but couldn’t bring himself to say the name.

I gagged once or twice on my pride before swallowing it all down. I wouldn’t be able to afford a house straight out of school and having kids in flats seemed fundamentally wrong to me. The Burrow may not have been big, but it never mattered much to my family, we were out side playing and exploring most of the time.

Hermione protested in the way I couldn’t afford to. “Harry, that’s for school, isn’t it? And even if it wasn’t, that’s your money! We can't just—”

“I’ve got more than enough. And it's not like I’m wasting it all on something stupid -- it’s a house.” Harry smiled widely and my heart and stomach plummeted to my shoes, the very same way a Bludger drops out of the sky when the enchantments wear off mid-game. Harry never smiled.

I mean sure, I had seen him grin, smirk and even on the rare occasion that there was something too funny to pass off with an amused quirk of his lips, he snickered. I had see Harry enraged, sad, lonely and even depressed; he was very open with his emotions, all of them except for happiness. I'd always thought Harry was afraid to be happy. He always smothered any signs of joy, like if someone knew he was happy, they would take it away. But here he was, smiling. It was a genuine smile that reached his eyes and made him radiate excitement and joy.

“I finally get to have my own family. Let me be selfish and take care of thing for once, alright?”

There wasn’t much Hermione and I could bring ourselves to say to that. In the end, we just nodded and agreed.

“Great, so what are we looking for in a house? I want a big kitchen.”


Part 03

November rolled around faster than I thought it would.

Harry was caught up in his lessons with Dumbledore, being frustratingly helpless when Hermione wasn’t feeling her best and chose to sharpen her claws on him, fending off Ginny’s advances and Slughorn’s attempts to entangle him in the “Slug Club.” He was, more often than not, dealing with the general crap that came with his name and position in the Wizarding World. and writing letters to Remus and the Goblins who were acting on his behalf when it came to the house business.

Hermione was handling this beautifully, in my opinion. She all but floated and glowed when moved. She was bubbly and cheerful most of the time, but during the early afternoons she was would scream or snap at Harry. Luckily, I was spared her wrath because she liked the way I rubbed her shoulders, and held her hair back when she threw up. At night, she craved chocolate-covered pretzels or pickled pears, and was always cold. Her nighttime chills were so bad that she and Harry switched sleeping spots.

Hermione started to spell her skirts looser and wear my uniform shirts, but mostly she wore oversized sweaters and my old robes around the castle. It was odd, but she looked cute practically swimming in my former clothes.

For me, things were less pleasant. Food had become the enemy; I was always nauseous and couldn’t stomach anything more than fruits, salads and bread. Spotted Dick still looked and smelled as appetizing as mucous-covered flobber worm dung. My new eating habits got me strange looks from some of my housemates, and Harry picked up the habit too. He might have thought that I was trying to sympathize with Hermione.

My nose wouldn’t stop running and I was always burning hot and sweating. My hair wouldn’t stop growing and thickening and after a while I gave up trimming it. I was perpetually tired, suffering from heartburn, and always had to pee.

My stupid shite body was changing on top of that. I managed to get a bit of pudge around my middle, and my hips hurt and ached at night. I guess my body was making room for the baby in residence. I was glad that I had kept the habit of showering alone and at obscure times because the changes were happening further south as well; my balls and even the lips of my cunt were tinted purple (yet another marvelous pregnancy side effect).

And to make matters worse, I was fighting off tears at the drop of a hat, and had and got the insane urge to knit when no one was looking. It was embarrassing, so I shoved the yarn and pair of needles I stole from Hermione under my pillow every time I thought someone was looking my way.

(-)

I was already a complete mess, but Quidditch practice made it worse. I was awful. I wasn’t awake enough to be alert and attentive, I fumbled every time the ball was thrown my way, and I was ready to throw in the towel by the end. Then I got to see Dean and my sister sucking face behind the bleachers.

I could have been more rational about things, yes I know. But have a little courtesy! Tell a guy before you go about snogging his sister behind the pitch! The worst I would have done was punch him once, and even then probably in the arm at that! I actually liked Dean, as opposed to that irritating Corner kid. But I was hurt and irrational, so I was a bit rash.

We shouted at each other a bit, and true to form, Ginny snapped something ugly and personal, then stormed off. I patted myself on the back for having the foresight not to remind her about the family secret when we were younger. That would have definitely been thrown in my face.

I left Harry standing stupidly with Dean and stormed off to the locker room.

It took me until after I'd showered and was on my way to the Gryffindor dorms to realize that I was knackered. Trudging up the tower stairs was excruciating, and climbing to the boys' dorm room was even worse. I flopped down onto my bed, drew the curtains, and pulled out my yarn balls, needles and the mostly-done baby blanket from the nightstand. Everything but the rhythm of needles and a stupid rhyme seemed to melt into the background.

“Under the fence, catch the sheep. Back we come, off we leap.” The whole thing, from yarn to rhyme, reminded me of my mother. For the first time since I was eleven, I was homesick and letting the tears stream freely down my face. It was humiliating, and I was so glad to be alone that I didn’t even hear the door open.

“Ron,” Hermione opened the curtains of the bed, and I shoved the ball of yarn under the pillow. She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It's alright, Ron. I know you knit.”

“Belt up and get in here.”

Hermione grinned and slipped in behind the curtain and climbed over my legs to get to her place beside me. She just lay there watching me work the yarn over the needles quickly. I was grateful for the curtains, they gave everything a reddish glow so she couldn’t see the blush on my face.

“You’re really good at that. Much better than me, everything I make looks horrid. I haven’t even tried to make anything for the baby.”

“Mum taught me when I was little and made me help her do the Christmas jumpers when my brothers were at school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry too much. Ginny’s got no talent for it, can’t cook a whit either, now that I think of it.” I nudge Hermione’s side a bit, trying to get a smile from her.

“How much stuff have you made so far?” she asked me as she ran her hands over the mostly completed blanket; this one I would keep for my baby.

“A few dozen layette sets, six blankets and a thick amount of booties.” I muttered. Knitting at the speed of light isn’t exactly something that I’m proud of. “I’m bored but I don’t want to do anything that includes getting out of bed or revising, so this is it.”

“I know something we can do!” Hermione said cheerfully, her fingers pushed away the yarn and needles and rested on my chest I turned my head to the side and caught her Cheshire cat grin. “We don’t even have to leave the comfort of bed!”

When Hermione crawled on top of me, I realized that this, this was the one side effect of pregnancy that I loved. Hermione had a serious case of nymphomania. Between classes, after classes, during lunch… It was insane and intense because I was matching her, orgasm for orgasm. At night after we turned in, the two of us would start making out and messing around; Harry was relegated to watching. Something about him made Hermione angry and I wasn’t about to lose my daytime shag partner because I let Harry have his way. However, I made up for the times I snubbed Harry during the times that I had free periods with him and Hermione was off in Arithmancy or Astronomy.

(-)

By December 1st I had figured out that bananas stopped the vomiting, going at saltines like a beaver at wood would hold off the worst of the nausea, that if I ate ice cubes and drank cranberry juice, I wouldn’t be running for the bathroom during every class or sweating like Goyle, and somehow had made it to number one on Hermione’s shit-list.

I gave up on trying to follow what was going on with everyone to hole up in the library, learning concealment spells. My stomach was getting large and more obvious by the day, and ‘notice-me-not’ spells weren’t going to hide this forever. Hermione was always suspicious of seeing me in the library. She’d glare at me and refuse to say a word, and I just didn’t get it.

We were sitting across from each other, looking up charms, when suddenly she sprung up from her seat, grabbed my arm and pressed it to the hidden lump of her stomach. I was going to ask her what the hell she was doing when I felt it.

It was barely more than a flutter but I still felt it.

A little thump against my palm was all that I needed to yank Hermione down into my lap and kiss her as best as I could. For the first time since we landed in this situation I had proof. Tangible proof that I wasn’t alone; proof that Hermione was pregnant just like I was, proof that we would all be a family just as soon as I worked up the nerve to tell the truth.

(-)

“You’re not going to come to the Burrow with us?” Harry asked as we settled down on the sofa towards the back of the common room. I looked at Hermione over the handkerchief I was using; it would be odd, after all this time, to not have her icy toes pressed against my thighs.

“No —get down, Crookshanks!” The stupid cat yowled when Hermione shoved him off of her lap again. “This is probably the last Christmas that I’ll spend with just my parents.”

I nodded, understanding, and Harry backed off with minimal pouting.

“So, I meant to ask you guys. Is it alright if I tell them?” She gestured vaguely to her stomach and I blanched.

I hadn’t even told my mother about any of this yet, and telling Dad was not an option. Usually Dad was the one that we could turn to for an understanding and sympathetic ear. He was the go-to if you were afraid to confess to Mum or just couldn’t bear the embarrassment of a situation. But when it came to things like this, where exposure was possible, he was a tyrant.

I remembered when I was six and Charlie had been sent home from school, suspended for indecent behavior behind the greenhouses with some girl a year above him. Ginny and I were in the next room and could hear the shouting.

Nothing had happened; they hadn’t gone very far, but that there was a possibility that she could have seen— would have told —had sent Dad into a frenzy. I don’t honestly know what happened, but I know that when Dad had stormed out of the house, Charlie was in tears. He was wailing and inconsolable. Mum held him and tried to soothe him, but still he cried until he had exhausted himself.

Charlie hadn’t been himself for a few days afterward. He steered clear of Dad and seemed to be on pins and needles like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He barely ate, and had carried me into his room when I was asleep more than once. Every day of the week that Charlie had been suspended I woke up in his bed. Whatever Dad had said, shown or had done to Charlie was so terrifying that he was afraid to sleep alone.

And I, for one, didn't want to know what it was.

I sighed and tipped my head back against the sofa cushions. "Hermione, tell them if you want to. It's not like they have to know all of the gritty details." My fingers itched for those stupid knitting needles just to get rid of the nervous energy that cropped up out of nowhere.

“Will they make you…” Harry licked his lips nervously and threaded his fingers between Hermione’s, gripping hard and desperately. “Will they make you go to a clinic?”

“Honestly, I don’t see what the problem with that is. Don’t Muggles have those machines that let you actually see the baby? I think that would be pretty cool.”

“Not that kind of clinic, Ron.” Hermione looked at my twitching fingers and waved her wand about a bit. “No Harry, they won't make me. If I don’t want to, they’ll respect that. But if you want me to, Harry, I’ll tell them I’m six months in.”

My hand drifted towards my own stomach at the thought of killing the little thing that fluttered and squirmed inside of me but I caught myself just in time and stilled my hand. Just then I saw my knitting drift down the stairs and into my lap. I gave Hermione a token glare for exposing my shameful secret, but took up the needles anyway; my hands were itching something awful.

“You knit?” Harry ran his fingers over the finished portion of the baby sack. This one was for me to keep; I loved the mix of gray and teal.

“Yeah. You’ve met my mum, right?”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t know she'd taught you how to knit. Aunt Petunia showed me how to crochet when I was little.” He got that look on his face that I knew meant he was thinking of something that he would never tell us. “I don’t have the patience for it, anymore.” I just nodded and continued with the hood of the sack.

We sat there tangled with each other on the sofa until the clock in the corner read one-thirty. I shoved the knitting into my bag and shuffled through the contents to make sure I had my Potions text. Slughorn liked Harry and Hermione, he even liked Ginny enough to overlook them not being prepared, but I wasn’t a beneficiary of his nepotism.

Hermione pulled her legs from under my thighs and stood up to stretch. “I’ve got to go to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey is calling in that Pediatrics Healer to meet with me.”

“During a class? Potions, nonetheless?”

“This is the only time the woman can make it, so I need to go. I’m grateful that she’s even meeting with me at all.” Hermione shrugged. “Besides, it's not like Slughorn will care, or deviate from the text any. Snape may have been an unfair berk, but he was a better Potions teacher.”

Harry sighed, put away the sheaf of papers he was reading, and got up too. “I’ll walk you; I’ve got to send an owl off to Remus anyway. We’ll have a house of our own when everything goes through.”

I felt the little flutter of the baby in me and bit down sharply on my lip. I wanted to tell them, but it was a bad time. We couldn’t really talk about it now. Harry and I had class and Hermione was going to the hospital wing. Not that I really wanted to talk about it, but pregnancies are one of those things that require talking …I guess.

Ugh, this was so annoying!

I mean yeah, they knew I wasn’t completely male. Hermione had fingered and licked me just moments before Harry had been inside of me. They handled it well and never brought it up unless we were fucking. That had to be torture for Hermione. She had given me questioning looks for weeks after she knew, and barely held back a million questions, starting with ‘why didn’t you tell us?’.

I shouldered my bag, promising myself to work up the nerve and tell them before the day was over, and held open the door of the portrait hole for Hermione, who climbed through it awkwardly. We parted at the grand staircase, and I headed toward the Hogwarts kitchens. If I wanted to get through the next two hours of stirring and mixing and chopping repulsive things, I was going to need a peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich with a massive cup of hot of milk.

The house-elves had fawned over me like they never had before, and I looked down hesitantly. Elf magic was different. It was more basic and truthful than the magic of wizards, they could probably see through my glamour without even trying to. Either that, or I was getting to be as paranoid Mad-Eye Moody. I took my sandwich and bolted it down on the way to class.

I managed to walk in a minute or so before Harry did, so Slughorn wasn’t going to take points from me or else he’d have to deduct from Harry as well. Everything was normal for the most part; we read over the recipe, the distillation formulas and then finally were released to gather our supplies from the cupboards. Harry was fending off Slughorn’s attempt to get him to come to the Christmas party he was throwing, so I tromped off to get our supplies.

Most of the rush was over by the time I made it to the closet; Parkinson was trying to jump up and reach the last jar of hellebore powder on the high shelf. Figuring myself taller and a bit of an arse, I reached up over her to grab the jar. I had it in my hand when Parkinson, in all her spiteful pug-faced glory, smacked it out of my hand.

When the jar hit the ground, it shattered, and thick plumes of white dust covered everything. I couldn’t stop myself from breathing in and started coughing. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop. My chest heaved and I crouched and hacked so hard that my eyes filled with water and my head spun. My throat felt tight and I couldn’t stop gagging. It could have been a Portkey, for all I knew. My head was pounding and there were white blots in my vision. I coughed once more, and bile coated my mouth before I fell forward.

(-)

There are very few places that are as distinctive as the Hogwarts infirmary. I didn’t even open my eyes, but I already knew where I was. The smell of disinfectant burned my nose, and the sheets felt all wrong. They weren’t the same worn, comfortable sheets that were on the dorm beds. I could even hear Madame Pomfrey arguing with someone about leaving the infirmary.

I cracked my eyes open just enough to glance around the room, wary of the excess of sunlight that I knew was behind me. I was actually surprised, for some strange reason, when I saw Harry in the chair next to my bed, arms crossed and a deep frown on his face.

“Er. Hey?” It hurt to speak and my voice sounded awful and coarse.

There was no hello or how are you, just an angry snort and a terse, “When were you going to tell me?”

I glanced down at my abdomen and grimaced. Pomfrey had removed the glamour I was using to stay hidden. Harry had already seen everything; it made no sense to try and hide it any longer. I looked around, making sure the curtains were all pulled closed, and turned my face into the pillows with a groan.

“Well?”

I hated this conversation. Right away, I hated it.

“Look, I wasn’t even sure for a while…”

“When were you sure?”

“Does it matter?” I still didn’t pull my head away from the pillows. My face was burning red and I could barely stand to talk to Harry, let alone look at him. “I was going to tell you tonight either way.”

“Pomfrey says you're five months on, same as Hermione. Makes sense though, that was the only time I…” Harry touched my bump and I felt the baby press out against the heat of his palm. “Oh, wow.” He felt it too.

I stayed perfectly still while my sprog decided to drum on my insides for its father’s pleasure. Fuck that was weird, thinking of Harry as a father. Hell, I was going to be a father too, twice if Hermione’s kid was mine in the technical sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ron?”

I wish he would have been angry, sounded at least a little upset instead of hurt. Upset I could handle, we’d shout at each other and everything would be better in an hour. Hurt made me feel just awful, like a huge walking dragon turd.

“You trusted me with your secret. Why not with this too?”

I couldn’t just not answer.

I rolled over so that I was on my side, sleeping on my back was uncomfortable no matter how many pillows were stacked under me. Looking at Harry, I would have never guessed that this was the same kid who had come back from summer hols. His eyes were sharp and focused on me, his whole body tense —on guard. Something about his bearing had changed, and I knew that it was a certain kind of maturity he’d grown into.

“I trust you, Harry. Honestly I do.” I took a deep breath to try and force out the words. “Please understand, I’m a man! Or at least I’ve always thought of myself that way! But you have to understand, it’s scary and humiliating.”

It felt not exactly good—but lighter, if you will— to get it all out, to stop hiding from my best friend. He was more than that if I was honest. He was my lover. It felt good to be honest with my lover— with my lovers, when Hermione came back from the kitchens.

I heard my father’s voice in the back of my head, urging me to keep my mouth shut, but once the words started they wouldn’t stop.

“It was strange enough to find out I wasn’t the same as everyone else. To find out I wasn’t really a boy. I had finally come to terms with it and then I started bleeding! I thought I was going to die! I never got used to it— I don’t want to get used to it! I just do the spells, wear the stuff, and don’t think about it until it’s all over.

"I didn’t know what the hell was going on the first time. Turns out it’s like a natural thing with girls. Harry, I don’t want to be a girl! I don’t even want to be a little like them at all!

"I can’t goof off in the lake with the rest of the guys, I have to time my showers so that everyone is asleep or gone, I was terrified to have actual sex with you and Hermione for months! Being pregnant… That’s a whole new broom game. I didn’t want to acknowledge it before but I— I— I’m a freak, Harry! An honest to goodness freak of nature.”

Of all the things I was expecting, Harry wrapping his arms around me was the last thing I expected. That’s what he did, though. He grabbed me and held on for dear life. The baby went wild, kicking and punching because it could feel the heat of another body. “Don’t say that, Ron. Never say that.”

“Why the hell not? It's true!” I tried to throw Harry off of me by wriggling and squirming, but he still managed to hang on. “My whole family! From Dad right down to me! We’re all freaks. Not male— not female either. Fucking Hermaphrodites, the lot of us.”

“I don’t care. If you had three arms and Fang’s face, I’d still love you just the same.”

“I would, too.”

I started, not expecting to hear Hermione’s voice come from my other side, her stomach rounded and stretching out one of my old shirts.

I pulled my hands up and covered my face as best as I could. There was no way Hermione was going to see me cry. I wasn't a man, but I had my pride.


Part 04

“You didn’t go Flooing Hermione’s parents!”

“Ms. Granger is a legal adult.” She was stressing the adult part and trying to tug her wrist from my hand, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let her get to the fireplace and to my parents. It would be suicide if Dad thought someone else knew.

“Look, Can’t you give me a few days? That’s all I am asking, give me a few days and I’ll tell Mum myself.” I was begging now, and yes it was pathetic, but it was what needed to be done. “Please. I just need a little more time. I’ll tell them myself.”

Madame Pomfrey blew her dark brown hair out of her face and tried to wrench her arm free again. “Ms. Weasley, will you please let go of my arms.”

I did let go then. I knew my facial expression must have been caught somewhere between hurt, fury and embarrassment. “I’m not a bloody girl, you stupid cow!”

Not the best negotiation practice —yes, I do know that – but I couldn’t even give a damn. I just shoved the blankets off and struggled to bend over and lace up my shoes. I was half out of breath before I could tie off the second shoe and stormed out of the infirmary.

I didn’t really know where I was going but I didn’t particularly care, either. I just started walking and didn’t stop until I was somewhere on the seventh floor. I was tired already and hungry for a snack, maybe something with grapes?

It only took me a second to realize I was in front of the Room of Requirement. I opened the door and found a large hearth with a rolling fire built up, a low plush chaise lounge and a bowl of mixed fruit. I walked in and threw myself down on the chaise.

I was just so damn sick of this pregnancy business. I felt like I was going through another growth spurt; always hungry with sore joints and a skewed sense of balance, with the added effect of having to piss every hour on the hour because this brat thought my bladder was a hacky-sack. I shoved a few grapes in my mouth and looked into the fire. I wanted to Floo someone, anyone…I thought of calling Fred or George, but I didn’t want to take the chance that Mum or Dad would overhear. Bill was staying with Mum and Dad too, so that was out. Percy was being a dick, and would probably rat me out to Dad, so I didn’t really want to talk to him. Charlie was…

Charlie was safely in Romania and knew that Dad couldn’t be told about this. Charlie was safe to tell, but he was the type to ask questions. I didn’t really want to explain this situation to anyone but at this rate I would need someone in my corner for when the shit storm hit.

I must have stood there for ten minutes just threading my fingers through the pot of Floo Powder that had appeared by the fruit bowl. I was procrastinating, trying to think of what exactly to say and what I’d get as a reaction. But in the end I had nothing and tossed a large handful past the andirons and into the flames.

“The Basarab Romanian Dragon Reserve! West Building seven, Charlie Weasley.”

I knew this would take a while, so I stripped out of my robes and school tie. I manage to also kick off my slippers and settle on the floor in front of the fire. By the time I had summoned the fruit to my side Charlie had appeared in the fireplace.

“Ron?” he leaned forward and squinted, as if the connection on his end was blurry. “Hold on, let me add some more wood.”

“Hey Charlie.” When I saw my brother’s face again I tried to smile, but I don’t think it worked out all that well for me.

“Hey, yourself. What’s going on?” Charlie looked me up and down and I fought hard not to fidget. “You look awful, Ron.”

“I feel awful!”

“Why? You and Harry fighting again?” he asked.

I loved Charlie. I love all my brothers —even Percy -- but none of them were as easy to talk to as Charlie. He’s a good listener, really open–minded, and even better at giving advice.

“No, not that. We’ve been alright. A little more than alright, actually.” God I hated being ginger, red hair made blushing way too obvious.

“Ah, really now.” His deep throaty chuckle echoed through the room. I wasn’t even offended, Charlie was just naturally happy. He had never been the type to laugh at your worries. “That, I have to admit, I didn’t see coming. But it’s no big deal, yeah? It's not an uncommon thing.”

“That doesn’t bother me, no, but that’s not the point.”

“This is a social call then? Not to say I’m not happy to hear from you and everything but international fire calling is expensive.”

“I’m pregnant, Charlie.” I couldn’t have been more tactless if I tried, but I didn’t really care. I just needed to say it. I was afraid to look up into the Floo, so I focused on rolling the little black grape between my fingers. The crackling of the fire was all I heard for the next two minutes.

“Ah.” I still didn’t look up. “What are you doing, Ron? Are you keeping it or …”

“I can’t just kill it… It moves.”

“I see. Have you told Dad?” Charlie’s gruff voice softened as he brought up our parents. He had to have some kind of clue to the reaction that Dad would have.

“No. Pomfrey’s going to tell them.”

“Shit, Ron,” he breathed, and I felt just about two inches tall.

“I was keeping it a secret, but a jar of hellebore powder broke and I inhaled enough to make me pass out. She did a scan, and thinks I’m a girl.” Charlie shrugged and I dragged a hand across my face. “Her scans don’t ever show gender, just where the injury or whatever is. I tried to talk her into letting me tell Mum and Dad but she wouldn’t.”

“Either way, it’ll be alright.” Charlie’s optimism was nice, even if a tad unrealistic. “Harry’s the…er…?”

“Yeah… yeah he is.”

“That’s…” He let his answer hang in the air and I knew what he meant. Having Harry as a father was going to be this kid’s saving grace or his death sentence. I tried not to think too much about that and steered the conversation away from the topic of my personal life altogether. I listened to Charlie talk about Norbert and some of his other Dragons for almost twenty minutes before we cut the connection.

I took my time to go back down to the infirmary. I wasn’t looking forward to Madame Pomfrey’s questioning looks and constant calls of ‘Ms. Weasley’. Though I can't really blame her all that much on this front; people like me are so rare that it made more sense that I would be a female in disguise.

I crossed the threshold of the ward, setting off the chimes. Immediately Madame Pomfrey hurried over waving her wand about like a madwoman and maneuvering me across the hall. She scolded me, but I barely listened as I climbed into bed. There were other things to worry about.

I flopped back against the pillows and listen to Pomfrey fuss at the person on the other side of the curtain. And closed my eyes hoping to get some sleep.

(-)

I was released from the Infirmary the next morning.

Harry and Hermione were waiting at the side of my bed, chatting about what kind of refrigerator they wanted for the kitchen of the house while I flicked my wand at the laces of my shoes. Bending wasn’t something I did anymore.

Hermione was wearing my robes, the glamour not yet covering her belly, which was (surprisingly) larger than my own. Hermione’s hands were propped on the small of her back and I laid a hand against her stomach. The baby squirmed and kicked my hand twice.

I jolted when I felt Hermione’s small hand rest against the bulge of my stomach. It was an odd sensation. I wasn't used to having my stomach touched after all this time. My baby moved away from the warmth of Hermione’s hand and curled in an uncomfortable knot close to my spine.





“Did Pomfrey tell you what it will be?”

“No. Hell, I wasn’t even awake to know how she found out I was pregnant.”

“It was the hellebore.” Harry chimed as he reached over to get my bag. I shoved his hand away, I’d be damned if he started treating me like some helpless girl.

“I thought that stuff was poisonous anyway-”

“Yeah but it only starts closing your throat up if you’re a pregnant wo— if you’re pregnant.” He’s damn lucky he caught himself.

“You shouldn’t have been brewing that, anyway.” Hermione’s wand did a few complicated motions and then I felt the cool tingle that meant the glamour had been put into place. “Inhaling the fumes from certain potions is harmful to the fetus.”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought of that. Guilt twanged in my chest, but I pushed it down and grabbed my bag. “Well the baby’s alright, and I know for next time. Let’s go, I’m starved.”

Hermione led the way out of the infirmary; Harry and I fell into position, flanking her on either side. Harry seemed to be doubly on alert; his wand was in his hand and his eyes flickered across the corridor, and checking our rear view on the gleaming suits of armor we passed.

Hermione slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow and squeezed. She could barely keep the smile off of her face. She was radiant. “I’m excited about this. It’s lonely being an only child,” she chimed quietly.

I nodded, taking in that information. “Only a few kids, though. Things are… complicated if there are too many.”

“Have you been thinking of names?”

“Not really. I don’t even know the gender.” I watched Harry lace his fingers between Hermione’s from the corner of my eyes and I couldn’t help but smile. Regardless of what ever else was happening, we were going to pull through like we always did, and we’d be together.

“A boy!” she chirruped.

Harry stumbled and his head turned sharply to look at the pair of us. His eyes were huge, his lips were barely parted and his cheeks were a mottled red.

I chuckled at his astonishment; Hermione’s kid could only be one of two genders, after all… I hoped.

“I’ve been thinking of names…” Hermione withdrew her hand from my arm and dug deep into her satchel, pulling out a small leather-bound book. “I’m making a list of them so we can choose the right name later.”

“How many names have you come up with so far?” Harry asked, plucking the book from her and flipping through it briefly before handing it back as we came to the grand foyer. We kept close to the walls and away from the crowd that was milling into the Great Hall for breakfast.

We sat down at the Gryffindor table just as the food appeared on the large platters. I ignored all of the platters filled with egg, sausage and pancakes in favor of a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and the crispiest pieces of bacon I could find. I turned my nose up at pumpkin juice (it was just unappetizing somehow), and drank cup after cup of hot milk.

Hermione, on the other hand, was bolting down anything fried as if she’d never eat again, mopping up the yolk of her boiled egg with toast and hitting the warmed cider hard. It was ironic how our eating habits had been reversed. I used to love a good fry up, but now anything even remotely oily made my stomach turn.

There were a lot of side-glances at Hermione and me that morning and constant whispers going around. I didn’t pay much attention to it. Because we were friends with Harry, people always seemed to think we were a sideshow or something. There were always the looks, but it wasn’t usually as intense at this.

There had to be a new rumor going around. Rumors didn’t bother me; hell, I thought most of them were pretty funny. It’s Harry who hates them. He hates that people think badly of him or think that he is anything but normal. Personally, I half-expected for Harry to be used to it by now. For the last year, whenever there was another report of Death Eater attacks, they have all turned to stare at him.

“Shay.”

Seamus looked up at me his fork half way to his mouth. “Yeah?”

“What’s the gossip? It feels like people are trying to burn a hole in my back.”

Shay chuckled and leaned forward. “Some shite about you secretly being a woman. I told them all to feck off.” I swear, the oatmeal in my stomach iced over and was going to make a comeback. “I saw the girls' staircase turn to slides right under you! I mean you may be a tad body-shy, but everyone is entitled to their oddities.”

I forced a laugh that to my ears sounded more like a gurgle and tried not to look at Hermione, who was discreetly watching me from the corner of her eye.

Harry tossed half of his muffin on to his plate, grabbed his bag and stood up. I had never seen him leave food behind; it was just something that he didn’t do, like sleeping out in the open or asking for help when he needed it. “I’ve got to go back to the dorm. I forgot my Potions text.”

I took it as the out it was intended to be and pushed back my plate. “I’ll go with.”

Hermione wrapped five muffins in a few napkins and shoved them in her bag before walking out with us. Class wasn’t going to start for another twenty minutes, so we sat on the first few steps of the giant staircase after leaving the Great Hall.

"Are you alright, Ron? You're looking pale." Hermione pressed the back of her hand against my clammy skin and I tried my best not to slap her hand away.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just a bit tired, I guess."

Hermione pressed her lips together in a fine line, and I knew she wasn't buying it. "Well then, we'll have to get you back to Madam Pomfrey."

"What- no, I'm just fine."

Hermione stood up with a grunt and held out a hand to me, "Come on. Fatigue isn't good for the baby. So we go back to Pomfrey."

"Okay, okay. I give." I held up my ands and let loose a tired sigh "Look, I'm just a bit weirded out by people saying I'm a girl. I'm not."

"You honestly think anyone will believe that tripe? As far as everyone knows, the Weasleys have six sons."

The problem with Muggleborns is that they don't really get Wizarding culture. Not that it's a great shortcoming; it's just that I'm not too used to having to explain things that are a given – well a given to me, anyway. I turned to look at Harry, who was watching us intently and was, for all intents and purposes, a Muggleborn. I closed my eyes for a moment, giving in to the fact that I was the only one in this relationship who knew about these things.

"Often there are issues when purebloods have children. The Blacks hold down the market on psychos. Malfoys breed frail children. Potters tend to shoot blanks more often than not- you had to be different, didn't you?" I eyed Harry who just shrugged with a sheepish grin, cute little bastard. "Notts are prone to messy suicides – there's a whole field of problems with us, we're all crazy-inbred and it shows.

"Weasleys, we're lucky because our mutation isn't... Well, we can fake it. If someone really thinks about it and puts the pieces together, I'll be in deep shit."

"I don't understand, what's so bad about being... you know?"

"Well aside from being a freak of nature there are... things. Certain beliefs that are, in this case, usually true. Magically stronger children, the ability to both give and provide children, the prestige of having a trophy spouse because of how rare it is for a child to be born like that. When they are, they're usually married off for massive amounts of money or political power, then are forced to have child after child until they can't or they die.

"They were rare before, but after Grindlewald rounded most up to birth the soldiers for his army and died imprisoned, there aren't really any left."

Hermione frowned and pursed her lips. She was angry and I could see her trying to figure out what sections of the library to haunt tonight. "Aren't there laws?"

"Of course." I felt my lips stretch into a cold semblance of a smile as I rattled off the section of the ministry decree my father made me memorize before allowing me to leave for Hogwarts. "Ministry Decree 6721-03A. All Hermaphrodites are to be wed upon reaching majority. If the aforementioned person is not wed (or due to be wed within six months of their date of birth), that person shall become a ward of the Ministry of Magic."

"Oh Ron." Surprisingly enough, it was Harry who spoke up. He leaned against my side, his fingers rubbing the back of my hand, his head resting on the side of my arm as he watched me with those brilliant green eyes. "Don't worry. We can make it so that everyone thinks Hermione had twins."

"That's true," I conceded, "It's not like anyone but you two know, anyway."

The moment I closed my mouth the doors to the Great Hall burst open. A crowd that were surrounding two older students who were flinging curses, hexes and rapid fire spells at one another spilled into the corridor.

Hermione started up the steps away from the crowd and the dueling pair. Harry stood up and offered his arm, which I grabbed and used to lever myself off of the stone step. Just when I made it to my feet, a stray bat-bogey hex caught me in the face.

It's a gross, slimy, painful and horribly frightening hex. Mucus leaked from my pores at an alarming rate, flaps of skin lifted off of my face and flapped wildly, blocking my vision and just being disgusting and disorienting. I froze on the spot, not wanting to chance mis-stepping and falling. Just because I didn't look like I was pregnant didn't mean I wasn't. The glamour changed my appearance and protected me from strange looks, not unfortunate falls.

"Ron, why aren't you moving?" Harry called from six steps above the one I was standing on.

"Bat-bogey hex. I can't see to move and I don't want to fall."

"What are you-?"

"The glamour is hiding the hex!"

I felt Harry's small-calloused hand wrap around my own. I followed his movements and let him tow me safely up the stairs. We walked briskly through the halls to wherever Hermione was. I heard her whisper the counter spell for my glamour before she got rid of the animated, mucus-covered skin flaps. In about two breaths, my skin was back to its natural state.

"Thanks, ‘Mione."

"You're ...welcome," she panted.

I turned my full attention to Hermione, looking her over. The glamour was gone and I could see her poking belly tenting my old robes. Hermione's cheeks were ruddy and flushed, and her eyes were glassy.

Harry was hovering by her right shoulder, ready to catch her if there was even a hint of anything going wrong.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just... I get tired after I do magic. I don't have as much energy, and stairs are hell on the ankles." She flashed me a commiserating grin.

Just as I opened my mouth to reply I felt this odd prickling on my skin. As if some one was watching me. I glanced around and didn't see anyone. The door behind Hermione had been closed and the corridor appeared to be empty.

"You guys ready?" Harry tapped his wand lightly on his pants leg. Colorful sparks shook loose with each movement. Again, it was something unusual that came so naturally to Harry that he didn't even think of it.

As he chanted the incantation with prepping from Hermione, I couldn't help but to think of our child. Hermaphrodites never gave birth to Squibs, only magically strong children. But if that kid inherited just half of Harry's power!

My fingers curled over my stomach as I felt the baby stretch and move in reaction to that much magic around us. Apparently it was sensitive to magic, which according to my mother was a sign of great magical ability – or red hair.

Our glamors were fixed into place again. This time, since Harry was the source of the spell, it would last long and feed off of his magic instead.

"Let's get this over with," I grumbled and hefted my bag onto my shoulder.

Hermione curled a few fingers in her hair and looked somewhere over my shoulder. "Um- you know...I'm going to go back to the dorm... Could use a nap."

I don't know who was more surprised, Harry or myself. I got over it pretty fast and headed for the tower.

As per usual, we took up residence in my bed. Hermione was sleeping on her side with most of the pillows supporting her belly and helping her spine stay lined up. She was dead to the world and letting out those uptight little snores of hers. I leaned against the footboard, flipping through the catalogues Harry and Hermione had collected and trying not to moan loudly as Harry worked the soreness out of my swollen ankles.

I didn’t care what they did with the house so long as I could decorate one of the nurseries. Argyle would look great on the walls, and I could do them in the Quidditch league team colors.

This kid would be born with a broom in its hand. James Potter had been an up-and-coming athlete before he signed up for the Auror Corps. Everyone said Harry flew twice as well, and I swear Harry’s every team’s wet dream on the field. Not to mention us Weasleys love Quidditch, and we aren’t half bad at it either. Hell, even Percy is good at Quidditch, and the lousy sod is terrified of heights!

I drifted off to the price estimates of Puddlemere United and Chudley Cannon decals and one hell of a foot rub.

(-)

We all woke up from our nap about twenty minutes before lunch. So many students had been hexed, jinxed or injured during this morning’s impromptu duel that our absence hadn’t even been noted. Harry and I flanked Hermione as we ambled slowly towards the Great Hall, relaxed and well-rested.

“I still say yellow is a lovely color for a kitchen.” Hermione insisted as we passed Hufflepuff dorm’s entrance.

“I still say I’m not cooking in a yellow kitchen,” Harry answered immediately. “There are other colors! What about blue, green or even white?”

This wasn’t the first time they had had this argument. They’d tried to rope me into it but I refused. If I sided with Hermione, Harry would be upset, if I sided with Harry, Hermione would write me off or start bitching about how we always banded together to over-rule her. They each had their own reasons. Hermione wanted yellow because her mother’s kitchen was yellow, and it would be like having a bit of home in a completely new place, while Harry wanted nothing that reminded him of the Dursley’s lemon-yellow kitchen. Personally, I don’t care what color anything is, so long as it all works.

When the argument reached the ten-minute mark, I understood how annoyed Harry got with Hermione and me. I was ready to tell them both to shut up and flip a coin, but the fact was that if this were Hermione and I arguing, we would have been shouting and gritting our teeth at each other.

Their argument tapered off as they looked down the corridor, bafflement written all over their faces. I turned to see what was so mystifying to them when I saw my father storming towards us.

I could see from here that his shoulders were stiff and his face was that mottled red I’ve only seen about three times in my life. He was beyond mad, so far past enraged and furious that I didn’t even have a word for it. My stomach dropped into my shoes and I felt the baby curl tightly somewhere towards the top of my womb in a distinctly uncomfortable spot.

I sped up to a brisk trot, purposely out-pacing Hermione and Harry and heading off my father. “Dad!” I tried to act cheerful and normal, after all I hadn't told him, Charlie wouldn’t tell him and Madame Pomfrey promised me a few extra days. So it was a possibility that Dad could be here for something else. It was wishful thinking, I know, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. “What are you doing here?”

“Pack your things, Ronald. You’re coming home.”

I jerked backwards, as if he’d slapped me. I mean, I knew he was angry, but I hadn’t thought he was mad. “What— why?”

“You know why—” Dad’s voice seemed to shake a bit as he spoke. His eyes were glassy and he was taking deep pulls of breath —trying to calm down. It wasn’t really working all that well.

It was strange to see him like this. Usually Dad was laughing and amused by our antics while Mum blew her top and shouted at everyone and everything. “Dad... you alright?”

“Just please,” Dad pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. I motioned for Harry and Hermione to stay back and let me talk to my father alone. That hand motion didn’t prevent a few eavesdroppers who were on their way to lunch from coming closer “Ronald, don’t make a production of this.”

I couldn’t help myself once I heard that; I could blame it on the hormones, but I know full well that hearing that stupid childish phrase rubbed against me in all the wrong ways. “There is no production. You’re the one who’s drawing a crowd.”

“I don't care. Go get your belongings and get ready to go.”

“I’m not leaving.” I shook my head and balled my fist at my side. I had to fight. There was no way I could leave Harry and Hermione here alone. Who would settle Harry when he woke up terrified? Who would put up with Hermione’s devastating sex drive and tell her, ‘No ‘Mione, I can't tell that there are any stretch marks’. I couldn’t leave, I didn't want to go. “The term isn’t even over yet.”

“That’s got nothing to do with anything, Ronald.”

“I want to stay.”

“Why? Is the one that is responsible for all this here?” He gestured towards my stomach and I felt a wave of cold wash over me. There was no doubting that he knew.

“Even if he was, I wouldn’t tell you!” Not while he was like this. I was afraid he’d do something he’d regret while he was this mad.

“Ronald, this is no laughing matter!” Dad snapped, “I’ve already called all of your brothers home.”

“What on earth for?” I felt my eyes burn; it was all just so frustrating. Why did he have to blow it all out of proportion? I was handling everything just fine! “It’s not like anyone besides Harry and Hermione knows. They won't tell anyone. No one else will ever even know, Dad.”

“It got out, Ron.”

“It couldn’t have! No one knew until ye—”

Parkinson.

She was in the hospital wing yesterday in the cubicle beside mine. I don’t remember putting up any eavesdropping wards or silencing spells.

“Somehow it got out. I’ve gotten three contract offers already for you and any of your siblings! You were not careful, you were not thinking!” he hissed, stepping closer to me. I knew Dad would never hit me, but I was still nervous. There was anger in his eyes, sure, but there was something else, too. It took me a moment to realize that it was raw panic. I hated what this meant, what was happening —All this because I couldn’t have been born a normal guy. “You weren’t careful and now I’m fighting off the Ministry and half of the wealthy pureblood population. I’m at the end of my rope.”

I could feel the guilt choking me, but I still didn’t move. Harry and Hermione were family. Especially now, you didn’t just leave family behind.

“Go get your things.”

“I’m not leaving.”

I saw Dad’s long thick fingers circle my upper arm before I felt them. His grip was so tight that I wondered if I would bruise. He leaned closer, too, bending his head to mutter an in to my ear. “You misunderstood the situation; I am not asking, I am telling you. If you're going to fight me the entire way, than everything can be shipped home later.”

Cripes.

I hadn’t heard that tone since I was about four and even then, it was directed at the twins not me. He was actually serious about this, he just wouldn’t be moved on the subject.

“Mr. Weasley, please, we’ve been doing so well. There isn’t any reason to take Ron home.”

“He won't be able to finish his NEWTs—”

I hadn’t realized that Harry and Hermione had stepped forward until I felt Hermione’s fingers encircling my free hand. Harry stood to my left and did his best to get through to my father. I knew neither one of them stood a chance of changing my Dad’s mind, but it was nice that they tried.

Dad wasn’t hearing a word that came out of their mouths. In fact, my old man wasn’t even conscious of them being there. Everything was focused on me, which I found ironic because this was the only time that I didn’t want Dad's undivided attention.

I gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze, but never broke eye contact with my father. I wanted to look at Harry, but I didn’t want Dad making the, if I’m honest, not that drastic leap of logic and suspecting that Harry got me up the duff.

“Don’t worry, guys. March isn’t that far off.”

I let go of Hermione’s hand and took a step forward. Dad didn’t let go of my arm until I was ready to Floo to the Burrow.


Part 5


Bill, Charlie and the twins sat across from the hearth where I stepped out. Dad stepped out behind me and turned to help Ginny, who I hadn’t realized was behind us, out of the hearth. Mum was standing off to the side holding a tea tray piled high with sandwiches and grapes.

Looking at my brothers, all very masculine, either long lines or stocky, muscled builds, I was just about ready to throw a full out tantrum. Here they were, all normal-looking and not pregnant, not in disgrace with the man who is almost impossible to make angry, and all of them (okay, maybe not Charlie) were giving me the eye!

I knew that the glamour was still in place but Harry's magic would only last for so long away from its source. I'd have to remove them and redo them before long so I just waved as I walked past my family heading towards the stairs. I just wanted to be alone right now.

The first few steps up were absolute murder on my ankles. These were steeper than the stairs at Hogwarts, and I felt the incline keenly. I made it up to my room within minutes and locked the door behind myself.

Looking around the room for the first time in months was disorienting. All the orange made my head hurt, and the ceiling was so low that I had to bend forward a little, which made my back ache. I crossed over to my bed and carefully settled myself down onto the sagging mattress, knowing sleep would be hard to come by. My room here no longer felt like home. I couldn't figure out if it was because I was so used to Hogwarts or because I had thought that after school I'd be living with Harry and Hermione in our own house.

I dropped my wand on the side table and closed my eyes. I had to think of some way to make Dad realize that he was just being overly paranoid and acting completely insane. Nothing came to me. Dad was beyond listening at this point.

I flopped to the side with a grunt. Lying on my side was unusual for me but it felt better than laying on my back did these days. There I just stared at the door, the only not-orange part of the room.

I stared for a while just enjoying the feel of Harry's magic still on my skin. The glamour would hold for a while longer.

(-)

I must have dozed off, because shadows were long and the room was more brown than orange when I woke. The baby was playing Quodpot with my bladder and I had to heft myself up and make my way to the loo.

I heard the shower going and pushed the door open. I unbuckled my pants with some difficulty —just because my stomach is hidden from sight doesn't mean its not there— and found my cock. Aiming was a bit tricky but I refused to sit to pee. I'm a man and so I’d decided to act like it until I became too big to stand and piss like one.

I didn't realize I was being watched until I was in front of the sink washing my hands. Charlie was peering out from around the shower curtain, his face scrunched up as he tried to see through the hot fog.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't look pregnant." Trust Charlie to get straight to the point.

"Glamour." I grunted and sucked in a breath as I buttoned my trousers back up. I needed Harry to send me the pair of his fat-ass cousin’s sweats that he keeps at the bottom of his trunk.

"Right, right," he said and ducked back into the hot water.

I left the bathroom and looked back up towards my room, debating whether I was hungry enough to walk down to the kitchen and have to brave the steps later, or if I could wait until tomorrow morning to eat. A sharp kick to the spleen cemented my decision. I was going to eat and settle this kid down some before I ended up with bruised organs.

Just as I turned around to head down the steps Charlie left the bathroom, looking refreshed and ready to be nagged to death by Mum for not drying off, not putting on a shirt and having that Dragon tattooed across his shoulders. I stopped to take a look at his pajama bottoms; they were muggle and had that eslastic stuff that Hermione had sewn into her skirts.

“Where’d you find those?”

“The pajamas? They were a gift from one of the tamers on the reserve,” he said as he toweled off his hair. I started down the stairs, walking besides Charlie. It was weird to be as tall as him; he’d always seemed to tower over me, but I knew that soon I’d outstrip him. My build was more like Dad’s. I’d be tall and lanky until died.

“Ah.”

“So…” I pretended not to notice he was watching me, “Did you find out if I get a niece or nephew yet?”

“No. I freaked out when I saw the little ball even light up. I wasn’t going to shake it, too.”

Once we entered the sitting room I let Charlie walk in front of me. For once I didn’t want to noticed, so of course everyone turned to watch as I made my way to what I’d always thought of as my chair. Ginny on my left and Percy’s chair to my right.

Percy.

He still wasn’t here and I didn’t think he’d come unless they dragged him in, kicking and screaming. Percy hated the taste of his own pride and hated swallowing it even more. Half the time, I think he’d die before say he was wrong or try to make up with Mum and Dad.

Thoughts of Percy cleared my mind once Mum put the roast on the table. The table creaked under the weight of the filled tureens and steaming serving bowls. Mum, as always, made enough for an army. It all smelled great, but I had no appetite. Even if I did, I knew that I would have to stick with something bland. There wasn’t a meal on earth worth the three days of heartburn I’d have to deal with later.

We all sat there for a moment, looking at the food and each other out of the corner of our eyes. It was an awkward stillness, but one that broke when Charlie reached across the table and snatched two rolls from the basket. I followed his example, and then everyone started moving and things at least looked normal now.

"It’s nice to have everyone home again,” Mum said with one of her strained smiles.

It was a smile that had seen often when I was little. It was usually her ‘I'm so sorry you have to deal with this’ smile. That smile I became familiar with when I was small, and asked for a new toy I saw in the display window or had to go to the second-hand shop for clothes.

“It’s a shame Percy didn’t come… He loves pot roast.”

Fred— I think, snorted into his plate, “He loves himself,” and reached for the potatoes, ignoring the look Mum gave him.

“Has he answered any of your messages, Dad?” Bill chimed in also and I let myself relax enough to take a bite of the roll.

This was good, they would talk about Percy and leave me alone for a bit.

“I’ve sent out two Patronus messages and even an owl. Even though with Errol it may be a while, he should have replied by now. It’s dangerous right now.”

“No more dangerous than it ever was before. Death Eaters are everywhere and there was always the risk with Percy living on his own.” Thank you, Ginny, for throwing me under the bus.

“Yes, that was dangerous in itself, but things are even more dangerous now that people are starting to speculate about our family.” I did my best not to look anywhere but my plate as Dad explained everything to Ginny. Apparently she had known more than I thought about our situation but not everything. “…Rumor that Ronald is pregnant. People are curious and are trying to find out —if they do… If they do things will go very wrong very quickly.”

“So what are we going to do?” Charlie asked, ready for what ever was coming his way.

“Tell them that they’re wrong. Show them that they’re wrong.” Bill slouched back in his chair and eyed me speculatively, I knew he couldn’t see my baby bump but I felt like he could.

“I actually am,” I felt their eyes on me and tried to pretend that I was wearing Harry’s invisibility cloak. “… Well. I am …pregnant, you know.”

“I know, and apparently half of the Ministry workers know. Jord Parkinson got an owl from his daughter telling him so.” I wanted to cringe at the chill in my father’s voice. He sounded like a stranger at that moment. I had to look at him to be sure it was my dad sitting at the head of the table.

He stood up and jammed a hand into his pocket. Dad was standing up next to me when he pulled his hand out of his pocket and set whatever it was down on the table beside me. Time seemed to move slowly as he pulled his hand back leaving the thing in plain sight.

“Ron th—”

I knew just what it was. Madame Pomfrey had given Hermione the same vial; the same option. When had orange become such an abominable color to me? I felt my stomach spin and shoved the stupid little thing off of the table. It didn’t break. I wanted it to, but it didn’t.

“That’s your big solution? Kill it!?”

“I know it’s far from easy to make a choice like this, but think of your family, Ronald. If the public finds out, I’m sure that they will try to take you and your siblings. There are precedents, the Grindlewald war, the purity crusades and so many other movements have taken our kind and used them. Bred us like animals until we couldn’t reproduce any longer, all for the sake of stronger soldiers— for the sake of increasing the numbers of purebloods.

"Now there is You-Know-Who and his army! These are dangerous times! Do you really want to bring a child into it?”

“Why not? You did, seven times. Even knowing that there was a chance that we would be what we are.” I stood up sharply and ignored the sound of the chair clattering to the floor. I was very nearly my father’s height and I barely had to tip my chin up to look him in the eye. “You were selfish.”

“There were reasons.”

“Yeah, I get your reasons, but they were still selfish. But be honest, the only reason you had children in the first place was to get away from an arranged marriage.” I heard one of my brothers bark my name, but I ignored him. “And then for reasons I can’t even begin to understand, you keep going until you’ve more children than you could afford.

"And yeah, okay, I fucked up. I got this kid because I loved, enough to trust him with everything, not because I needed an out.”

Dad jerked back as if I’d punched him.

I hadn’t intended for it to come that way but I just couldn’t keep my mouth closed. Just when I had gotten used to the idea of this thing— this baby and the way everything would change – here was my own father, trying to take it away. No, not just take it away, but kill it.

I felt the baby move and nearly heaved. Dad’s mouth was still moving but all I could hear was the blood thumping in my ears as the room spun behind my eyes. I walked away, making my way up those irritating stairs, clutching the banister tightly.

(-)

I was sitting on my bed, resting my back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me. The glamour was gone and all I could do was breathe. There was no thinking. There was no movement. There was only the cool night air. It was crisp and smelled like the water from the brook and the grass of the fields next to the house. As I sat there I noticed that the smell of the air changed. The smell of the night air was still there, but even stronger was the smell of flour, rose water and the warm smell that drifted everywhere my mother went.

“Do you speak to him?”

I turned my head and was surprised to see my mother in the doorway. Mum didn’t often trek up the stairs to my bedroom. It was at the top of the house, and nowadays empty more often than not. Mum wore her old dressing gown and had her hair loose around her hips. She never wore her hair up when she was going to bed. For the first time I realized that it wasn’t the same fire red that I was used to. It had dulled to copper and had even begun to turn silver in some areas.

“Dad?” I shook my head, “No, I don’t really want to.”

“Not your father, my grandchild.” Mum smiled softly, came across my room and climbed onto the bed. She settled down besides me, her arm against mine and so very warm. “How far are you?”

“A while in.” I mumbled, knowing she would hear me.

“I’ll need to buy yarn.” Her fingers lace themselves between mine

“I made some stuff … a lot of stuff, really.”

“I didn’t think you still remembered all of that.”

“I do.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Dunno.”

“Mm.” Suddenly there was a white ball just like the one in the infirmary in my hand. I watched as the light turned form white to green. “Well go on, shake it.”

I gave the ball a half-hearted shake and watched it turn color.

Mum just smiled.

(-)

I slept in the next day and came downstairs for breakfast at about half past ten. One of the twins was bent over one of Mum’s old medical potions texts books. Mum was sitting on the sofa beside him, her needles clicking as she knit, her voice softly directing him through the sections as he turned the pages. In the kitchen, Charlie and the twin who wasn’t in the living room were playing chess while Ginny heckled from the sidelines.

I filled the kettle and a pot with water and set them on the range. It wasn’t until I turned to get to the breadbox that I realized they were all staring at me. I licked my lips nervously; no one but Harry and Hermione had seen what I looked like under the glamour.

“My God! You really are pregnant!”

“Thank you Fred —or George, I hadn’t noticed.” My mouth was dry and I tried to shake off their eyes as I moved around the kitchen.

I guess it must have been shocking to be faced with the reality of what was happening instead of the vague impression. I know it was for me.

“Queen to E6.” Charlie gave the orders for the next move and I heaved a sigh of relief. At least if this all went to hell in a handbag I could count on Charlie. It had always been like that for as long as I could remember. Charlie was always the one to bail me out of trouble or just listen when I had a problem.

Halfway through my second slice of toast Hedwig sailed through the window. She dropped a package in front of me and settled down on the table with a graceful flutter. She held out the envelope in her beak to me and pecked half-heartedly at my toast.

Ron, I’m writing to check in and make sure everything is alright. The school is still wondering where you are. I’m sending you some ice mice, chocolate frogs and crave pops. The shopkeeper said that they’d taste like what ever you want the most at that moment.

Hermione’s sending class notes. I told her this is why you like me more but she doesn’t believe me.

Harr with love
Harry.

P.S. What do you think of green for a kitchen? A soft green. Or maybe even a blue? Hermione won’t move on the whole yellow thing.

“Thanks Hedwig,” I said around the toast. I took a final bite and passed the rest to Hedwig, who snapped it up gratefully before going to settle on the perch beside poor old Errol.

Things weren’t perfect at that moment, but I knew somehow that they would get better.


Part 6


We were all going stir-crazy. As decreed by Dad, no one was allowed to leave the house alone, and even when you did leave, you had to be within easy earshot. Crossing the property line was completely out of the question. Only Bill and Dad ever left any more, Dad to go to work and Bill to visit Fleur and to secure and rework the wards.

Fred and George were once again attached at the waist. Fred was snarling and irritable, constantly mentioning the shop and how he’d rather be there and managing it himself than wasting money on more staff. George was worried about the shop too, but was mostly invested in keeping Fred distracted and entertained in any way he could and playing mediator between Fred and Ginny, who were butting heads at every turn.

Charlie was sending mail every few days to the Reserve attempting to stay up to date with his dragons.

Knowing this entire fiasco was my fault, I tried to stay out of everyone’s way. It didn’t really work because Mum would nag and drag me down from my room, or where ever else I had isolated myself, and herd me to the sitting room where she shoved a pair of needles in my hands and flicked on the wireless. She talked about everything and nothing as she created a complete wardrobe in a rainbow of colors for the baby, her needles clicking and clacking in a smooth rhythm that more often than not lulled me into a light doze. The rest of my days were spent reading over Hermione's notes and playing chess with my pieces.

The only reason I ever woke up at a decent time was to receive the letters Harry and Hermione would send. Usually, they were just little notes asking how I was feeling or one of Hermione’s pregnancy anecdotes. It made me feel closer to them, even though we were so far away.

A few weeks into my family’s patriarch-imposed exile, I came down the stairs into the kitchen and settled into my usual seat. I glanced across the table as Mum dished up a bowl of muesli with sliced fruit for me. Everyone else was eating omelets and toast that I knew would make a second appearance if I dared have a bite.

I stirred up my breakfast and stared out of the window above the sink for a few moments, waiting for Hedwig to soar through as she usually did. I don’t know why it took me so long to see it, but I saw the little orange vial of death sitting on the shelf under the windowsill. My mouth felt dry and I just couldn’t look in that direction any longer without feeling queasy.

I turned my gaze back toward the table and saw the Prophet’s front page. Death Eaters Attack Wizarding Dover! 36 Dead! it read in bold letters while the town smoldered in black and white under a shimmering dark mark.

I looked into my bowl and kept my eyes there.

The baby needed to eat even if I wasn’t all that hungry.

(-)

Ron, I’m writing for the usual reasons; to see how you’re doing and ask after your assignments. (Every professor is willing to take your assignments while you’re out of school). People have started talking and they believe the rumors more and more. Harry and I’ve been trying to do damage control but you know how these things work.

I’m finding that I have to have Harry recast the glamour more and more often. They aren’t holding up as well and I’ve still got four months left. It’s a good thing you went home after all, I guess. I hope things aren’t awful for you over there.

Christmas will be here in just a few days I don’t know what to get anyone this year. I don’t think I’ll be going home to see my parents after all. I don’t want Harry to be left alone, and if he goes to the Burrow, I’m afraid you may be answering some uncomfortable quess questions.

Sorry about the scribbles, the baby has been kicking and it caught me off guard. He’s strong and has a habit of trampling my organs. Mentioning the baby, I’ve narrowed the list down to a dozen names. I’ll send the list with Hedwig so that you can choose your favorites or even add a few names to the pot for consideration.

My boy already knows Harry’s voice! He stretches and kicks and squirms whenever Harry talks to my belly. I want him to know your voice too. I can’t wait until March. I miss you, we all do.

And will you please tell Harry that yellow is a perfectly fine color for the kitchen? He’s being pigheaded about this whole kitchen thing. I mean, really! It's just a color!

All the best and lots of love,

Hermione + 1 ♥

(-)

I sat towards the foot of Charlie’s bed, watching as he attempted to pen in my queen. I was playing with a handicap in his favor and still was beating him horribly. Charlie really did suck at chess. I took his knight and settled back against the footboard to watch him make his next move.

“How bad is it?”

“How bad you’re losing? Things were looking pretty bad for you right about three moves ago.” He frowned at the board and I held back a snicker; there was no redemption and his pieces knew it. They didn’t even bother to heckle like they usually did. “Now there’s not a snowball's chance in hell.”

“No, not that. I meant being… well you know.” He waved a hand vaguely, and my, I really did know.

“It's not really all that bad. Well, the first few months were, because just about everything made me sick, my nose kept running and the heartburn is a killer, but over all its not too awful.” I shrugged and moved my rook into position. “Why?”

“I think about having one someday, no time soon, but I figure it would be nice… and if I can stay unattached.”

I had to laugh, that was Charlie for you. “Forever the bachelor, huh?”

“I’m married to my dragons, Norberta’s my first love! I never did thank you for that, did I? You sending for me got me my first dragon to tame. I was interning at the Reserve, which would have taken a few years because dragons only go into birthing cycles once every fifteen years or so.”

“You would have had to wait fifteen years?”

“No, four years, but luckily I didn’t have to wait at all!”

“Glad I could be of service, then.” I moved my bishop and just as I was about to announce checkmate, I heard the door across the hall slam. I jumped, startled. Charlie padded over to the door and opened it slowly. In a house like, this you went outside for privacy. Conversations within the walls of the Burrow were fair game.

“We have to do something!” I heard my father snarl. He must have just come in from work.

“There is nothing we can do, Arthur,” Mum told him. I don’t doubt that she was holding a kettle. It seemed to be the Weasley way: when something is wrong, drink tea.

“We can’t do nothing, Molly. I’ve got people knocking at my office door because their owls can’t get through the wards. Dozens and dozens of people requesting appointments and calling me over on false alarms to offer me contracts.”

“And I’m sure you declined every last one of them.”

“Of course!” I heard the chink of a mug being set on the table a bit too firmly. “Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy of all people, is asking me to give him Ronald so that his son can continue their line. You should see what they are offering! As if I’ll sell my children to them!”

“Let me guess, you had a grand time of slamming your office door in his face.”

“You know me far too well.” There was a rustle of fabric, maybe a hug or Mum going across the kitchen to get the sweet rolls that she had baked earlier. “Its going to come back to bite me in the arse, I’m sure, but damn did it feel good.”

I couldn’t listen to this anymore. I bowed my head and pressed my face into my palms. I had a feeling that things were going to get really bad really quickly.

(-)

Ron,
Be careful. There are reporters skulking around the school grounds looking for anything on you to write about. They interviewed a few people before Dumbledore could find them and make them leave.

The papers are running a story on you and your family. They’re digging up what ever they can find. Watch your back and don’t leave the house unless you have to.

Be safe,
Harry

(-)

Ron,

I just really want to be with you right now. Harry’s in detention and I need a hug— not that Harry is any good at hugging, but still. The last few days have been an absolute nightmare.

Last night during dinner the glamour slipped in the middle of the great hall! I was half way across the hall to the door when it unraveled. I was completely out there, my stomach was poking and my stance was different and it was just so obvious even with the robes that I am pregnant.

I feel just awful because Harry’s been getting into trouble for defending—

I couldn’t stand to read any more. I just knew exactly the kinds of things they would say, the names they would call her and the constant stares and speculation of whether Harry or I were the father. I sat down and penned a letter too Hermione, attached my missing assignments and wrapped up the last of the sweet rolls that my mother had baked and sent them off with Hedwig.

I couldn’t bring myself to read the rest of the letter. I didn’t want to think of Hermione being unhappy or regretting keeping the baby if in fact she did.

It was all just one giant shit storm. I knew that I was the cause of his entire mess; I just didn’t know what to do about it.


Part 7:


Right so remember that old saying that when you drop the silverware someone's coming to dinner? I dropped a fork that I couldn’t pick up no matter which way I bent. Ginny who was in the next room came in and saw me struggling to reach the floor. She of course laughed and then snatched the fork up from the floor.

“Oh yeah, real funny.” I grumbled half-heartedly, relieved that at least one person was smiling.

“How do you tie your shoes in morning?” She grinned and rinsed off the fork.

“I don’t, I’ve been barefoot ever since I came home and at school I used magic.” Ginny chuckled again and I could feel a grin stretching across my face. “You think that’s bad, my trousers—”

The Floo in the sitting room roared, my head snapped to the side looking to see who it was. The Floo pass codes had been changed and no one had come through since I had come home, Dad appartated to and from work now. I let my wand slide into my hand and stepped in front of Ginny.

From the green flames emerged Kingsley, carrying something large wrapped up in one of the tarps the ministry used to cover dead bodies. I blanched and stepped forward. The only one unaccounted for was Percy and Dad who would come home for lunch in just a few minutes. Either way, this was looking really bad.

“Ginny, go get Mum.” I pushed her towards the steps and kept walking towards what felt like my nightmare.

“Kingsley?” Kingsley turned his head in my direction and managed to give me a small smile. “Hey, kid.” He shifted the weight in his arms and looked me over. “So there’s truth to all the stories then?”

I flushed deep red, ignored him and stepped closer. Once I was close enough I pulled back the sheet to reveal my older brother’s freckled face. “Percy?”

I must have sounded like I was two seconds from full on sobbing and hysteria because Kingsley put a huge warm hand on my shoulder and slowly said “He was being difficult so I had to stun him.”

“Oh, thank g—”

As if on cue Mum ran into the room and shrieked! She had pushed past me and had her fingers hovering just a breath away from Percy’s face as if she was afraid to touch him. I can’t remember ever seeing her move that fast before. “My boy, my boy…”

“Can you please point me to his bedroom?” Kingsley’s skin between his eyes was creased and sweat was starting to gather on his brow. “He’s very heavy and it’s not too healthy to leave him stunned for this long.”

Mum’s eyes snapped up to Kingsley’s face and for a second I thought she might kiss him. “This way,” she said and guided him up the stairs. I lingered at the banister and waited for everyone else to start up the stairs knowing that I’d lag behind.

Dad walked through the door just as Ginny disappeared up the steps. I watched for a moment as he took off his coat and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. He stood and continued his normal routine as I watched. I had never realized how his face had become lined or his eyes ringed with the dark smudges of sleepless nights.

“Percy’s home!” I called and led the way up the stairs knowing that he’d follow in a moment.

I stopped by the twins' room and saw that Percy had been put in there. I watched over Mum’s shoulder as Fred and George pushed their belongings over to one side of the bedroom while Ginny changed the sheets of the bed. Kingsley unwrapped Percy and lay him on the bed with gentleness that I never expected of a man his size.

“Kingsley,” Dad greeted the Auror as he walked to Percy’s bedside. “What happened?”

“With your family across the covers of the papers I’m going to go with Kidnapping. He showed up at the Ministry in poor shape with spell damage and a few broken bones. I dropped him off at the medics and then went to his apartment.

Percy managed to incapacitate two of his assailants the third one decapitated. Those two are in custody and apparently gave your boy one hell of a fight. The place is completely trashed, the locks on the door are broken and the Floo had been interfered with.”

“How did h-he get away.” Fred’s voice cracked a bit and my mouth was dry.

“Ministry employee port key. He turned up in the main vestibule and looked worse for wear. I was coming in to the office and saw him. Speaking of the ministry, Arthur, don’t go back to work. There is a warrant coming through for you and your family. They are enforcing the Blood preservation act.”

Dad let out a huge puff of air and Mum made a choking sound.

I backed up into the hall, I had to get away from everyone. Some how I was back in the kitchen and staring at the little orange vial on the shelf above the sink. I picked it up and let it roll between my fingers before clenching it tightly.

Was it too late to tell the media that they had everything wrong?

Could I live knowing that the endearingly annoying little footie player in my womb wouldn’t be there the next day?

Would it hurt?

Would they hate me? I would hate me… but my family was in danger and what could I do?

“Why are you just standing there?” I looked over my shoulder at Charlie. Who had come back from where ever the hell he had went with Bill at his shoulder. “That’s really strange.”

I opened my mouth but there were no words for me to say.

“What’s that in your hand Ron?” It was Bill who came over and pried open my fingers. He looked at me, the vial and then me again. “Ron?”

“Percy’s home…” I murmured, not really wanting to talk.

“What did the little twat say?”

“Nothing, Bill.” I feel a little bad that the first thing that comes to mind is that Percy was being a dick but usually that would be the case.

Charlie came closer to see what Bill and I were talking about, he drew up short a few feet from us and I felt my stomach plummet through my heels and through the ground. “Is… is this what you want, Ron? I thought that you were keeping it.”

I couldn’t keep looking into my brothers eyes, for all I knew the baby would have brown eyes like Bill and Charlie. I looked down at the stupid little bottle of death in my palm and caught my own reflection. But the orange made my blue eyes look an unearthly green.

I wouldn’t ever do it. I couldn’t do it to the baby, I couldn’t do it to myself and I definitely couldn’t do such a thing to Harry. I was so preoccupied with my family here that I forgot that I had another one to think about.

“Percy got hurt fighting off some kidnappers, he’s upstairs...” I still didn’t look up but I heard the footsteps on the stairs and knew Bill had left the room.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine in a minute… just give me a minute.”

Apparently Charlie didn’t understand that I needed a moment to collect myself and tugged me into the sitting room. He sat down on the sofa and pulled me down half on top of him, half on the couch.

“Charlie—”

“Shut up, Ronnie.” There was an arm across my shoulders dragging me against my big brother’s chest and I just couldn’t hold it together anymore.

“I’m not a girl!” I said helplessly doing my best to stem the flow of tears. “I’m not!”

“I never said you were, hell I’m not a girl either.” Charlie grumbled in my ear as I struggled to breathe.

“I’m up the duff and crying about it like one!”

“Crying doesn’t mean that you are a girl. It means you’re overstretched and frustrated and need to let some of that go.”

"It means that these fucking hormones are driving me nuts and making me cry every time I think of something stupid!"

"That could be it too, but lets not worry about it now. Lets just relax for a minute or two, hmm?"

"I can't just not worry."

Charlie's rough half laugh rumbled through his chest and somehow into my back. I felt like I was six again, sitting in my big brother's lap while he fixed whatever the twins had done to me this time all while telling them off.

"Trust me, I understand what you mean. I fucked Tonks behind the green house when I was in fifth year. Her period was late and she thought she was pregnant for all of three days.

When we were sure she wasn’t expecting we went behind the green house for a congratulatory shag. Right when she got her hands in my pants Professor Sprout came around back and caught us. I was relieved and scared at the same time. Before that moment Tonks couldn’t have known what I looked like, you know. But she felt it for sure that time and had to know… I was panicking for days afterward afraid she'd tell someone, she never did but I was still scared out of my wits."

I just leaned my head back against Charlie's shoulder and sighed deeply. "I haven’t chosen a name yet..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Just then the sprog started pounding on my stomach. I pulled Charlie's arm from my shoulder and placed his hand on my stomach. "You feel the kicking?"

"Whoa-yeah… I …yeah." Charlie's eyes were huge and he was looking at my stomach with a strange awe.

"I couldn’t take that stuff… I couldn’t even seriously think about it… not when this is what I feel all the time."

(-)

Percy wasn’t exactly happy to be home. He was stand offish and irritated, jumping at every sound and just all over infuriating. I had come down to breakfast at about half past seven and was greeted to one of his more dramatic compulsive fits.

"I am an adult! I don’t have to come at your beck and call anymore!" he brayed as he tugged at the knob of the kitchen door. "So let me out!" He was just minutes from blowing something up, his magic slipped his control whenever he worked himself up enough.

Dad was seated at the table studiously ignoring every word Percy said the same way he ignored all of our childhood tantrums. I wanted to laugh but I didn’t, it would have been cruel.

Percy was always high strung and so easily bothered by even the smallest of things. If the twins moved one of his books out of order he would fret around the room trying to find out why everything was wrong. He was anal about eating things too. Percy only ate things if they were round or the number of whatever was on his plate was divisible by three. He'd focus entirely too much on one thing until he got stuck. It wasn't his fault but it was just the way he was.

Percy had moved from the kitchen door to walking in circles around the table and tugging a bit roughly at his hair. For some reason unknown to the rest of us Percy couldn’t use the door through the sitting room without hyperventilating.

"Why won't you let me out?" Percy pulled at the door with a low whine and turned on his heel to begin pacing anew. "I need to go home. I need to feed Hermes."

"Hermes showed up last night, love. He's out on the tree with Errol and Pig." Mum tried to calm him down as she carefully spooned food onto Percy's plate making sure nothing would touch.

"I need to water my plants."

"What plant, Perce?" George sniped watching Percy pace the kitchen anticlockwise with his head propped up on his free hand. "You're terrified of dirt."

I took a deep breath and strode forward into the kitchen. I walked clockwise around the table a few times. Walking past Percy a few times on either side to break the pattern he had worked himself into. On the fifth circuit around the table I planted myself in his path. He couldn’t retrace his steps and looked around nervously.

"Aren't you hungry, Percy?" I asked, knowing that he couldn’t help but to answer a direct question.

"Yes, but I need to go home. I have eggs in the cold cabinet and they'll go bad."

"But Mum just made eggs, if you don’t eat these they'll go bad and it will be a waste." I sat in the chair between Ginny and the place set just for Percy. Percy looked longingly at the door then at his plate with the scrambled eggs and sat down.

Even when we were kids I was able to get him to stop panicking. All it took was an interruption and a suitable distraction.

"Ron?"

"Yeah Percy?" I asked between bites keeping my eyes on my plate.

"Why did you do this?"

I didn't have an answer for that one.

(-)

February came with unpleasant weather and even more unpleasant news. On the Prophet was a picture of Hermione, Neville and Luna the three of them were in Hogsmeade walking through the streets and chatting. Hermione looked well; her hair was pulled back into a braid and she was wearing her usual denims, jumper and winter coat. Only this time instead of being snugly closed the coat was undone after the third button giving her large round stomach leeway. It was obvious that she was pregnant.

Father drama!
By Edna Weissman

I licked my lips and opened the paper with no little amount of hesitation.

How many of our readers actually know who the young lady on today's cover is? The answer is not enough! This young lady goes by the name of Hermione Granger and while the name may not ring bells for high society it certainly is well known in the circles that our esteemed savior, Harry Potter, travels. Ms. Granger, one of the closest friends of the Boy-Who-Lived, is pregnant!

Because Ms Granger was unavailable for an interview I had to do some research and detective work of my own. Ms Granger is quite a few months along and had kept the pregnancy hidden for as long as she could, which certainly brings up questions. How far along is she? Is she expecting a boy or a girl? How is this star student coping with impending motherhood? And most importantly who is the father!?

Now, my wonderful readers, there is quite the list of possibilities according to my sources. Ms Granger seems to have a taste for high profile men; Vicktor Krum, Bulgarian Quidditch Star, Gideon Crumb of the Weird Sisters, Ronald Weasley (see December 20th issue of Daily prophet) and the Harry Potter!

I know, right! Lucky girl!

Well I've gotten the inside scoop and found out that Ms Granger and the quidditch all star Krum haven’t seen each other face to face for over a year even though they frequently exchange long and steamy letters to one another. Because the weird sisters have been on tour overseas I'm not too confident that Gideon Crumb is the culprit (even though with international floo anything is possible)!

With those two ruled out the only two left in the running are Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived to be a total dreamboat and Ronald Wealsey, high profile Hermaphrodite and youngest son of one of the Purest lines in the UK! Either is an excellent catch for this young muggle born but which one is it?

I've interviewed several of their school mates to try and get to the bottom of things! Ms Granger is rarely out of the company of these two fine young men and has been known to sleep in the boys dorm with her man of choice. The scandal! I can barely take it! None of the sixth year Gryffindors would give me the slightest scrap of information but rest assured I'll get to the bottom of this mystery!

Signing off
Edna Weissman, Daily Prophet's head of society news

(-)


Percy was just about manic four days in, he paced, snapped at every one, and kept trying the warded kitchen door periodically. This morning as I sat next to him I saw the wheals that had cropped up with his constant scratching, I could already see where his skin had began to tear.

"Mum,"

My mother turned and looked at me. I flicked my eyes at Percy and lightly scratched my arm. She understood because she stood, passed me a plate and went to the sitting room.

I let the conversations wash over me as I gazed out of the window, searching the sky for Hedwig and absentmindedly chewed. A letter hadn't come for me in nearly a week. I missed the missives from Hermione and Harry but I knew Harry would only allow Hedwig to carry his letters. The chances were Harry was sending letters to Remus and the Goblins.

Though I didn’t catch sight of Hedwig I saw a dozen owls making their way toward the house. Bill had seen them too and opened the window wide. One by one they glided into the kitchen lining up along the high shelves where the cook books were and on the window ledge.

Dad reached for the closest owl, an angry looking gray thing, and plucked the letter from its beak. From across the table I could make out the seal of the Ministry of Magic. I knew it couldn’t be good news, the ministry never gave good news only the bad and the worse. They were allergic to common sense and good judgement.

Everyone watched avidly as Dad read the letter looking for just a hint of what was in it on his face. From his fisted hands, quickened breath, slump of his shoulders and pained expression it was resigned fury.

"What is it, Arthur?" Mum wiped her hands with a towel and made her way over to him. Her eyes flickered from left to right as she read over his shoulder. "They can't… they don’t really… they can't do this."

"They can and they are." With a careless flick of his wrist Dad tossed the paper to the center of the table.

A twin, probably Fred, snatched it up and skimmed it. "At the request of a concerned citizen, the Ministry of Magic has started an investigation to ensure that the Blood Preservation Act is being upheld in the region of St. Catchpole.

Please be prepared for the ministry liaison. Your liaison will arrive to your home at eleven twenty-two am. To reschedule please contact the office of domestic wizarding affairs three days prior to the intentioned visitation date."

"What happens if we just leave?"

"Then we lose any chance we had at making things alright again." Dad said as he dragged a hand over his face.

"Like we can make anything right at this point," came Percy's snide and panicked reply. "What do we do now?"

"You know I try to keep out of your private lives as much as possible but this is important. Who are you all currently with and how serious is it?"

"I'm engaged to Fleur."

"I've got nothing and no one." Charlie shrugged and puffed out a breath. "I'm married to my job."

"Penelope and I broke it off. I've just started out with Audrey from the Magical Law Enforcement department." Percy scratched absently at his arm and avoided everyone's eyes. "I doubt she'd want to deal with all this trouble. She's nice….I like her a lot."

The twins grimaced and clasped each other's hands tightly. "We'll lay claim to each other." Fred's eyes flickered to George's face as if he was looking for something there but George was staring at the table with his head bowed. "We've got no one else."

"Ron?"

"Yeah, I'll be alright." I spat quickly before he could ask anything else. I was half certain that my family expected that Harry was the one that got me pregnant but I didn’t admit it to anyone but Charlie.

"Ginny?"

"No one serious. And certainly not to marry." Ginny shrugged, "Besides, I'm not…" She trailed off and started to push her eggs around the plate.

"That doesn’t matter at this point, you carry the gene."

"So all we really have to worry about is Ginny, Percy and Charlie…. " Mum was nervous despite her cheerful voice. I could tell by the way she gripped the kettle, so tightly that her knuckles turned white, as she topped off everyone's mugs. "That shouldn’t be too hard."

Dad was going through the other letters and packages silently, ignoring his breakfast as he sorted them in to two piles.

"What are those, Dad?" Charlie snagged another piece of toast from the basket in the center of the table and I followed suit. Trying for normalcy at this point seemed to be the only safe course of action.

"Betrothal contacts and offers… half of these are from known Death Eaters." Dad snorted and gave bit of a chuckle as he flipped one letter toward the center of the table. "If Lucius Malfoy honestly thinks I'll let him get at any of my children he's even more deluded that I thought he was."

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah, he requested either Percy or Ron to be wed to his son."

"I'd probably take that little ferret's face off." I grumbled and scooped some food into my mouth. "I don’t think Percy would let him with in two feet."

"Absolutely not," Percy said, the disgust clear in his tone. "He does not wash his hands when he leaves the bathroom. I've seen it."

If the situation hadn’t been so serious I'd probably break down laughing right then and there. But it was and I couldn’t find the humor in the situation or my appetite.

(-)

There were two minutes until the ministry official was due to arrive so I eased myself into a sitting position on the second story landing. I was out of sight but could see the sitting room clearly. I kept myself on the outskirts, not wanting my family to remember that all this was my fault.

Dad was sitting in his armchair with Ginny perched on the arm as he flipped through a thick tome on ministry law. Bill stood beside Charlie with a thick hand on Charlie's shoulder. It was probably some weird and exclusive older brother comforting gesture because Charlie's body went slack and he leaned into Bill's shoulders. Fred and George were sitting beside each other, heads bowed as they whispered between themselves. Percy was sitting on the sofa picking his nails bloody despite Mum's best efforts to get him to stop.

When the doorbell chimed I closed my eyes and let out a long deep breath. When I opened my eyes two men were standing in the sitting room; one I had never seen before and the other I recognized as the old Lion himself Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Minster for Magic.

"Good afternoon, Arthur!" the tall one said cheerfully as if he didn’t know why he was here.

"Good day, Jonas. Minister." Dad looked over his shoulder back at Mum and she nodded before leaving to the kitchen. "What can I do for you today gentlemen?"

"Arthur, you and I both know why we're here." The Minister pulled a hand through his shaggy hair in a way that, oddly enough, brought Hermione to mind. "Jonas is going to be the one conducting the medical examinations of you and your family."

"My family's health is important enough to bring the minister out from headquarters?"

My brothers had gotten to their feet and began to gather towards the kitchen entrance during the conversation.

"If the rumors are true? Then yes." Dad's fist clenched tightly and his jaw was set so tightly that it looked painful. "Don’t be like this Arthur. It’s the law and unfortunately until the Wizengamot repeals the law I have been chosen to uphold the law."

"Uphold the law, defend the wizarding community— sure you took those vows but what now? You act as if we're—"

"Uh," The tall one— Jonas, interrupted, "Is there a room where I can conduct the physicals privately?"

Scrimgeour huffed a deep breath and sat down on the sofa as if he belonged there. "Arthur, tell me you won't fight me on this. This is the last thing I wanted to do and I really don’t want to have to arrest you either."

"We'll cooperate." Dad ground out between his teeth.

"Follow me." Bill stepped forward and led the man into the back room we used for storage.

For five minutes the Minister and my father stared each other down unmoving and barely taking notice of the tea and cake Mum brought out. My siblings were talking softly amongst each other while watching the stand off.

Bill returned from the back room looking more than a little irritated and red faced. He tapped Percy on the shoulder and nodded in the direction of the back room.

Percy came out of the back room shivering and refusing to look at anyone, clearly he was mortified that the medic had seen his bits without buying him dinner first.

Charlie was calm about the whole thing. His exam was quicker than the rest, making me think he just dropped trou as soon as the door was closed. The twins went together, as expected.

Jonas took one look at Ginny and flushed dark red. "I ...would you like a chaperone?"

"She's the only gene carrier of the family." Dad disrupted the almost silence with his gruff reply. "One hundred percent female, you have my word on it."

"Is your word all that reliable these days Arthur?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were trying to claim just two weeks ago that your children being hermaphrodites was just a rumor."

"Regardless of that situation Ginevra's completely female. And because she is fifteen and not of marriageable age my daughter is exempt from this either way."

The minister leaned back on his heels and narrowed his eyes at my father. "You have seven children don't you?"

"Yes."

"The final one is about to be seventeen is he not?"

"Yes, in March."

"Where is your missing 'son', Arthur?"

I couldn't put this off for much longer so with a huff of breath I gripped the banister and hefted myself up on to my feet. The stairs creaked under my weight and I could feel all eyes on me as I made my way down to the sitting room, eyes focused on my stomach (I would have stared at my feet but the stomach was in the way).

"Oh my."

I'm not sure if it was the medic Jonas or the minister that gasped but I flushed red all the same. Glamours stopped working a while ago and my stomach was way beyond noticeable.

"I'm number seven," I volunteered, trying to break the oppressing silence. "Well, six really."

"Well, there's no doubt about you, is there?" Jonas walked over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "How far along are you...?"

"Ron and er... about six months?"

"Congrats!"

I followed Jonas to the back room, doing my best to avoid everyone's eyes. I knew that this whole fiasco was my fault. If I hadn’t been dumb enough to let this all happen we wouldn’t have been exposed and the lot of us wouldn’t have to endure Jonas' clammy hands.

The physical was quick, a few magical scans, a quick question and answer and I have a feeling that if I wasn’t obviously pregnant that I would have been asked to loose my pants so he could make sure I really was a hermaphrodite.

We were out of the storage room in ten minutes and back to the sitting room. I sat down on the unoccupied sofa, leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Just when I got comfortable the baby decided that it had to switch positions and lean on my spleen. I winced and pushed a few fingers against where I could feel it resting trying to encourage the little brat to scoot over.

"Jonas?" I heard the rustling of parchment they were passed off and flicked through by Scrimgeour. "Congratulations Arthur, you've got healthy marriageable children. Now on to the more pressing matters, the Ministry Decree 6721-03A."

I cracked my eyes open just enough to see my brothers come to the couch. Percy stood behind me picking at the little lint pills on the back of the old thing. George took the seat between Bill and I. Charlie and Fred sat on either one of the arms. Ginny and Mum sat on the oversized armchair that Dad usually sat in. The tension in the room was so thick I doubt you could have cut it with a hack saw.

"What's the issue?" my father demanded, not even faking civility.

"Why are none of them married?"

"Most of us are full fledged adults, you know," Bill interjected, "We are capable of answering your questions."

"Yes, well then." The minister cleared his throat and glanced at the papers in his hand. "William, is it? Why are you not married? There is a law you know. "

Bill lifted his left hand and wiggled his ring finger. "I am engaged to be married and will have my wedding this summer. My fiancé wasn’t of age until recently and she prefers summer weddings."

Scrimgeour nodded abruptly and made a note on the parchment, "She will have to come make a formal claim at the ministry tomorrow. Are there any other claims I should know of?"

"We lay claim to each other," the twins said in eerie unison.

The minister frowned, "That's too close for children isn’t it?"

"No law says we've got to have children," George said. "There isn’t anything saying we can't marry," Fred pointed out. "Hell, we're purebloods it's what we do."

"I'm part of a triad, so I'll have my partners go tomorrow as well." I knew Percy would never speak up for himself so I interjected for him, "Percy's girlfriend, Audrey, will come forward tomorrow." I lied through my teeth and promised myself to write the woman a letter right after the minister left.

"And you?" The man fixed his eyes on Charlie expectantly.

"I don’t want to marry, I work in Romania. So I'm applying for citizenship."

"That won't cut it, applying for citizenship takes months, even years at times.
You're thirteen years over the deadline, the Ministry will now take over your pairing arrangements."

"That's ridiculous!"

"It could very well be worse. You are a citizen and you were also a resident from ages eighteen to twenty three. That’s five years that you were unwed and disregarding the law. By all rights you should be in Azkaban." Charlie blanched, turning such a sickly white that his freckles looked yellow against his skin. "I repeat, the ministry will make the arrangements."


Part 8:

Let it be known that I love my brothers enough to do just about anything for them. I had to remind myself of this as I settled on the floor in front of the fireplace in the late hours of the night.

It was hard to lower myself onto the floor without overbalancing. I had yet to become accustomed to a new lower center of gravity and wider hips but the weight of my stomach made it even odder. Once I was finally on the floor my back was aching deeply and the pressure my stomach put on my bladder made me suddenly want to whiz. Being the fantastic brother that I am, I ignored the feeling and tossed a fistful of Floo into the banked fire.

"Talos Towers, Apartment 6, Audrey Levers." The fire flared green and then I stuck my head in the flames. It tickled a bit and seemed harmless but I made sure nothing but my shoulders passed the hearth.

The part of the apartment I could see was nice. It was a decent size and there was a sofa in the center of the room and two bookshelves on each side and a standing lamp in the corner. To my right I could see two doors both were open and I tried to see if she was home. "Er... Audrey! Audrey!" I heard shifting in the distance and shouted louder.

This time a tall woman peered out from one of the doorways, her wand pointed discretely in the direction of the fireplace. "Who the hell are you?"

"Er. Hi there." I called hesitantly into the room. I don’t know why I was suddenly so shy with my head in this woman's fireplace bellowing like a maniac in the early morning. "My name is Ron. I'm Percy's younger brother."

"How did you get my floo address?"

"Tonks owed me a favor."

"Hm, right then. Well what could you possibly want at two in the morning, Ron?" She asked in a sugary sweet baby voice, sarcasm dripping from each and every word.

"I… I wanted to talk to you."

"And you couldn’t have called me at a civil hour to do so?"

"Look it's for Percy. He'd never ask you to and I doubt you even know what's going on so just give me ten freaking minutes!" I snapped at her, tired of her patronizing tone and my perpetual backache.

Audrey nodded and stepped out from behind the door and walked over to the sofa where she sat with her legs crossed at the ankles. I was honestly surprised when I saw her. She wasn’t Percy's usual clean-cut type. She was tall with short black hair, a pointed heart shaped face with sharp features, a small gem on her pierced nose and muggle tattoos from her collar bones down her arms and from what I could see peeking out from under the heinously short dressing gown on the inside of her left thigh as well.

"You want to talk, so talk."

"Have you kept up with ministry gossip lately? The whole Hermaphrodite thing?"
I hoped that she would know the situation so that I wouldn’t have to explain but I had no such luck.

"Just a bit here and there, I don’t really do gossip."

"Look, the ministry found out about our family. My brothers and I are all hermaphrodites and the minster is giving them the choice between Azkaban or an arranged marriage."

"Is that even legal?" she sputtered, her voice shrill with outrage.

"Yeah, it is. Most of us have wormed out of it because we've got fiancées or intended partners who are coming to place a claim on us at tomorrow's meeting."

"Is that why he hasn’t answered my floo calls and owls?"

"He's not answered because he's not at his apartment. He was attacked and Dad forced him to move back home until things died down."

"He should have told me," she muttered, almost growling in irritation. "I mean we're supposed to be getting to know each other and all that rot. Why not let me know?"

"Percy's erm… odd. A little crazy— not kill-you-in-your-sleep crazy, mind you! Just a that…. You know, I-have-to-wash-this-plate-three-times-in-an-anticlockwise-motion-before-I-can-eat-off-of-it crazy. And I reckon I've just killed his chances with you haven’t I…?"

"No… not really." Audrey smiled softly and I saw first hand just how lovely she really was. "I know he's neurotic… it's comforting in a way. I'm an Auror. I like things to be clear and predictable. Besides if I didn’t like him I wouldn’t have asked him out."

"I should've known." There was no way Percy would have had the bollocks to ask a woman like this out for coffee let alone a dinner date.

"What was that?"

"Um nothing." I pushed the thought out of my head and got on with the matter at hand, "Look, he's my brother and I don’t want him to get stuck with some power hungry politician or social climber who wouldn’t make him happy or treat him like more than prime breeding stock."

"You're sweet you know that." She got up and waved to me before she went back to the other room. "Good night Ron."

I pulled my head out of the fireplace before it changed back to its original orange and shifted until I was lying flat on my back. Surprisingly enough, this was the most comfortable I had been in ages. The floor was nicely warmed from the heat of the fire and didn’t dip in with my weight as the bed did and my constant backache was practically gone.

(-)

I can't remember when I had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace but I knew that I had. The only reason I woke up was because I felt the uncomfortable sensation of someone staring at me. I opened my eyes just a bit, I figured that if it was just one of the family portraits staring at me then I'd ignore it and go back to sleep.

It wasn’t a portrait but my father staring at me.

Dad sat perched on his brown leather chair, leaning forward with one elbow resting on his knee, chin in his palm and a snifter of what looked like brandy dangling loosely in the fingers of his other hand. The golden glow of the fire played oddly across his face and highlighted the wrinkles on his forehead, at the corner of his eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth. Dad's eyes were trained on my face so I just gave in and looked straight at him.

Everything became eerily still until Dad broke the tension. "Your mother used to do the same thing. She said sleeping on the floor helped her back at night."

"Yeah, it feels better than the bed and I don’t have to climb the stairs."

Dad lifted the glass to his lips and took a deep gulp. "I can’t believe you're pregnant."

"You know what we are."

"I don’t mean it like that." Dad put the cup down between his bare feet and straightened up. He rubbed his face briskly and slouched back against the chair. "Ronald, you are my youngest son. As much as you probably hate to hear it, you're my baby boy. I wasn’t expecting you to have a child for quite some time and I expected even less for you to be the one carrying it."

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked my father in the eye for the first time in weeks. "Is that what the whole 'kill it' thing was about?"

"No, son. That was not the point. I honestly don’t care what gender you prefer and honestly it doesn’t matter either way." He made an odd gesture and I nipped the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

"Don’t worry, I understand." I pushed myself up into a seated position with as little grunting as I could manage. "for what it's worth I'm sorry about the whole mess. I know it's my fault."

"I don’t think you are at fault Ron. It's just unfortunate circumstances."

"Percy attacked and Charlie about to be handed over to some hapless diplomat isn’t exactly what I would call just unfortunate circumstances"

"What else can I really say here? I've got nothing left to fall back on. At this point I'm just hoping that we come through this in one piece."

(-)

Because I was pregnant I couldn’t travel by Floo or Port Key. Instead of the quicker, more dangerous methods of transportation I got onto the Knight Bus with Charlie, my all too willing chaperone. The trip was long. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get there and the stupid machine lurched and shook the whole time. I was two seconds from throwing up and green around the gills when I got off.

I followed Charlie from the fellytone booth down to the ministry lobby following him closely and keeping my eyes trained on my older brother's shoulder blades in an attempt to ignore the piercing eyes and scandalized mutters.

The lifts were even worse to stand in. There were people on every side watching me. I couldn’t even try to blend in because the ridiculously noticeable bulge of my stomach and clearly masculine face and shoulders made me the obvious anomaly.

It couldn't have taken more than five minutes to reach the minister's office but those five minutes stretched to an eternity. The eyes of strangers were always on me no matter how hard Charlie tried to keep me from view, my ankles and back ached horribly and I waddled more than walked. Still I got to the minister's office and walked past his secretary who was too interested in her issue of Witch Weekly to notice my brother and I walk right past her and into the Minister's office.

I looked around Charlie's shoulder at the crowd gathered into the room. Minister Scrimgeour was standing beside his parchment-covered desk, leaning a hip against it while he talked with the woman standing near the window. Lucius Malfoy and his ferret-faced spawn were on the far side of the room looking just as pompous and self-important as always. In the center of the room there was an old man sitting in a wheel chair. A tall woman with a long face and a thick blonde plait down her back stood to close to the door.

Scrimgeour whirled his wand in the air and suddenly the walls of the room had been pushed back several feel and a conference table surrounded by chairs dominated the room. The old lion took his place at the head of the table, “I take it your father will be here shortly?”

“Yes. In a few seconds actually.” No sooner than the words escaped Charlie’s mouth did the minister’s floo flare bright green. “There he is now.”

Dad came through first and surveyed the room before turning back to the fire and nodding. That must have been the cue because immediately after the rest of my family filed into the office one by one.

After the gateway to the burrow was closed the fireplace flickered again, this time it was the eerie blue glow of international floo. Fleur stepped out of the flames looking prim and severe in her fitted black dress and heels. She looked incredible and I could already feel my mind slipping away with her in the same room.

The sound of footsteps preceded the opening of the office door. I turned and watched as Audrey came into the room. She looked fearsome dressed in fitted black trousers and tight short leather vest (honestly, not Percy’s type at all). She sent a short wave in my direction before walking over to Percy.

It was almost sweet how Percy’s nervous fidgeting gave way to the shock of seeing Audrey right in front of him. Percy flushed pink and smiled in a way I hadn’t seen since before he left for Hogwarts. When I think of it I guess he really didn’t think she’d come for him or even know about the whole situation.

“Hey there.” The room was so quiet that Percy’s whisper echoed. The rest of us did the polite thing and pretended not to listen to what was being said between them.

“Hey yourself.” Audrey smirked at Percy and then shook her head as if he had done something pitifully stupid. “Once we are all done here I am going to tear you a new one for not letting me know about this mess.”

The minister clapped his hands together briskly and motioned to the seats around the long table. We all shuffled over to the table, The Malfoys, the old man and the blonde lady all sat on the far side of the table near the minister.

Dad sat across from Scrimgeour at the other head of the table with Bill and Fleur to his left, Mum to his right. The rest of us sat down on either side of the table staying as far away from the Minister and his marriage candidates as possible. Scrimgeour pushed his glasses onto his face and positioned his quick notes quill to parchment before letting go. “Right then—”

“Sorry we’re late!” My eyes snapped to the door, like everyone else’s at the sound of Professor Dumbledore’s voice. “My fault entirely, I assure you, these old bones can’t ride a steed anymore. We had to take one of the carriages and a full team instead of just a few thestrals.”

Dumbledore walked in to the office and held the door open for Hermione and Harry.

Hermione looked wonderful, her hair was pulled back from her rounded face and she smiled at me before making her way to my side, waddling and swaying gently as she walked. Hermione’s body had filled itself out with soft curves and her stomach poked out adorably even though it was much larger than my own.

Half a step behind Hermione was Harry. He was taller and more filled out than when I had seen him last. I took one look at his face and bit my cheek in an attempt not to smile. His expression, if you knew him, was comical. Harry hated the ministry and having to come into the building made him frustrated and surly. Well surly to anyone who didn’t know him well enough to realized that this was just his way of pouting.

Two chairs materialized on either side of me. Harry pulled out the chair on the right for Hermione, made sure she was comfortable and then slid into his place on my left. Not a second later did I feel the hands of my two lovers. Hermione laid a small warm hand gently on my knee and Harry laced his fingers with mine. It felt so good to finally be with them again.

“Now that we are all here, Minister please continue.”

It was clear to everyone in the room that Scrimgeour wasn’t pleased about being prompted in his own office. His face was thunderous but he could do nothing but nod stiffly at the headmaster and proceed. “Yes as I was saying before we were interrupted, we are here today to sort out this situation in the most painless and quick way possible.

Let us start by getting this situation out in the open. Arthur Weasley, you fathered six hermaphrodite children and never once solicited marriage contracts for them or reported the situation to the proper authorities.”

“Correct.” Dad sat stiffly. It was easy to see that he was nervous and more than a little agitated by the whole thing.

“Mr. Weasley, why did you not seek out marriage arrangements for your children?”

“I do not believe in Marriage contracts or support them in any way, shape or form. My children have all grown into capable people, they can decided who and if they want to marry on their own. To be honest."

It was unsettling to hear my dad speak so formally. Never before had I seen him adopt the façade of an entitled high-bred man. I mean, I knew that he was raised on one of the family holdings in a similar way to the other pureblood families but I don’t think it ever really sunk in until now. My father had always been lenient and indulgent. Dad let us all but run wild. We played and explored our kingdom without a care in the world. Dad often joined us out in the orchards; helping us scale trees, refereeing our childish sword fights and bandaging scraped elbows and knees with sure hands and a kind smile while we sat on his lap.

“Why did you not come to the ministry to report your children’s condition upon their coming of age?”

“I really don't see what the Ministry has to do with the domestic arrangements of my children. It is none of your business what happens in within my family unless we are breaking any laws."

"There is a law isn’t there?" Ferret face pondered out loud, looking at his father for confirmation.

"Excuse me then, sensible laws. You do not meddle in the affairs of any other pureblood families. Why should mine be any different?”

“Come now Weasley,” ferret face Senior called from across the table, that stupid smug look on his face, “the answer is obvious. You and your children are a rare and exclusive commodity. You can provide several strong, healthy and pure additions to our constantly dwindling society.”

“Lucius, just because you suffer from impotency does not mean that the rest of wizarding society does. If they want to add to our numbers then they can, having a family is a choice not an obligation.”

“Yes, I do understand that, however why did you choose to have more children than you could possibly afford?” My face flushed in shame, I had said the very same thing to my father not but a few weeks ago. And now Lucius Malfoy was throwing it in his face.

I glanced around and saw my brothers' faces; there was barely contained outrage in their eyes and their lips had thinned so much that it looked like their mouths had vanished. They all sat perfectly still and unmoving, eyes on the blonde man out of their reach. I glanced at the head of the table and saw that Dad was barely reigning in his temper.

“And then you refuse to see the benefit of securing a comfortable future for your offspring.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Scrimgeour snarled and glared at the other man. “This has nothing to do with this meeting and I will not tolerate any childish heckling. Am I understood?”

"Yes," Lucius lifted an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair flipping a hand in the universal gesture of please do, go on. "Of course Rufus."

The minister pursed his lips tightly before he went on, "Regardless of your stance on the law, you have still broken it. The outlined penalty for refusal is Azkaban or a fine until the individual in question has been wed. The fine is 2 galleons 8 sickles and fourteen knuts for every month unwed past the person's 18th birthday. Roughly 30 galleons a year." Scrimgeour shuffled through his parchment, pulled out one sheet and tapped it with his wand. The paper disappeared and reappeared in front of my father. "15 years for William, 13 years for Charles and 1 year for Percival. You are quite lucky that your twin sons haven’t reached their eighteenth birthday yet, as it is you are facing a 900 galleon fine."

My jaw just about dropped at the number. Once glance around the table and I could already see Charlie calculating what was left in his savings in his head, the twins were muttering between themselves something about revenues and raised prices, Percy's paste pale face and frantic mutilating of his cuticles and Bill who was whispering into Fleur's ear.

"You think your dad would let me take care of it, since it is my fault and all?" Harry whispered into my ear.

I turned and gave him the best smile I could under the circumstances. "This isn’t your fault. Not everything revolves around you, you know. Besides I don’t really think Dad would let you, Weasley pride and all that."

Harry snorted but at least he let the issue drop for now.

"The fine if you'd be so kind." Dad's voice cut clear across our side conversations. "I'll work it out later."

"There is no need," The blonde woman across the table finally spoke up. Her face looked familiar but I honestly couldn’t put my finger on where I had seen her before. "You approve my contract for one of your sons and I will take care of the fine and dowry."

"Wow," Hermione puffed clearly outraged, crossing her arms and letting them rest on top of her belly. "Just when I thought people couldn’t get any more heinous. I didn’t realize we were at a cattle auction, I would have worn more appropriate boots."

"Shut it, Mudblood." The woman snarled and slammed a hand down on the table. "You and that horrid little spawn you're carrying know nothing of our customs or our ways. Where do you— a dirty little mongrel— get off"

"Madame Greengrass, I think you should take a minute to compose yourself." The headmaster's voice was arctic cold and tinged with the suggestion of a threat. But it didn’t stop the blonde bitch one bit.

"A lousy little tart! Pregnant yourself and trying to claw your way into decent society! Who really is the father of that little abomination!? I b—"

Suddenly she was gone.

I looked around the room for the slightest hint of who had banished her. Every one apart from the Malfoys had their wands in hand so there was no way to tell.

"Erm," Hermione cleared her throat and attempted to force down the blush that spread across the bridge of her nose. "For the record, the baby is Ron's. Madame Pomfrey checked for me."

I studiously looked at my hands on the conference table. I could feel my ears burning and the eyes of my family on me. I couldn’t tell if they were surprised that we’d have an actual threesome (I mean, I did say we were in a triad!) or that I knocked up Hermione.

"Enough interruptions!" All eyes were back on the minister. "We don’t have all day. You've got the fine, 900 galleons. Next thing is the claims, who will be marrying whom? Lets get this done. Starting with William Weasley?"

Fleur stood and announced to the room in her terrible English, "I vill be Marrying Beel in ze summer."

"Your name, miss?"

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour."

The quill that hovered in mid air taking notes jumped to the next piece of parchment and scribbled down a few lines before returning to the first parchment roll. "Right then, anyone want to refute that claim? No, good. It's on record. Now, Charles Weasley."

Charlie let out a long slow breath and shrugged. "I've got nothing." It just seemed so wrong for Charlie to sound so resigned.

A thick coil of guilt settled deep in my stomach, I wanted Charlie to return to his life before this whole fiasco. I wanted Charlie to go on working with his dragons in Romania and live his normal, adventure filled life. Not be stuck here as the house boy of some ancient paraplegic or Malfoy's pet Weasley.

"Right we'll sort that out in a few minutes. Percival Weas—"

"Senior Auror Audrey Camille Levers." Audrey's long tan fingers caught Percy's fidgeting hands and stilled them gently before she laced her fingers between them. She may not be the usual type Percy went after but she'd take good care of him. "We were waiting until I met his parents before we got engaged but, I guess that plan didn’t work out so well, eh?"

"Any objections? No? Alright next, George Wealsey?"

"Fredrick Gideon Weasley. We'll be bonded shortly." George dropped his head in his hands and swallowed audibly. They didn’t want this and they certainly didn’t want it to turn out like this.

"This is highly unorthodox, is it even allowable?" Malfoy's face was contorted into something ugly and bitter. I don’t know why he feels so invested in this mess. Knowing my brothers they'd hold up I Azkaban before giving into Malfoy.

"The minister said no more interruptions, boy." I didn’t recognize the voice, it was thick deep and I realized that the old man could actually speak.

"That sounds like an objection to me." The minister muttered, shuffled through his papers and then frowned at the twins. "You two do realize that this isn’t in any way a healthy relationship?"

"Look we've been together since before we learned to breathe. At this point in the game bonding is just a courtesy to the rest of you." Fred still held the floor, commanding attention with his uncharacteristically grave tone. "There is nothing in the law abut you determining if it was a healthy relationship or not. The only stipulations were that I just be in a relationship by the time I'm eighteen."

I was surprised that Fred had said that much, personally I would have gone with the 'we are purebloods, this is what we do' reasoning. It was easier with lots more precedence.

"Very true, appeal denied. Ronald Weasley."

"That would be us," Hermione didn’t stand, but her voice carried across the room nonetheless, "Hermione Jane Granger—"

"And Harry James Potter."

I don’t know how to describe how I felt at that moment. The closest I could ever come is proud and wanted, but really those words aren’t enough. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but I'm not completely dense, I know I have my self esteem issues and the whole paranoia about being dumped for the latest and greatest. At that moment I really got it. They knew what they were getting, they knew all my shameful secrets and abnormalities and still they wanted me and said as much when it mattered most.

"Any objections?"

"Yes."

Harry's face was thunderous as he stared down the Malfoys. "What is there to object to?"

The ferret Draco smirked and leaned forward on his elbows. "Well, neither one of you are of legal age. And when Weasley is seventeen you still won't be."

"I am seventeen." Hermione volunteered, a fierce scowl on her face, "and don’t you start on 'well that's statutory rape'. We were the same age when we got up the duff. Triads are perfectly legitimate and have more pull legally— I did the research."

Harry caught my attention and rolled his eyes with a nod towards Hermione. I bit my lip trying to control my grin —Needless to say I failed. The whole thing was just so Hermione that it was hysterical.

"You should have seen her yesterday when we got the owl." He mouthed and I couldn’t help but let loose a low chuckle.

"How can you expect such an irresponsible child to care for a hermaphrodite? Let’s not forget what our focus here is. Notions of love and fancy are short lived with fickle children. I am wiling to make a favorable offer and the boy— well I don’t really think boy qualifies here— has already been ruined."

I swear every time I get back to my regular color someone else brings my blush up again.

"Now, now, Lucius," Dumbledore interjected, "it wouldn't do to besmirch the honor of our youth. After all what is to say your own son will remain interested."

"It is not about interest, it's about a contractual agreement," Ferret Senior said slowly and with as much disrespect as he could muster. Which wasn’t exactly intelligent on his part seeing as how he was supposed to be making a good impression in the hopes that my father would approve the contract. My best guess is that he already knew that it was hopeless. "A pregnancy out of wedlock is shameful, and I can't imagine how Potter was even able to get Weasley into his bed without a ring as it is!"

"Rather perverted, don’t you think? You shouldn’t be imagining any of that and besides we will be bonding once all of us are of age, not that it's any of your business who I marry."

"Don’t be ridiculous! Of course its my business I have vested interest—"

"Since when? Since this whole stupid hermaphrodite thing went public?" Harry's voice was sharp and cut clear across what anyone else might have said. Harry's magic crackled dangerously in the corners of the room, shifting smaller objects and shaking the furniture. He was using every last bit of his Boy-Who-Lived Charisma to cut Malfoy down. "If I remember correctly you thought the whole Weasley family was beneath you! What's changed? Please tell me. I'd love to know about your moral epiphany!"

"Appeal denied…" The Minister said tentatively.

"Appeal denied," came Harry's snarl as he leaned back into his chair. Under the table I put a hand on Harry's thigh and squeezed gently, hoping that it would calm him down before things started breaking.

"Well last order of business is the pairing of Charles Weasley." Scrimgeour tapped a few scrolls in front of him and once again they appeared in front of Dad. "Those are the offered contracts, I narrowed it down to three. Today you must choose one."

Dad passed the parchment over to Charlie with a grumbled, "You're marrying them, not me."

Charlie opened the scrolls and flicked his wand at the one to the far left. "I'm not taking Malfoy's offer, I'd feel like I was cradle robbing if I did. Besides he's a bit of an ass." Both Malfoys went red in anger and Dad just sat there with a smug smirk. "No to Greengrass, again too young." Contract two went up in smoke. "Well Lord Prince, it looks like you've got yourself a Weasley."

"My grandson will be pleased despite himself." The old man, Lord Prince, cracked an uneven smile. "Severus has a thing for redheads."

Harry choked beside me, his eyes flying open as he realized something the rest of us didn’t. I leaned closer to him so that he could whisper in my ear, "That's Snape's grandfather."

I wasn't expecting that. Sure, things in the wizarding community were more two degrees of separation than six but I would have never thought that I'd be related in even the most remote way to Severus Snape, potions master.

Charlie smiled at the old man so wide that his eyes crinkled in the corners, "I certainly hope that's the case."

Charlie knew, he had to know. There was no way he'd be so accepting if he didn't. Bill told me once before that Charlie had some strange, freakish, more-than-crush-infatuation for Professor Snape since he was a firstie.

I had thought Bill was full of crap at the time. Now, I'm glad he was right because if he was it meant that things were working themselves out for us.

Epilogue;

Things settled out after all.

Bill and Fleur had a summer wedding that reduced my mother to a blubbering mess then went to Antarctica on their honeymoon. They’ve got three kids now, Dominique, Victorie and little Louis. All three of them are pretty and blonde and French.

Snape gave his notice that he wouldn’t return after he finished the year. He and Charlie were moving to the dragon reserve in Romania. Funny enough the two are as close to madly in love as I’ve ever seen, it’s all rather scary. They’ve got (surprisingly handsome) children too. Aubrey and Alden are just about nine now and as far as I know the pair of them are terrors. They live for adventure and are too smart for their own good, but with their parents who could expect otherwise.

Audrey and Percy got married. It was a Muggle ceremony, the only guest on her side of the chapel were her elderly grandparents that raised her. Mum nags at them for grandchildren and Audrey laughs her off saying, “Percy can barely handle spilled ink, how do you think he’ll handle a dirty nappy?”

The twins have the most unorthodox marriage I’ve ever seen. They both live separate lives for the most part. The only things they do together anymore is run the shop and apparently fuck, because even though Fred and George are seeing Angelina and Lee respectively Fred, George and Angelina are all preggers. I didn’t ask questions and I never think about it.

Ginny is traveling the world with the Harpies playing as their lead chaser. She’s having the time of her life leaving a trail of broken hearts behind her.

Harry, Hermione and I did just what we planned and moved into the house on the outskirts of a Muggle town. The house was great. A real palace with three floors, four bathrooms, a balcony in the master bedroom and dining room, a cobalt kitchen with yellow appliances and a massive yard. It’s the perfect place really, large, spacious and perfect for our large and growing family.

In true Weasley fashion I managed to get Hermione up the duff with twins the first time. The pair of them are proper Weasleys: Red hair, blue eyes and freckles everywhere.

Adrian is the older of the two; he was sorted into Ravenclaw before the hat even sat on his head. But I can see why, when he was little all he did was ask questions. Most of the time it seemed like what, why and how were the only words he knew. Adrian is ace at Arithmancy, he’s always bent over some calculation or another. His current fancy is the answer to alchemy, the final use of dragon's blood and Aingingein.

Riley is anything but a slouch in the academics, comes from his mother I’m sure, but he’s more eager to learn every hex, curse, jinx and counter out there. I’ve never met a more combat oriented Hufflepuff in all my life. I was doubtful when he was sorted. I thought the 'Puffs were supposed to be all marshmallow sweetness and work ethic and just a bit daft but I stand corrected. Riley’s a warrior at heart, who plays a mean game of chess and duels with Flitwick on Saturdays. He’s heading to the young duelist championships this summer and I couldn’t be prouder.

My daughter Faye is a live wire. The girl is gorgeous with Harry’s green eyes and black hair, sharp as a tack, sweet as candy and a Slytherin to boot. She’s my Quidditch star, only in her fifth year and already the star player of her team on Harry’s old Firebolt (she refuses to ride any other broom). Quidditch scouts are always begging us to let her tour with them part time. Faye won’t hear of it until she graduates with eight NEWTS.

Some days I find myself wondering how the ultimate Gryffindor Trio managed to have no Gryffindor children. It seems odd not to wear our old house colors when we go to cheer on our kids, though with Hermione pregnant again that may change.


End




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The Resolution of All the Fruitless Searches by slantedknitting

Title: The Resolution of All the Fruitless Searches
Author: slantedknitting
Pairing: Ron/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Genre: angst and romance, minimal action, maximal drama
Warnings: mentions of Harry/Ginny, past Ron/Hermione, Lee/Angelina, Ron/OMCs, and past Dean/OMC; consumption of tobacco (via cigarettes) and marijuana (via brownies), angst angst and more angst; spoiler warnings: explicit past Ron/Harry, non-explicit George/Lee
Word Count: 50,300
Summary: Dean has finally returned to England after spending the post-war years at an art school in America. Harry and Ron are currently Aurors, but have a complicated history with each other that is brought to the forefront of Ron's mind as his friendship with Dean is rebuilt, things go wrong at work, and George becomes a dramatic hypocrite.
Author’s Note: Endless thanks to my wonderful betas, eruditefics and triomakesmehot. They've looked over more than 110,000 words for me this year and I could not be more grateful. Also, the title is taken from Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes."


Titles: "Untitled" & "Untitled#2"
Artist: Beanyneko (prince_ozora)
Pairing: Ron/Dean
Rating: all ages
Media: watercolors
Artist’s Notes: n/a


Ron inched opened the door to his and Harry's flat and stuck his head inside before pulling it all the way open. He gestured for another man to go in before him, then followed and closed the door behind them, muttering a spell as the other man looked around the dark flat.

"Your flatmate home?" the other man asked, pressing Ron against the door and reaching for Ron's belt.

"Yes," Ron said firmly, grabbing the man's hand and winking. "We just have to go to my room."

"But I like your sofa," the man said, grabbing Ron's hips and pulling him further into the room. "And I like being heard."

Ron stumbled and tried to guide his guest in the direction of his bedroom. "That's hot, but it's a bit rude to him, don't you think?" he asked, starting to unbutton the other man's shirt.

"No, I don't." The man grinned wickedly and shoved Ron down onto the sofa before sitting on top of him. "You're the perfect kind of ginger, did you know that?"

Ron gaped up at the man as he quickly undid Ron's trousers. "What?"

"You're so fucking tall," the man said roughly as he began stroking Ron's stiffening cock. "And fit as hell. Not fat and sweaty like most gingers." He leaned down to lick across Ron's bottom lip. "Does your flatmate like listening to you shag?"

Ron blinked, his mind a bit hazy from the desire and the alcohol coursing through him. "Er – no. No, he really doesn't. He's straight. Listen–"

"Straight, huh? I bet a night of listening to two men shag each other senseless on his sofa would set him right."

Ron shifted and tried to sit up, but the other man had him pinned down. "Look, my room's right there – er – fuck, what's your name, again?"

The other man's face went blank as he sat back on his heels, hovering over Ron. "Excuse me?"

"What? Your name, I forgot... Jim, was it?" Ron watched in confusion as the man stood and began to button his shirt. "Jim?"

"My name isn't Jim, you drunken idiot. It's Tom, and fuck you." Tom gestured rudely at Ron and headed back toward the door.

"Tom," Ron called after him, sitting up. "Tom, sorry, it was – it was loud in the – the place–"

Ron sighed as Tom slammed the door behind him. Cursing himself and his bad luck, Ron lay back down and looked at his half-hard cock.

"Bollocks."





Ron woke up the next day when he heard a loud bang. He sat up quickly and looked around in a panic, only to see Harry setting down heavy bags of groceries on the kitchen table.

"Sorry," Harry said, seeing Ron staring at him over the back of the sofa. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," Ron grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. "What time is it?"

"Just after noon. Did you have a good sleep?"

"I guess." Ron watched Harry unpacking groceries for a few seconds, then frowned. "Why am I sleeping out here?"

Harry glanced up. "What, don't you remember?"

"Er." Ron thought back to the previous night and his head gave an unpleasant throb. "Not really. I remember coming back... with someone. Blimey, he isn't still here, is he?"

Harry bit back a smile. "No. He, er... he left last night."

Ron stared hard at the back of Harry's head as he put food away in the cupboards. "Did I do something stupid last night?"

Harry contemplated a box of noodles and spoke without looking up. "Well, you forgot his name and... er, he was a bit put out."

"Oh, right," Ron muttered, blushing and looking down at his lap. "Bugger – what the – Harry!"

Harry looked over in surprise. "What? That can't be the first time you've forgotten a bloke's name."

"No," Ron growled, quickly putting himself back in his trousers and zipping them back up. "You could have mentioned my bits have been hanging out all morning."

Harry laughed and went back to putting away the groceries. "I thought you might have noticed when you first woke up. It's a bit chilly in here."

"Oh, fuck off." Ron stood and stretched. "Well, sorry you had to hear all that, anyway."

Harry shrugged and pretended to be reading the label on a can of soup. "Can I ask you something sort of personal?"

"About last night?" Ron asked, moving over to the table to see what food Harry had bought.

"No. Well, sort of..."

"Just ask it," Ron said, eying a box of biscuits.

Harry turned back toward the cupboards and Ron saw the tips of his ears glowing red. "Do you... when was the last time you were tested?"

Ron picked up the biscuits. "What, like an exam?"

"No," Harry said quietly, turning back around to face Ron. "Like for STIs."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "You mean STDs?"

"Infections," Harry mumbled. "Sexually transmitted infections..."

"Are – are those different from the diseases?"

"No, that's just... what they're called now, I think."

"Oh." Ron looked carefully at Harry, trying hard not to laugh. "Are you worried I've got herpes, Harry?"

Harry scowled and grabbed the biscuits to put them away. "No. I'm just trying to be a good friend. You – you bring home a lot of blokes, Ron, and I just – I want to make sure you're not doing anything stupid or – or putting yourself at risk for... you know. AIDS and... well, herpes, too."

Ron sniggered. "I get tested, mate. And I use Muggle condoms and everything."

Harry blushed again. "Well – well, good."

"At least I know you care about me," Ron teased, pulling the biscuits back out and eating one. "How was your night, then?"

"The usual." Harry shrugged and took a biscuits for himself. "Dean's back, though."

Ron coughed, his eyes wide, and struggled to swallow. "What?"

"Yeah. I ran into him in a Muggle shop this morning. Seamus didn't say anything about it last night, though."

Ron frowned and sat down at the table as Harry cleared the empty bags off of it. "That's odd. Maybe Seamus doesn't know Dean's back?"

Harry snorted and filled a kettle with water. He tapped it with his wand and then sat down with Ron to wait for it to boil. "There's no way Dean would come back without telling Seamus."

"That's probably true. Well, did you ask Dean about it? About Seamus, I mean?"

Harry shook his head. "I figured if Seamus didn't say anything, then something must be wrong between them. Maybe they had a falling out. Who knows? Seamus hardly ever talks about Dean anymore, anyway. Maybe they just... grew apart after all these years."

"Five years isn't that long," Ron reasoned. "And Seamus went to visit him in America, didn't he?"

"Thought so. A couple of times, at least." Harry shrugged again. "Anyway, Dean says hello. I said we'd owl him about meeting up for lunch or something next weekend."

Ron nodded. "Speaking of owls–"

"It's on my bed. You can grab it if you want," Harry said as he stood to make the tea.

Ron watched Harry for a moment, then went to get the newspaper from Harry's room.





A few hours later, Ron was at the kitchen table again, this time joined by George and Lee.

"It's a bit disgusting, don't you think?" George asked, nodding toward Harry's bedroom door.

Ron blinked across the table at his brother. "What, the fact that Harry isn't here?"

"No, the fact that he's out with Gin."

Ron snorted and finished off his second beer of the evening, setting it down loudly. "I think it's bit late to take issue with their relationship."

"I'm not taking issue with it. I just think it's disgusting how they're together all the time. Literally, all the time. I'm surprised either of them ever makes it to work. It's disgusting."

Ron rolled his eyes and opened another beer bottle. "He wasn't with her last night or this morning."

George shrugged. "How many beers are you going to have?"

"However many it takes."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lee asked. Both Weasleys glared at him.

"You're not allowed to talk yet," George reminded him darkly.

"You're being childish," Lee said plainly.

"And you're being a wanker." George turned his attention back to Ron. "The wanker's got a point, though. It's barely dinner time. How many are you going to have?"

"I told you, as many as it takes." Ron winked and took a large gulp of beer.

"Are you still doing that, then?"

"What, drinking beer?"

"No. Getting pissed before you go out to pull."

Ron rolled his eyes again. "So what if I am?"

"It's not exactly healthy, is it? You've been doing this for over four years. Don't you ever go out sober?"

"Don't you ever mind your own business?"

"No," George and Lee said together. George glared at his friend again.

"I'm talking whether you like it or not," Lee said, reaching across the table to take his second beer. "Angie is allowed to date whomever she wants."

"As long as it's not you," George said.

Lee ignored this and resumed drinking.

"Out of curiosity," Ron began carefully, "how did you end up scoring a date with her, anyway?"

"I asked her out," Lee said, shrugging.

George pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. "You bastard," he said lowly, staring disbelievingly at Lee.

"George," Lee warned, "you're drunk. Calm down."

"I'm not drunk, I've only had one beer. You asked out Angelina!"

"I've fancied her for over a decade, George," Lee said through clenched teeth. "It's my turn."

"She's. Fred's," George practically growled.

Ron cleared his throat in a halfhearted attempt to get their attentions.

"It's been over five years, George. I am sick of having this conversation with you. I swear, if you bothered to get your own girlfriend, my love life wouldn't interest you half as much."

"Fuck you," George spat, standing and storming out of the flat before either Ron or Lee could stop him.

"He took the news quite well, I think," Lee said dully, turning back to Ron.

Ron stared at the door George had slammed, a sinking feeling washing over him. "I don't think that last bit's true."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I meant the bit about your love life. I think he'd care, anyway."

Lee shrugged and looked sadly into his beer bottle. "That's his problem."

"If you say so," Ron muttered.

"I should get home," Lee said, standing up awkwardly.

"You might want to give him a few minutes to cool off," Ron suggested, looking up at Lee's wary expression.

"It's my flat, too. If I avoided it every time George was in a bad mood, I'd be sleeping on the streets." He set his bottle down on the table and eyed Ron carefully. "You really should think about going out when you're sober. You might even find something lasting."

"What if that's not what I'm looking for?" Ron asked, one eyebrow raised.

"That's a fair point. Anyway, I'll see you."

Ron watched as Lee followed after George, wondering how long it would take George to warm up to the idea of Fred's ex-girlfriend dating his best friend and flatmate. Deciding not to dwell on it, Ron turned back to his beer.





Ron was uninspired by that night's turn out at the club. There weren't many new faces and he had no desire to shag any of the men he had already been with. He spent most of the night getting progressively drunker and dancing with some Muggle men that he knew and might, on a lonely day, consider to be friends.

Finally deciding that he could go for one Saturday night without having sex, Ron left the club and started walking down the street to find somewhere to Disapparate. He got distracted near the corner by an extremely fit-looking bloke who was smoking outside a cafe. The man's jeans were tight and fitted, almost ridiculously so; his bottom and thighs were outlined in detail. Slowing down, Ron approached the cafe cautiously, staring at the man's arse and silently willing him to turn around so Ron could see his face.

The man turned to toss the cigarette butt into the street and Ron stopped in his tracks. The man looked up, paused, and then waved, frowning in a confused sort of way.

"Ron."

"Dean," Ron choked out, forcing himself to move again and walk toward his old friend. "How – what are you doing here?"

Dean shook Ron's hand and offered him a cigarette. Ron took one and borrowed Dean's lighter. When Ron couldn't get it to light, Dean stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Ron's, pressed down on the thumb wheel, and lit Ron's cigarette.




"Didn't Harry tell you I saw him this morning? He said he would." Still holding Ron's hand, and thus the lighter, with one of his hands, Dean pulled out another cigarette with his other hand, set it between his lips, and lit it before finally letting go of Ron's hand.

Ron handed the lighter back, momentarily speechless. Dean raised his eyebrows and Ron took a long drag off his cigarette.

"He told me. I meant, what are you doing here on this corner? It's almost 2 in the morning."

Dean checked his watched and shrugged. "I went to that club down the street earlier and was on my way home. I got distracted." He gestured at the cafe window and Ron glanced inside the dark room to see two very naked people having sex on the floor near the salad bar.

"Wow. So... you stopped to watch them play hide the wand and stayed long enough to smoke an entire fag?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take them to notice me," Dean explained, looking a bit bored with the situation. "They still haven't yet."

Ron frowned slightly. "Wait, did you say were at the club down the street?"

Dean nodded and continued smoking in silence.

Ron glanced a few times between Dean and the gay club, his cigarette wobbling loosely between his lips. "Are you gay, now?" he finally asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and pointing to the club with it. "Because I'm gay, now, too."

Dean raised his eyebrows again. "How pissed are you?"

"Quite pissed. Were you at that club?" Ron persisted.

"I was."

"But I didn't see you there!" Ron protested.

"I didn't see you there, either," Dean said cooly.

"But... you dated Ginny!"

"And you dated Hermione, did you not? And Lavender?"

"Oh, right." Ron looked back at the club once more before turning to focus on Dean. "How long have you been back?"

"A few weeks."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "What? Where have you been, why haven't you said anything to anyone?"

Dean shrugged and finished his cigarette before answering. "I've been around. I unpacked my last box this morning, so I thought I'd go out and see if there was anyone I fancied inviting back, but..." He tossed this butt into the street and scratched the back of his neck. "I've been living almost entirely in the Muggle world for the past five years. It didn't really occur to me to do anything differently now that I'm back in London. I had no idea you and Harry lived here."

"What about Seamus? You've seen him, haven't you?"

Dean made an ambiguous motion with his head. "We're not as close as we used to be."

"Not because you're gay?" Ron asked quickly. "He's never had a problem with me."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, not because I'm gay. Not entirely, anyway. It's not really important. Anyway, I should get home..."

"We should go out for dinner," Ron said quickly, putting his cigarette out on the side of the cafe before dropping it onto the pavement. "Don't be such a stranger. It's good to have you back."

Dean's lips flickered for a moment, as though he were going to smile, before settling back into their natural pout. "Thank you. It – it's good to be back, I think. Dinner would be lovely. I gave Harry my address and he said he'd owl about meeting up this week. You're welcome to come, of course."

"Brilliant." Ron glanced behind him at the club, then stepped around Dean to turn the corner. "Would you mind keeping a lookout while I Disapparate?"

"What, here? Should you really do that when you're this drunk?"

Ron waved off the question. "I've done it a million times, no problem. I'm too tired to walk home."

"Shouldn't that mean you're too tired to Disapparate?"

"Nope," Ron said, pulling out his wand. "All clear?"

"Isn't this illegal?" Dean asked.

Ron held a finger up to his lips. "Shush. I won't tell if you won't. See you soon. Thanks for the fag." He took a deep, steadying breath, thought longingly of his bedroom, and spun.





The next morning, when Ron finally emerged from his bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Harry snogging his sister quite enthusiastically on the sofa. Ron cleared his throat and they broke apart guiltily, Harry tugging slightly on the bottom of his shirt. Ron glared pointedly at them before heading for the kitchen to make himself an omelette. He heard Harry and Ginny retreating into Harry's bedroom as he pulled out ingredients and he tried not to think about the flush on his sister's face or the obvious bulge in Harry's jeans. He didn't like to think about either of them being aroused, Ginny because she was his sibling, and Harry because it was better to just not think about Harry in any sexual context. Ron only managed to survive living with Harry by pretending Harry was a eunuch most of the time. Any time spent thinking about Harry's cock or Harry having sex with anyone was dangerous.

They had been down that road once before and Ron was determined to keep it from happening again at all costs. The problem wasn't Harry being openly sexual in their flat. The problem was Ron's complete inability to dismiss it, as he would have been able to do with any other straight man and even some gay men if he wasn't interested in them. But Ron was very interested in Harry. He always had been and his greatest fear was that he always would be.

Ron switched on the Wireless in an effort not to continue thinking about Harry and his erection, and to block out the noises that would soon be coming from Harry's room.

He began chopping up a green pepper as the news came on.





"It's not as if he hasn't been talking about asking her out since you were eleven years old."

"Talking is one thing. Actually doing is another."

Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been trying to have a rational conversation about Lee and Angelina with his brother for the past hour, but George was being extremely stubborn.

"Fred's not here to date her," he said a bit rudely. "She was bound to move on at some point. I don't see why it's a problem that she's decided to move on with Lee."

"You wouldn't."

"Actually, if anything," Ron continued, ignoring George's muttering, "you should be happy for them. They're your friends and they make each other happy. Frankly, you're being selfish."

"Get out," George said tiredly. "Go home. Don't you have better things to do than pester me about Lee?"

"Not really."

"Maybe you should get a girlfriend."

"Because that would make a lot of sense." Ron rolled his eyes and got up from the sofa.

George lifted his legs onto Ron's vacated cushion and spread out lazily. "Are you leaving yet?"

"Yeah, I'm sick of talking to you." There was no trace of a joke in Ron's voice. He glanced down at his brother, frowning slightly. "Are you just going to lie there until Lee comes back from the date?"

George shrugged. "It's possible."

"You really need to get a new hobby."

"Waiting around for Lee isn't my hobby," George said bitterly.

"Are you sure?"

The brothers glared at each for a long minute until Ron cleared his throat and turned toward the door. "I'll see you around."

"I hope not," George called after him as he left.





Ron went into work the next morning feeling especially moody. Harry and Ginny had kept him up far too late the night before with their disgusting sounds and he didn't have anywhere near the amount of energy he usually wanted in order to work on his incredibly boring case. This was his first year as a fully qualified Auror, and as such, had so far been assigned to doing a lot of office paperwork for more important Aurors. The case he had been working on since September, about some Welsh wizards trying to seduce the giants of Europe to do their evil deeds, had been stalled for two weeks. No new information was coming in from the experienced Aurors who were out trying to track down the wizards or the giants. He felt utterly worthless at the Ministry, and a night of listening to his best mate and his sister go at it for hours didn't make the morning any more enjoyable.

When he reached his cubicle, Ron sat down heavily and stared at the note sitting on his desk.

Case ID: 94582543
Aurors Stefan Kelley and Michael J. Edwards found and dueled with Welsh wizards Bryce Davies and Andrew Griffiths. Davies and Griffiths died of injuries received during the duel. Giants founds nearby. Giants had no interest and little memory of Davies and Griffiths.
Dictated to Overnight/Weekend Emergency Auror Secretary, Julian Freeman
Read by turkey Patronus of Auror Stefan Kelley

Ron's mouth hung open slightly as he read through the note again. When he was done, he lifted the note off his desk and found another, sloppily handwritten one underneath it.

Please write final case report.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ron muttered, glancing back at the first note. There wasn't nearly enough information to write a final case report. Why hadn't Kelley and Edwards returned to work if they'd closed their case? Why had they sent the news via Patronus? (Why was Kelley's Patronus a turkey, of all animals?) Why had they dueled with the Welsh wizards? Who had started the duel? Had Kelley and Edwards been injured as well? How had they found the giants? How did they know that the giants had no memory of the Welsh wizards? Had the giants been properly interrogated? Had the Welsh wizards been asked any questions before they died? When the hell were Kelley and Edwards coming back?

Ron felt overwhelmed and under-prepared. What sort of Aurors would send such a flimsy report? Were they just doing it to make Ron look bad?

Grabbing the two notes, Ron stood and walked over to Robard's office.

"Weasley," Robards grunted when Ron reached the open door. "Did you get my note?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said, holding it up. "Only... did you see the report they sent?"

"Yes," Robards said shortly, returning his attention to the papers on his desk.

"Um." Ron shifted uncertainly. "Sir, it's not... it's not enough information to close the case. Should I wait until they return or at least until they send more than a few lines of news?"

Robards looked up and Ron smiled uneasily. He really disliked Robards.

"No. Just do what you can. If the case is closed, it really doesn't matter. Just write something. Anything."

Ron nodded his thanks and went back to his cubicle without saying anything. Robards was a terrible boss; he was inconsistent, far too aggressive, and usually downright unfriendly.

Deciding he was too lazy and apathetic to do anything else, Ron copied down the Patronus' words onto an official case report and stuffed it, along with the original notes, into the case file.

When he was done, he went in search of Harry and some coffee.





"Robards is a cocksucker," Harry said seriously when Ron had finished telling him about the morning's notes. "He's the laziest Head in the Ministry. I wish he'd just retire, already."

Ron grunted and took another bite of his sandwich. They were sitting in Arthur Weasley's office, their usual lunch spot. Arthur was at his daily meeting with the Head of his own department.

"I just don't understand why they sent that Patronus in the first place."

Harry nodded vaguely and yawned. "I'm exhausted today for some reason."

"For some reason?" Ron stared incredulously across the small room at his friend. "You know exactly why you're exhausted. So do I, and so do half the people in our building, I suspect, and anyone who happened under the window last night."

Harry chuckled. "Sorry about that. It got–"

Ron held up a hand. "Please do not explain why it was so loud last night. I really don't care to know."

Harry winked jovially and continued eating his lunch.

Ron finished off his sandwich and checked his watch, wishing time would go slower. He really didn't want to go back to organizing the massively untidy filing cabinets that lined the walls of the Auror Headquarters. Even with magic, the task was a pain.

"Here's a weird question. Did Dean smile when you ran into him?"

Harry looked as though Ron had just spoken to him in a foreign language. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I said it was a weird one. He didn't smile once the entire time I talked to him on Saturday."

"Wait, what?"

Ron blinked. "What?"

"You saw Dean on Saturday?"

"What, didn't I tell you?"

"No!"

Ron paused and tried to think over what he'd done during the past two days. "Huh. I guess I didn't. I saw him on Saturday, on my way home."

"Where?" Harry asked, sounding very suspicious.

"A few streets away from the club. He... he said he'd been there."

"Been where?"

"The club."

"The gay club?" Harry asked, barely suppressing a laugh.

"The gay club," Ron confirmed. "He's gay now, too... apparently."

"Huh." Harry thought this over while he finished his sandwich. "Interesting."

"I guess. Anyway, like I said, he didn't smile once. He just stood there pouting with his big pouty lips. Did he–"

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, choking slightly on his last bite as he laughed hysterically. "What did you just say?"

"What?" Ron asked, annoyed that Harry was taking so long to answer his simple question.

"'His big pouty lips,'" Harry repeated, still laughing. "Merlin's beard!"

Ron glared at Harry as he calmed himself down.

"What's so funny about that?" Ron finally asked when Harry was silently wiping tears out of his eyes.

"That might be the gayest thing I've ever heard you say."

Ron pulled a face. "What, do you keep a list in your head of all the gay things I've said?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "Until now, my favorite was, 'his danglers were the size of my feet.' But I think, 'his big pouty lips,' is the new winner."

"I – wow." Ron goggled at Harry. "You really need to find something better to do with your spare time. And please never speak of that man's hideous balls ever again. I only just managed to get that image out of my head and now it's back in there again."

"Always glad to help," Harry said proudly.

"How is the thing about Dean's lips gayer than the thing about that bloke's danglers? That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. I could see some random man's tackle and talk about it if it was that crazy or gross. But I would never, ever talk about another man's lips. I wouldn't ever even notice another man's lips. That was gay as hell, Ron. Do you fancy him?"

"I – Dean?"

"Yeah!"

"No! I just... noticed he never smiled. Merlin. Remind me never to talk to you about this again."

"Please don't deprive me of that," Harry said as he stood up. "I have to get back to work, but if you think of anything else really gay that you want to share, you know where to find me."

"Fuck off," Ron called out as Harry left and closed the door. He sat back in his father's chair and sighed heavily. He loved his lunches with Harry; they were always so good-natured and amusing. They had easy, comfortable conversations, even when bantering with each other. However, he was always conflicted when the banter revolved around his sexuality. He liked to hear Harry talk openly about him being gay; it made him feel completely accepted, even embraced. Harry's jokes were assurance that he had no problem with his best mate and flat mate being an openly gay man. On the other hand, it still felt awkward to talk about Ron being gay without mentioning that Harry, too, had once tried to sleep with a man. Ron knew, somewhere inside of him, he knew Harry had moved on from that incident. They had both. (Hadn't they?) But it was weird to hear Harry harp on Ron for being gay when he never talked about what they had once done. It was almost like a tease... like foreplay. He always kept Ron's sexual orientation at the forefront of their friendship, forcing Ron to think about it and admit to it every day. Yet, he never talked about his own orientation. And Ron couldn't hear Harry talk about him being gay without remembering that Harry had tried to be gay, to be gay with him, once upon a time. It seemed to Ron that Harry was always thinking about it, too; otherwise, he wouldn't comment on Ron's gayness nearly as much as he did.

"You're still here," Arthur said, opening the door and startling Ron out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, standing up and letting his father sit. "I lost track of time."

"How's your day going?"

"It's pretty boring. My case was closed and now I'm just filing."

"Hm." Arthur frowned. "Robards doesn't have anything else for you to do?"

"You know he doesn't."

Arthur nodded. "Well... just, you know, keep working on it. We all have to pay our dues."

Ron shrugged. "I guess. Anyway, I have to get back to it." He waved and left his father's office without another word.





"You were right," Ron said when he entered his flat that night and found Harry on the sofa, holding a beer.

"I'm always right."

Ron ignored this and took off his work robes, leaving on his trousers and a white tee-shirt. He pulled a beer out of the six-pack on the kitchen table and sat down next to Harry with a sigh.

"What was I right about?" Harry prompted.

"About Robards being a cocksucker. Do you know what he had me doing after lunch?"

"More filing?"

Ron opened the beer and took a long, refreshing gulp. "He had me design a new template for case reports. I mean, Merlin's nuts, I am not his bloody secretary! I am an Auror!"

Harry shook his head. "He really is a cocksucker."

"Did he have you doing this shit last year?"

"Well – no, but I think... I mean, you know how pigheaded he is."

"Harry Potter doesn't file," Ron muttered before taking another sip of his beer. "Cocksucker."

"Do you... I can try to see if I can get you transferred to the case I'm working on, if you want."

Ron paused to think about this as he continued drinking. "I wouldn't risk it. It's not worth it."

Harry shrugged. He would have loved to work with Ron, but Robards had been clear from the beginning that they were to remain separate at work. They were never assigned to the same case, never partnered in Ministry trainings or meetings, never consulted together. Robards viewed their friendship as a weak point for both of them, for reasons best known only to himself. Harry and Ron had learned to deal with it, Harry grumpily and Ron slightly less so; he was secretly glad for Robards' intervention. While it would be fun to work with Harry on occasion, Ron definitely didn't want it to become common place. They lived together, after all. Some space was needed for both their sanities.

"I'm sorry I can't help more, then."

"It's not your fault," Ron said tiredly. "Robards is just a cocksucker. And I still don't understand why the hell Kelley and Edwards aren't back, or why they sent their report through a fucking turkey."

Harry snorted. "Some of these Aurors..." He paused to finish off his beer. "They're quite lazy."

"That's the understatement of my life."





"Seamus. Seamus, Seamus, Seamus."

"Dildo."

Ron stopped in his tracks and did his best to ignore the disgusted looks of the shocked passers-by. "Did... did you just call me–"

"A dildo. Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?" Ron gestured for Seamus to keep walking. He followed closely, not wanting to lose his friend on the crowded pavement.

"Like I'm five years old. How was work?"

"Stupid," Ron said. He had spent another day filing and writing templates while waiting for a new case assignment. Robards wanted to keep him working with Kelley and Edwards, but they still hadn't returned yet. "How was yours?"

"Stupid." Seamus worked for the Daily Prophet and generally hated the job. Ron had run into Seamus leaving the Prophet headquarters on his way home from work.

"I have a question for you," he said a bit menacingly.

"Come and have a drink." Seamus stopped abruptly and turned into a pub without waiting for Ron's response.

Ron followed Seamus inside and only ordered a beer, though Seamus ordered nearly half the food on the menu and a large mug of ale.

"I ran into someone the other day," Ron said casually, tracing the rim of his beer glass with a fingertip.

"Fascinating, really."

"An old friend of ours."

"Sounds dangerous," Seamus said in a bored voice. Ron could see straight through the unaffected facade; Seamus knew what was coming.

"Why didn't you tell us Dean was back?"

Seamus paused for a moment, then heaved a great sigh. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "It didn't occur to me."

"Bullshit. He's been your best mate since you were eleven. You knew he was back and you kept it a secret."

Seamus shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with Ron's line of questioning. "I don't know," he said again. "Things are different now. We're different now... he's different now. People change, Ron... it's been more than five years since he left. He's not... he's not the same. He doesn't do magic, he doesn't – he's just different."

"So you keep saying," Ron said, watching Seamus squirm with curiosity. "I know he's gay, if that's what you're referring to."

Seamus shrugged again. "Not really. It's not like I – look, what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, guys, Dean is back, but he's not interested in us or magic anymore, so let's invite him out for a drink.' Honestly."

Ron frowned. "Are you really – you really don't talk to him at all?"

"We talk. I guess. Not often."

"Have you seen him since he got back?"

Seamus gave a short nod. "Once, yeah. Only briefly, though. You know, it's really not that big of a deal. People change, they grow apart. It's what happens when we grow up. There's no mystery here, Weasley. It's a simple story."

Ron shook his head. "You went to visit him in America. More than once. That's not something you do with casual friends you grow apart from as soon as they're on the same continent as you."

"I'm done talking about this," Seamus said suddenly. His food arrived and he stopped for a moment, suddenly conscious of the waiter and all the other people who could hear him. "I told you, there's no mystery, there's no story. So he's back, so what? If you want to see him, see him. This conversation's over."

Ron drank his beer in silence as Seamus ate dinner, and then excused himself to go back home.





The next night, Ron sent an owl to Dean asking him to dinner that weekend. Harry had already made plans with Ginny, but Ron didn't care. He wanted more time with Dean; he wanted to crack the mystery of Dean and Seamus' broken friendship.

Pig came back an hour later with a short note. Ron read it several times, trying to name the emotion he felt at seeing Dean's handwriting for the first time in so many years. He wasn't generally a nostalgic person, but that feeling in his stomach, or was it in his spine, was so odd, and so strong.

Ron,
Dinner on Friday would be great. Let me know when and where you want to meet.
Can't wait to see you again,
Dean

Ron put the note on his nightstand and sat down on his bed. He had too much nervous energy, he decided; he needed to get laid. In two nights, he would be having dinner with Dean, the boy who dated his sister, the boy who almost died in hiding during the war, the boy who fought like crazy to help defeat Voldemort, the boy who shipped off to America as soon as the war was over, the boy who became a gay man and moved back home with his big pouty lips.

Harry opened Ron's bedroom door. "Have you eaten dinner?"

Ron looked up blankly. "What?"

"Have you eaten dinner?"

"Oh. What? No." Ron stood up and closed his window. "Not yet. What do we have?"





"My, my, my. Don't we look nice."

Ron turned to find George standing behind him in his room. He had been looking at himself in the mirror for several minutes, trying to figure out if he was overdressed for his dinner with Dean.

"Do you think it's too much?" he asked.

"Too much for what?"

"For dinner."

George lay down on Ron's bed. "Is it a dinner date?"

"No. It's just dinner." Ron sighed and pulled off the argyle jumper he was wearing. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see your transformation myself."

"Transformation?" Ron asked distractedly as he went back to his closet for the twentieth time that evening. He pulled out a solid blue jumper and considered it for a moment.

"Your transformation into a woman."

Ron looked up, saw the smirk on George's face, and tossed the blue jumper at his brother. "You're such a prick."

"And you're such a poofter. You're debating what to wear. And it's not even a date."

"Shut up," Ron growled, grabbing the blue jumper out of George's hands before he could do any damage to it. "It's a – a difficult time of year to dress for. The weather and all." He could feel himself blushing at this horribly lame excuse, so he turned away and pulled the jumper over his head. "Anyway, you have to go. I'm leaving in five minutes."

"Who's your date with?"

"It's not a date," Ron said firmly, checking his messy hair in the mirror. "Get out of my flat."

"Who's your not-a-date with?"

"Get out and find your own damn date."

"So it is a date!"

Ron ignored this and did his best to tame his shaggy mane. There was no luck to be had.

"Seriously." George stood up and followed Ron out of the bedroom. "Who're you going out with?"

"Angelina," Ron said flatly.

George hit Ron hard in the chest. "It's not fucking funny."

"Shit, George!" Ron held a hand up to his aching chest, panting slightly. "What the hell was that for?"

"I told you, it's not fucking funny."

Ron shoved George roughly, angry with his brother for always ruining his good moods. "If you're in love with her – or him – just admit it, George. Moping is getting you nowhere and I'm tired of dealing with it. Just grow a pair and bloody talk to them about it, all right?"

George shook his head, apparently too furious for words. He glared mutinously at Ron, then left without another word.

"Good riddance," Ron muttered, grabbing his coat and his wallet before following his brother out.

Outside, he saw George one street away, heading in the direction of Diagon Alley. He watched his brother's retreating back for a moment before turning and walking in the opposite direction. He was meeting Dean for Indian food a few streets away, and he didn't want to be late. As far as Ron was concerned, George had moped enough in the last five years to last a life time, and for all Ron cared in that moment, he could keep on moping for the rest of his life.

Years ago, when Ron had been living with George and helping out with the shop, George had been the one who helped Ron realize who he was and what he wanted. George had been the one who confronted Ron about his intimate friendship with Harry, the one who supported Ron in his decision to visit gay bars and leave Hermione, the one who accepted a gay brother with open arms and no questions.

However, ever since Ron had moved out for more privacy for sex with men, ever since Lee had moved into the empty room in George's apartment to keep him company, ever since Ron had applied to the Auror department and left George to work in the shop by himself, George had been moping. Of course, he had moped before then, too; he had moped about Fred for years and would continue to do so for the rest of his life. No one was going to begrudge him that. This type of moping, though, this moping about Lee and Angelina, was superfluous. Ron wanted nothing to do with it, especially if George had the gall to advise his brothers on matters of the heart without taking his own advice.





By the time he got to the Indian restaurant, Ron was ready for a drink, preferably wine. George's problems always put him in the mood for alcohol.

Dean was already inside, loitering awkwardly by the front door, when Ron arrived. He was wearing tight jeans that showed off his arse in a way Ron was not prepared for.

"Find the place okay?" Ron asked, shedding his coat.

Dean nodded. "Your directions were good. Very detailed."

Ron detected a trace of humour in Dean's tone, though there was no smile on his face. "It's a bad habit, I know. I write directions that could get an illiterate five-year-old from France to China and back again."

"It was a two page note," Dean said, frowning slightly as the host walked up to them. "You know I've lived in a city before, don't you? I'm not completely hopeless when it comes to getting myself from one place to another."

Ron smiled apologetically as they were led to a table and seated with some menus. "I told you, it's a bad habit. It turns out that Ginny is actually completely hopeless when it comes to getting herself from one place to another. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as incompetent as she is."

Dean glanced up from the menu he had started inspecting. "Is she really that bad?"

Ron nodded. "I know you wouldn't think so, but she is. She can't tell a street corner from the Burrow's garden. Honestly, she's a smart girl, but blimey does she manage to get herself lost."

"Hm."

Ron wondered if that was as close as Dean got to laughing. They ordered, Ron getting his usual Chicken tikka masala and Dean asking for a mixed vegetable curry.

"Their chicken's really good," Ron said as the waiter took the menus away and they were left to wait for their food in peace. It was a large restaurant and the only other patrons were on the other side of the room. "You should try it next time."

"Oh, I don't eat meat anymore," Dean explained, unrolling his silverware from his napkin. "I'm a vegetarian." He placed the white cloth napkin in his lap and looked up at Ron's surprised face. "How is Ginny, by the way? Other than perpetually lost?"

Ron remembered suddenly that Dean had dated Ginny. He wondered why this was a fact so easily forgotten. "She's good. She and Harry are together at the moment, so she's pretty content."

"At the moment?"

Ron shrugged and fingered his own napkin nervously, feeling for the silverware tucked inside it. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that. They've been together for about a year this time, I think. Well, really, they've been more or less together the entire time. It's just that they... take a lot of breaks, and... break up pretty frequently. Or, I guess they used to. Like I said, it's been about a year this time, so maybe it'll last. They seem a lot calmer now, so..."

"Why'd they break up so often? They seemed like a perfect match at school, as much as I hated to admit it back then."

Ron unrolled his napkin and put it in his lap as the waiter came by to give them water. "There were a lot of reasons," he explained. "Harry was really stressed out for a few years after the war. And he, I mean, don't spread this around, not that it isn't obvious, but still. He's got a lot of, you know, emotional baggage. I mean, he's a really put-together bloke, considering everything he's been through. But when it comes to being that close and intimate with someone... well, it's difficult for everyone, but especially for him. He tries, though. Godric knows, he does try. They longest they were ever broken up was barely two months. They... I mean, they love each other. I think they'll probably get married, but don't mention that to either of them. It stresses them out."

Dean nodded. "I'll try to remember that."

Ron bit back a smile. "So... you don't eat meat? Is that a new thing?"

"Fairly new," Dean admitted. "I've only been doing it for the past two years."

"What made you decide to do it? I mean... that seems pretty drastic."

"It's not, really. It's simple as long as you know what you're doing. I had this friend, in school, and he was a vegetarian. He was always trying to persuade me to do it and I always refused. Then he graduated, he's a year older than me, and for some reason I decided to try it out. Maybe I missed him, I don't know. But then I did some research and it just seemed like something that was worth sticking with."

Ron contemplated this as their food and wine arrived.

"That's kind of weird, isn't it?" he asked after taking a long sip of his drink. "Not eating meat? I mean, you love eating meat."

Dean cleared his throat as he mixed together some vegetable curry and rice.

"You don't laugh a lot, do you?" Ron asked, deciding that, after his terrible joke, there was no way around the obvious question.

"Um... no." Dean furrowed his brow slightly as he stared down at his food.

"Is there any reason, or..." Ron trailed off as he realized that he had no right to be asking such a question. He and Dean had never been that close; he shouldn't be prying. If Dean didn't want to smile, then he didn't have to smile. It was that simple. Ron was about to apologize for sticking his nose where it didn't belong when Dean finally responded.

"Just, you know... emotional baggage."

Ron's eyes widened in surprise at Dean's answer. He looked closely at the man across the table, at Dean's sad and almost shameful eyes, at his big pouty lips, at his serious and concerned-looking brow. This was not the Dean he went to school with. This was not the Dean he had fought with against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He didn't know this man at all. Seamus was right; Dean had changed.

"Yeah," he said quietly, glancing down at his own food and thinking of Harry's emotional baggage, and of his own. "I do know."

Dean cleared his throat again and started eating. "I'm curious," he said after a few minutes of thick silence. "If I may ask, when did you... I thought, at the end of the war, that you had just started dating Hermione."

Ron took another long sip of his wine, wondering how much information he wanted to, or should, reveal. "Yeah, we... we didn't last that long. About a year, I guess. I didn't really realize... um, anything, really. Not until George pointed it out to me. And, actually, I guess it's sort of funny. I went to visit Hermione at Hogwarts after the winter holiday, during a Hogsmeade weekend. You know, we met up in the village and walked around and had tea and everything. And there was this couple, this gay couple, that we kept seeing." He paused for another drink.

"What, students?" Dean asked, looking dumbfounded.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I was surprised, too. I'd never heard, you know, about anyone being gay at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn't either. She said they were the first openly gay couple she'd ever known about at the school, or that anyone else had ever known about at the school. It was..." Ron shook his head. "It was distracting and a bit alarming. By that point, I was already really confused. George had said all these weird things to me about my friendship with Harry and my relationship with Hermione and I really just felt like I had no idea who I was at all, you know?"

"I do know," Dean affirmed with a meaningful look.

"Yeah. Well. So, there was that. Then... I guess I came back to London and tried going out to a few gay bars. I was basically trying to convince myself that I wasn't gay, but obviously all I did was the exact opposite. So, when Hermione finished school and came back for the summer, I broke up with her. It was bloody awful. Everyone was upset and I didn't want to come out or anything, but I pretty much had to at that point. It was either that or be fed to the wolves."

"Wolves," Dean repeated quietly. "I guess people didn't respond too well to your coming out."

"Some people did. George, obviously, and Harry. A lot of other people just needed more time. There aren't many gay wizards, as you probably know. I mean, most witches and wizards don't even know what homosexuality is. At least, they didn't then. It's been about four years and things have changed a bit... probably because I've been so rude about it the whole time. But, you know, someone has to do it."

"Someone has to do what? Be rude?"

"No, fight to be accepted. Professionally, personally... I did a lot of stupid things, but if the next gay wizard who comes along doesn't have to go through the same bullshit I did with his family or the Ministry, then it was worth it, you know? No one at the Ministry knows what they're doing when it comes to this stuff. They're all a bunch of ignorant tossers and I had to teach them that I'm fucking normal and still deserve to be treated like a human being. I mean, it was ridiculous, but someone had to do it."

Dean was staring hard at Ron, taking in every word. "Wow," he said after a long moment. "That's a lot more than what I had to do."

"What did you have to do?" Ron prompted, pushing food around on his plate with his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore. He didn't like to think about the earlier days of his budding and open sexuality. George had been a different person back then; he had been kind and supportive. He and Ron had been best friends for a while, most especially when Ron had been having difficulties with the rest of the family, or the Ministry, or Harry.

"All I had to do was tell a few friends at uni and suddenly everyone knew. My school was a bit of a rumour mill, I guess. And I had to tell my sister, but she didn't really care at all. She wasn't even surprised. I sort of was, but she keeps saying that she's known since we were young."

"I've heard that a few times, too," Ron said, thinking of Bill and his infuriating insinuations. "But what else are siblings for, if not driving us mad? George was above and beyond supportive when everything started happening, and now he acts like I'm a bad person when I go out to a club. He's the worst kind of hypocrite, too."

"How's that?"

"He's–" Ron stopped himself, knowing he shouldn't voice his suspicions, especially to someone he barely knew anymore, without at least talking to George first. "Just, you know, emotional baggage. Anyway, at least your sister took it well. What about your mum? Mine went a bit ballistic at first. Said she hadn't done right by me and all sorts of rubbish like that. She's fine with it now, but it definitely took her a while to really come around to it."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Mums are like that."

"Was yours?"

Dean shook his head, staring at his full glass of wine. "My mum passed away before I could tell her. Before I knew, really. The summer after the war, just before I went off to school," he added, seeing Ron's questioning face.

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly. "I had no idea."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Thanks." He paused, staring at Ron's shoulder, and then continued, unconvincingly, "I'm sure she would have been fine with it, though. She had a few gay friends I met when I was younger."

Ron nodded, unsure what else to say.

Dean checked his watch. "I want to thank you for asking me out to dinner," he said in a tone that struck Ron as far too businesslike. "I haven't been that social with anyone except my sister and her kids since I moved back here. It's nice to see someone I actually know, instead of just random strangers. And you... you're a lot easier to talk to than I remember. I mean, I didn't hate you or anything, but even when we were living together at Bill's, we weren't that close, were we?"

"Well, no," Ron admitted awkwardly. "But, circumstances... we couldn't risk you and Luna..."

"I know," Dean said quickly and apologetically. "I know. I wasn't trying to say anything mean. All I meant was, we were never that close. But it doesn't feel that way now. This was a really nice dinner. We should do it again soon, and try to get Harry to come along next time."

Ron nodded, realizing that Dean was ending the night and getting ready to leave. He still hadn't quite figured out what had happened with Dean and Seamus, though.

"Yeah, definitely. You know, most Fridays, Harry goes out drinking with Seamus and Neville. I don't usually go, but we should definitely have a Gryffindor Tower reunion. What do you say? We could set it up for next week."

Dean shook his head. "No," he said quickly, not quite meeting Ron's gaze. "I'd rather just go out to dinner with you and Harry. I'll see the others at some point, I'm sure. You know... small steps."

Ron smiled sympathetically and watched as Dean called and paid for the check.

"Wait," he said, realizing too late what was going on. "I can pay for my own dinner."

"It's on me," Dean insisted, handing off the money to the waiter before Ron could protest. "It's my treat. I haven't seen you in five years. It's a welcome back present."

"To yourself?" Ron asked. "If it's a welcome back present, technically, I should have paid."

"Details." Dean waved his hand to dismiss the topic. "Anyway, I'd love to do this again next week, if you and Harry have time."

"I'll tell him tomorrow," Ron said, standing and putting on his coat. "I'll make sure he has time."

"Great. Sounds like a plan, then." Dean followed Ron out into the cold November night. "I'll see you next week," he said, holding out his right hand while reaching into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with his left hand.

Ron shook Dean's hand and said goodbye before walking off, checking over his shoulder a few times to watch Dean go off in the opposite direction, the trail marked by puffs of smoke.





Ron decided to end his Friday night with a blowjob. He didn't need sex and he didn't particularly want to give anyone else a blowjob, but it had been an abnormally long time since someone else had gotten him off, and an evening of sitting across from the beautifully sad Dean had pushed him over the edge. He needed a blowjob.

"What are you drinking?" the first man to approach him at the gay bar asked.

Ron sized up the man quickly; he had tuggable blond hair and rather plump lips. "I'm not drinking anything," Ron answered, smiling. He was still lightheaded from the wine he'd had at the Indian restaurant. "But if you want," he lowered his voice slightly and the blond man leaned closer, smirking, "you could meet me in the loo in two minutes."

Without waiting for a response, Ron got up from the bar and went to go relieve himself. Twenty minutes later, he was on his way back to his flat, feeling extremely satisfied. The blond man's lips had felt just as amazing on his cock as he had hoped, Harry was spending the night at Ginny's, George's problems could wait until the next day, Dean had been lovely at dinner, and Ron was ready for sleep.





"What did you say to him?" Lee asked, opening the door to his and George's flat and staring at Ron.

Ron stared back. "What?"

"What did you say to him?" Lee repeated. "He didn't come home until four in the morning. I haven't seen him that shitfaced in years, Ron. Years. What. Did. You. Say."

Ron sighed and pushed his way past Lee and into the flat. "I didn't say anything," he lied. "He's just being dramatic. Where is he?"

"In his room."

Ron looked out the open door of the flat, considering the option of leaving and coming back in a few days. Then Lee closed the door.

"How're things with Angie?" he asked, wanting to avoid going into George's room as long as he could.

Lee shrugged. "Things would be better if our best mate didn't hate us."

"He doesn't hate you," Ron reassured him. "He just... needs some time to get used to it."

"Really?" Lee asked pointedly. "You think time is going to fix this?"

"I don't know what I think," Ron admitted. "I'm an Auror, not a matchmaker."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lee asked, staring confusedly as Ron headed toward the door to George's room.

Ron said nothing and entered George's room without knocking. George was lying on his bed and reading. He looked pale and tired.

"I heard you had a fun night," Ron tried, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it.

George grunted. "I had hot sex in a stranger's bedroom. How was your date?"

"It wasn't a date. I went to dinner with Dean."

George looked up from his book. "Dean's back?"

Ron nodded. "Dean's back. We had Indian food. Where did you go?"

"A club."

"Which club?"

"It doesn't matter," George said, looking back down at his book. "I had sex, you had Indian, Lee had Angelina. Sounds like a pretty good Friday night to me."

"George," Ron said, making up his mind on how to deal with the situation. "You need to talk to Lee. You're not being fair to him. He has no idea what's going on."

"I have no idea what's going on," George said wildly, putting his book down and sitting up slightly. "My best mate is dating my dead brother's girlfriend. They've both moved on. They're normal, healthy, happy people. And now I'm this sad, sick fuck with obvious problems. They didn't used to be obvious! We used to suffer together! Now they're together and I'm over here and I'm fucking alone and miserable and all they want me to do is accept their relationship. I'm not bloody accepting it! They're fucking traitors and they're completely blind to it."

Ron slid down the door and sat heavily on the floor, trying to comprehend this. "You're upset because you think they've moved on?" he asked.

"I'm upset because they shouldn't be together," George said stubbornly.

"But they are together. If you had someone, someone who made you look and feel like less of an outsider, would you be any less upset?"

"I don't know how to answer that question," George practically shouted, surprising Ron. "I mean, who is this person? No, why the fuck are you here, Ron?"

"I'm here because you're my brother. You helped me through all my personal crises and now I'm here to help you. This person is Angelina. If Angelina was with you instead of Lee, would that be better?"

"Don't even joke," George said darkly, glaring across the room at Ron. "I could never – she dated Fred, Ron. Even if she wanted to be with me... I mean, how sick would that be? We look the same. That would... Merlin, that wouldn't be healthy at all. For anyone. Ever." George looked down at his lap and shook his head. "Being with Angelina wouldn't solve anything. I don't even fancy her. What's the point of this conversation?"

"What if the person was Lee?" Ron asked quietly.

George stopped shaking his head, but did not lift his gaze from his lap. "What?"

"What if the person was Lee? What if you were with Lee? What if Lee was with you instead of Angelina? Would that make it better? If Angie was dating someone else, anyone else, and you were dating Lee, would you still feel this way?"

"Get out," George said suddenly, looking fiercely up at Ron.

"I'm not moving," Ron said calmly. "You can't just tell me it's okay to be this way and then refuse to acknowledge who you are. What am I supposed to do with that? Is everything you said to me a lie? Were you just humouring me? Or did you believe it and you're really just that big of a coward?"

"Get out," George repeated, standing and moving over to the door. "Get out of my room," he growled down at Ron. "Get out of my flat. Get out! Get. Out."

Ron stood up very slowly. "It's painfully obvious, George," he said softly, opening the door and stepping out of the room. "All you have to do is tell him. You never know... things might work out in your favor."

George closed the door in his face.

"Any luck?" Lee asked from the kitchen.

Ron shrugged and headed to the front door again. "He needs some more time." With his hand on the doorknob, Ron paused and looked back at George's room. He glanced at Lee, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. "Lee?" he asked, unsure if he should really go through with this.

"Yeah."

"You know that... that George is gay, don't you?"

Lee looked up from the paper and stared at Ron for a long, tense moment. "Yeah," he finally said, lowering his gaze back to the paper. "Yeah, I know."

Ron nodded and let himself out of the flat without saying goodbye.





"Fancy meeting you here."

Ron turned to see if the voice was addressing him and found himself staring at Dean.

"Oh," he said stupidly. "I thought – uh, you'd be at the club, so I..."

"So you came here to avoid me?" Dean asked. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or worried about you."

Ron flushed and turned back to the bar to take a drink of his beer. Dean sat on the stool next to him and ordered a martini. When it was placed in front of him, he grabbed the toothpick out of the glass and ate the two olives.

"Did you really come here to avoid seeing me at that club?" he asked, swirling the toothpick idly in the martini.

Ron drummed his fingers on the side of his beer. "Uh. Not... not exactly. I just thought it would be awkward if I saw you there. You know, because... because I saw you last night and when we said goodbye, it sounded like we weren't planning on seeing each other again until next weekend..."

Dean snorted and started drinking his martini. "You thought way too much into that," he said flatly.

"I do that sometimes," Ron admitted. "So, are you more of a gay bar sort of bloke," he asked, gesturing around the establishment they were sitting in, "or a gay club sort of bloke?"

"I'm not really any sort of bloke," Dean said, shrugging. "I don't go to gay bars that often. I don't go to gay clubs that often. I've just been... a bit lonely, I guess, since I've moved here. So I tell myself that I should go out and flirt and maybe go home with someone, but I always lose my nerve once I'm actually out here, you know?"

"No. How could you lose your nerve to flirt with men? You're gorgeous, I bet you had blokes in America lining up for miles to be with you."

To Ron's surprise, Dean blushed. "I'm not... there really weren't that many blokes in America who wanted to be with me," he mumbled. "Or maybe I just didn't want to be with any of them. Either way, I'm... I'm really out of practice when it comes to flirting."

"That's a bit sad," Ron said after finishing his beer and asking the bartender for a refill. "I'm sure it wouldn't take that much effort for you to pull."

Dean turned to eye Ron carefully. "You're quite drunk, aren't you?"

Ron nodded. "I am." He leaned down to sip at the head of his fresh beer. "It doesn't take a lot of effort for me to pull, either, but I like to be good and smashed for it."

"Um. Why?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. That's just what I do. None of these blokes actually matter, do they? I'm just out here for a shag, same as you."

"I'm... not out here for a shag," Dean said softly, then turned back to the bar and drank the rest of his martini.

"You're trying to find a boyfriend, then?" Ron asked, surprised.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know what I'm out here for. Like I said, I always lose my nerve, so... it really doesn't matter what I'm here for because it never happens."

"What?" Ron asked, unable to follow Dean's logic in his state of drunkenness.

"It doesn't matter." Dean checked his watch. "I think I'm ready to leave."

"You've only been here ten minutes!"

"I know, but..." Dean glanced around at the other men in the bar. "There's nothing here I want to do... except maybe sit and talk to you, but you're drunk and trying to pull, so I should just get home."

"Do you live around here?" Ron asked curiously.

Dean shrugged. "Not really. All the more reason for me to leave now."

"No," Ron said firmly, standing up and grabbing his beer. "You're lonely and you should be social. I'll introduce you to people. You don't have to sleep with them," he added quickly, seeing Dean about to protest. "Just talk with them. They're nice."

He grabbed Dean's arm with his free hand and led Dean over to a table where three good-looking Muggle men sat with a pretty Muggle woman.

"Ron," a blond man said, looking up as they reached the table. "It's not like you to introduce us to your dates," he teased. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were cold and unwelcoming as they looked over Dean.

Ron let go of Dean's arm. "He's not my date, he's an old friend of mine from school. He's just moved to London, so he doesn't know anyone yet. Dean, this is Robert, Sean, that's William in the corner, and Mary, Sean's sister."

Dean nodded rather solemnly at the small crowd. "Hello."

"He's quite fit," William said, leering up at Dean with a mischievous smile.

"Ignore him," Ron said firmly as he pulled two chairs over from another table. "He's going to try to sleep with you, but I'd just say no if I were you."

"Hey!" William pouted, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. "So rude, Ronnie."

Ron sat down in the chair next to Robert and motioned Dean to sit down in between him and Mary. "Go on, they won't bite."

"Speak for yourself," William snapped. "Ronnie has a way of scaring off all my catches," he told Dean bitterly.

"You mean stealing," Ron said helpfully. "He means stealing," he said to Dean. "I steal all his 'catches' because I don't threaten to bite them."

William bared his teeth at Ron, showing off their rather sharp and pointed tips. "The boys love it when I bite."

"So, what do you do?" Sean asked Dean in an attempt to end the banter between Ron and William.

"Graphic design, mostly," Dean explained, grateful for the change in subject. "Usually I'm freelance, but I just got a part-time job with a small publishing house, so we'll see how that goes."

"I didn't know you did all that," Ron said blankly, staring at Dean as though he'd never seen the man before.

"Some old friend you are," William said.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but paused when he felt two hands grab his thighs to stop him speaking. He gulped nervously and then tried to glance subtly under the table. Robert had put a hand on his left leg, and Dean a hand on his right. Not knowing what to do, he took a long drink of his beer.

When Mary began asking Dean more about his job, he took his hand off Ron's thigh, apparently satisfied that Ron wouldn't be making a rude comment to William. Robert, however, kept his hand on Ron's thigh and squeezed it slightly when Ron finally put his beer down. Ron leaned back in his chair and sighed in hopes of releasing some of the awkward tension that had just consumed him.

He continued drinking his beer, feeling himself slip farther and farther into the realm of drunkenness as Dean made polite conversation with his friends. Robert kept a firm yet playful grip on Ron's thigh, occasionally rubbing his thumb along the seam of Ron's jeans or sliding his pinky teasingly up the inside of Ron's thigh, always stopping just short of Ron's crotch before sliding back down.

Ron was half-hard and not listening to a word of what Dean was saying, even though he felt bad that he knew nothing about Dean's life now. He knew he should be listening, should be learning about the man he had called an old friend, but he was so warm and so drunk and Robert's hand felt so good.

"Ron. Ron."

Robert's hand gave his leg a hard squeeze and he looked up to see Dean staring at him.

"I'm going to head out," he said, looking slightly concerned at Ron's bleary expression. "Are you okay to get home? Do you want to come with me?"

"I'll get him home safely," Robert said, grinning. "It's a short walk."

Dean looked between Robert and Ron a few times before rising to leave. "It was nice meeting you all. See you next weekend," he added, not quite looking Ron in the eye.

"You're such a prick," Sean said, rolling his eyes at Robert.

Robert winked and turned to watch Dean leave the bar. "He seems nice," he said pointedly.

"He's bloody perfect," William whined longingly. "Tall, dark, handsome, smart, brooding... what more could you ask for?"

"What about me, then?" Sean asked, gesturing at himself. "I'm tall, dark, and handsome."

"Yes, dear, but you're also my best friend. I need new meat."

"You're both hopeless," Mary said.

Ron hiccoughed lazily and found himself being pulled up by Robert. "Come on, Mr. Tall, Pale, and Handsome. I'm taking you home."

Ron waved vaguely at the table of his friends as Robert escorted him out of the bar and began walking him home.





Ron woke up the next morning to the sound of heavy knocking on his door. He let out a low groan and flung an arm over his eyes, willing it to stop. His head was pounding and his stomach felt extremely uneasy.

When the insistent knocking didn't stop, Ron flung the sheets back and got out of his bed. To his surprise, he was naked. He looked back down at his bed and his heart sank.

"Coming!" he said, pulling on a fresh pair of pants and hoping all the noise wouldn't wake Robert. He went over to his door and opened it just enough for him to sneak out of it. Harry was standing outside his room, looking exhausted and apologetic.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I would have just come in to wake you up, but..."

Ron glanced out into the living room and saw his and Robert's clothes lining a trail from the front door to his bedroom. He smiled uneasily. "Er. Yeah."

"You've had an owl." Harry handed Ron a black envelop.

Ron cursed and opened it quickly, knowing it was an emergency message from the Ministry.

Auror Weasley,
Problems with your case.
Report to Auror Department by 9am.
Auror Robards

Ron looked up at Harry. "What time is it?"

"Eight forty-five."

"Shite." Ron ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes hard. "Do we have any hangover potion?"

"I'll go get you some. You should..." he looked at Ron's door.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll... we'll be out in a minute." He opened his door enough to get back inside, then closed it behind him. Robert was sitting up against the pillows, staring over at him. "There's an emergency at work," Ron explained quickly. "I have to be there at nine."

Robert checked his watch. "I don't think you're going to make it."

"I have to make it," Ron said. "And you have to go. I have to go." Without waiting for a response, Ron began getting ready. He pulled on Muggle clothes and began stuffing his Ministry robes into a backpack, hoping Robert wasn't paying attention. He shoved his wand into his sock and covered it with the leg of his trousers.

Robert dressed as much as he could with the clothes that were in Ron's room, but had no luck in finding his jeans. "Have you seen the rest of my things?" he asked, ruffling through the sheets.

"Out in the living room. I'll go get them for you." Ron dodged out of the room, almost walked right into Harry, grabbed the hangover potion out of his hands, and downed it in one gulp. "Disgusting," he rasped. "Give him his jeans, will you?" he asked as he reached down to pull his wand out of his sock. Before Harry could say anything, Ron spun and Disapparated.





Ron reached Robards' office at 9:01am, his robes barely on straight and his head still aching from the previous night's drinking. He knocked on the door and heard a loud, unintelligible bark from Robards. Deciding not to risk the assumption he was supposed to enter at that noise, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, willing his headache to go away.

Three minutes later, the door opened and Ron straightened up again, feeling slightly more human thanks to Harry's hangover potion.

"Weasley," Robards said, frowning severely at him.

"Yes, sir."

Robards thrust a folder into his hands. "Go over all these case reports."

Ron looked down at the folder, dumbfounded. "Sir?"

"Go over the case reports," Robards repeated, his voice low and rough, "and figure out where the hell Kelley and Edwards are."

Ron opened the folder and was met with a stack of case reports he had written himself. What was he supposed to find there that would answer any questions? How did this assignment qualify as an emergency?

"I... I take it this means they're still not back?" he asked.

Robards glared menacingly at Ron and Ron found himself taking a step back. "Find. Them," he growled.

"Yes, sir," Ron said quickly. He gave a short wave goodbye and then retreated to his cubicle as fast as he could.





"Robards is sending me out to die," Ron said as soon as he walked back into his flat that afternoon.

"He's not out to kill you," Harry said dully from the sofa, "though I might be."

Ron threw off his Ministry robes. "Why?"

"Robert, Ron?" Harry practically shouted, turning to stare incredulously at Ron. "Robert? Again?"

"I – hey! I was drunk and it's none of your business, anyway!"

"It's my business when you make bad decisions that affect your friendships and hurt people we both care about."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Why on earth would you care about Robert?"

"Because he's a nice person, Ron," Harry exclaimed, standing up and turning to face his flatmate. "He's nice to you, he's nice to me, and you've done nothing but lead him on for years!"

"I don't lead him on," Ron tried to defend himself. "I just... just..."

"Just sleep with him every few months for fun? You know he's in love with you!"

Ron rolled his eyes to dismiss this idea, though his insides were squirming with uneasiness and he could feel himself going red. "He's not in love with me. We're just friends... and he knows that. He knows we're just friends and he... he's perfectly capable of... it's not like I'm forcing him to sleep with me!"

"You swore last time you weren't going to do it again."

"I was drunk!" Ron shouted, throwing up his arms. "I don't even remember leaving the bar last night. I have no idea how I got home, I have no idea what happened with Robert, I'm not even sure we did have sex. Maybe we just got naked and fell asleep, how the fuck should I know?"

"And that doesn't sound like a problem to you? Jesus, Ron." Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed loudly. "You need to stop drinking so much."

"Fuck off," Ron muttered, storming into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He felt bad enough about spending the night with Robert; he didn't need shit about it from Harry. So he'd made a mistake. So what? He'd made worse mistakes in the past. Yes, sometimes the lines of his friendship with Robert were a little blurry, and yes, sometimes they slept together and Ron felt guilty afterwards because it always seemed like Robert wanted more than that. But, honestly, Ron could take care of himself and his relationships on his own; he didn't need Harry pouncing on him every time he made a bad move with Robert.

Ron sat down on his bed and covered his face with his hands. He liked Robert a lot. Robert was fun to be around, fun to go drinking and dancing with. Robert was gorgeous and had really beautiful green eyes and high cheekbones and the perfect jawline. But that was all it was to Ron. Robert was a good-looking friend and that was all Ron wanted. Occasionally, when drunk, he let his lust and playful affection for Robert get out of hand and mistakes were made. But it took two people to make those mistakes and Robert had never complained or acted much differently after sex.

And Ron was one hundred percent sure that Robert was not in love with him. (Even though sometimes Robert was a bit rude to other men that Ron flirted with. And sometimes, if Ron was sleeping regularly with one person, Robert would stop talking to both of them until the affair ended. And last night, at the bar, his hand on Ron's thigh had been so possessive, as if he were exerting his claim on Ron in front of Ron's old friend.)

"Bugger," Ron sighed into his palms.





Ron did not know what to do. The last twelve hours had been a frenzied, panicked, emotional blur and now, rather suddenly, he was in the Swiss Alps. The self-heating charm he had cast as soon as his Portkey had landed was taking far too long to warm up, his winter robes were bulky and awkward to climb around in, and he had no real directions in mind.

It was his job to find Kelley and Edwards. They were two of Robards' favourite Aurors, and as far as Robards was concerned, it was Ron's fault they were lost somewhere in mainland Europe. Ron had made a hasty Floo call to Hagrid that morning to see if he had any insights about hunting down giants, but he hadn't been in his hut. The only thing Ron knew to do was go to the last location Kelley and Edwards had specified – the Bernese Highlands in Switzerland.

He knew there were villages somewhat nearby to where he had arrived, but he did not want to involve himself with either the locals or the tourists. He didn't know any of the languages spoken in this country, and had neither passport nor much money. Robards hadn't given him anything to help him on his search – no money for food or shelter, no maps, no extra protection for warmth, no hints about useful spells, and, most preposterously, no partner. Ron felt utterly helpless all the way out here by himself; he felt as though Robards had completely and purposely abandoned him and sent him out to die as punishment for not doing more to help investigate the case sooner.

Ron attempted to take a deep, steadying breath as he felt his heart racing toward a panic attack. He sat on the ground and covered his face with his hands, closing his eyes and trying to convince himself he was all right. He would come up with a plan. He had to; there was no other choice.

Standing, still feeling panicky and not at all calm, he surveyed his surroundings carefully. The view was beautiful, breathtaking even, but he couldn't focus on that. He needed to find his Aurors, or the Welsh wizards, or the giants. He needed to find something, anything related to his case.

He decided to head for higher ground to get a better look at the landscape. Not wanting to risk getting splinched because of his distracted and distraught state, and to give himself time to calm down and think, Ron set off on foot.





Three days later, Ron had no idea where he was or where he was going. There were no signs of his Aurors, no signs of the Welsh wizards, no signs of the giants, no signs of anything. He was pretty certain no human (or half-human, or anything even vaguely humanoid) had ever set foot on this particular mountain before. He was starving, freezing, and extremely sleep deprived. It was hard to camp on this mountain when there was nothing he could do to keep himself warm at night. As soon as he stopped moving to lie down for sleep, he started shivering so hard he thought he might induce a seizure, or at least break a few teeth. He also found it difficult to fall asleep on an empty stomach. He hadn't had much success cooking so far; it was too windy, even inside his tent. The crackers he had packed only did so much to sustain him. All in all, he was quite sure he would die in a few days, and he was even surer that it would be extremely painful.

What scared him most was the fact that these thoughts were only somewhat playful.

He knew he should just go home. There was no sense in staying out here and slowly dying if he was getting nothing accomplished.

As far as Ron was concerned, though, returning to Robards empty-handed was not an option. If he went back with no information, Robards would not only fire him, but would likely take him to court for Kelley's and Edwards' deaths. That was no life for an Auror, a war hero, a Weasley.

So, he would keep at it. He would continue to trek along the mountain, performing useless spells and working himself half to death.





On his fifth day in Switzerland, Ron stopped eating. There were no more crackers, he couldn't stop shaking long enough to try cooking, and he was pretty sure his stomach was somewhere else entirely, anyway.

He couldn't remember ever having been filled with this much hatred. His only options were to die or go home disgraced. He knew he needed to go home; he would refuse to die this way. But he needed a plan, some story to tell the Ministry and some other job to fall back on. He could always go back to working with George, but that wasn't his passion. This wasn't his passion anymore, either.

Ron stumbled as he tried to climb over a boulder. He slipped down several feet, landed on his knees, and retched painfully.

He wasn't convinced he would even survive the journey home.





That night, Ron lay in his tent, all his heating charms failing, and all his blankets doing almost nothing to protect him from the extreme cold.

He thought he might have a fever, but he wasn't really sure his body was capable of reaching a normal temperature, let alone a higher one. His insides were trembling painfully; his stomach was aching and his lungs felt as though they might have been put through a shredder.

By this point, he didn't even want to fall asleep. He was too afraid he would die in the night.

The sound of snow being crunched hit his numb ears. He closed his eyes and gulped, praying that whatever animal it was would pass by his tent.

After a few seconds of silence, Ron felt a shiver run through his whole body. He sat up, suddenly alert. That had not been a shiver from the cold; it was magic. He untangled himself from the blankets and gripped his wand nervously. He didn't even have the strength to stand up.

The flaps of his tent opened and Ron's mouth dropped open.

"You utter FUCKING WANKER!" Harry shouted, slamming his backpack on the tent floor.

"What?" Ron croaked out.

Harry ignored Ron's protest and knelt down to rummage in his bag. He pulled out a tiny and empty glass box, tapped it with his wand several times, then set it on the floor. He flicked his wand twice more and suddenly Ron was staring at a huge flame-filled tank.

The fire in the enlarged glass case was multicoloured and the heat it emitted filled the tent immediately.

Shuddering from the sudden temperature change, Ron scooted awkwardly toward the tank and sat himself directly in front of it, convulsing slightly as his body slowly warmed.

Harry said nothing. He continued sitting by the mouth of the tent, watching Ron with an intense gaze that Ron was steadfastly avoiding.

Ron wasn't sure how much time went by before Harry finally spoke, but he had all but completely stopped shaking when Harry opened his mouth.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Ron was pretty sure Harry was asking about dinner, but he hadn't eaten any proper meal in almost a week. He shook his head and Harry immediately went about trying to make some soup on the stove. When the draught prevented him, he pulled out his wand again and the canvas tent went still. As an extra precaution, Harry made another contained fire in the bottom of the oven and boiled the soup over that.

When he was done, they ate their soup in silence, Ron managing to scarf down an entire bowl, despite having not eaten more than a few bites in days.

"So," Harry said once Ron was done eating and leaning sleepily against the glass tank.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry. "So," he said quietly. "You just saved my life."

"Ron–"

"I'm not exaggerating. Thank you."

Harry shook his head, his jaw clenched. "I'm going to personally murder Robards."

"I'm okay with that."

"I'm filing a report when we get back."

Ron nodded.

"And I'm taking it straight to Kingsley."

"As you should."

"And Ron?"

"Yeah."

"Next time, don't be so fucking stupid."

Ron nodded again. He really had been phenomenally dim-witted for the past few days.

Another few minutes of silence passed and Ron felt himself slipping into sleep for the first time in days.





Ron woke up to the sound of an electric heater humming somewhere nearby. He rolled over in his bed and put the pillow over his face in an attempt to block out the noise.

A second later, he sat up with a jolt and looked around, panicked. He was most definitely in a hotel room.

"Morning, sunshine."

Ron turned to see Harry stepping out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

"Where the fuck are we?"

"In the warmth," Harry answered, rubbing his hair with a towel so that it stuck up in all directions.

Ron sighed and ran a hand over his face. His skin, he noticed, was extremely dry. "How did you get me here?"

"Apparation. I booked the room and then went back for you. You were out cold."

"Thanks," Ron muttered, pushing the covers off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He faced away from Harry, frustrated that, even in his state of recovery from near-death, the sight of Harry half-naked and wet could turn him on so much.

He took a much needed shower and then joined Harry in the hotel restaurant for several helpings of breakfast.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked rather suddenly as Ron ate yet another pancake.

Ron swallowed his large bite with difficulty and washed it down with orange juice. "Do you remember what happened just before I left?"

"You slept with Robert."

"I slept with Robert and you shouted at me for it," Ron corrected. "I came home from my 'emergency meeting' with Robards and tried to tell you, but you just argued with me about what I'd done with Robert. I wasn't exactly keen to tell you where I was going." He glanced down at the scrambled eggs still left on his plate. "Actually, how did you find out where I was?"

"It wasn't hard," Harry explained. "All I had to do was look through your files. You're very thorough with your reports, by the way."

"I – thank you?" Ron said, flustered.

"It's good," Harry reassured him. "It's quite useful. If you weren't, I doubt I would have been able to find you as easily as I did."

"Yeah, but how exactly did you?" Ron persisted. "I was nowhere near where I started by the time you found me."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I used some... some magic I picked up."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What kind of magic? Where'd you pick it up?"

"I... I went to visit Bill," Harry admitted. "Just before I came here. He gave me some... some spells and some tips. You know."

Ron frowned across the table. "You've been using illegal magic from my brother."

"It's not illegal!" Harry insisted. "We're not in Britain. It's not illegal here."

"Okay, first off, it's still illegal for us to use that magic because we're still British, even if we're not in Britain. Second, don't act like you know Switzerland's magic laws."

"How do you know I didn't do my research?" Harry asked defensively.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Because you never do your research. I know how thorough you aren't with your reports, Harry. I know how short they are, and it's not because you're lazy. It's because you don't plan ahead and you don't reflect afterwards. You have no idea which spells are legal here and which aren't. Don't pretend otherwise."

Harry blinked. "Having a bad day, Ron?" he asked with mock sympathy.

Ron sighed and finished off his eggs without responding.





"So... I couldn't help but notice... there's only one bed in this room," Ron said as he sat on the floor, rearranging the items in his backpack.

"I told you," Harry said from where he lay on the bed, flipping through a tourist pamphlet, "I booked the room by myself. It would have been weird if I'd asked for two beds."

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Ron explained, staring down at a pile of mismatched socks. "It's just that... you know, I don't know what your plans are exactly, but if you want to stay here again, we should get a different room."

"Like that wouldn't be awkward."

"It wouldn't," Ron insisted. "We could be friends meeting up. You just came a day early. Now we need a different room."

He set about rolling up pairs of socks that vaguely looked alike, doing his best to ignore the strained silence.

"Ron," Harry began slowly, quietly. "Is it really... after all these years, you honestly... can't even sleep in the same bed with me?"

Against his better judgement, Ron glanced up at Harry. Harry's expression was sad, almost hurt, and Ron quickly looked away. He could feel his ears burning through the long and painful pause.

"Fine," Harry said bitterly, tossing the pamphlet onto the bed and standing up. "We'll get a different room."

Harry walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Ron cursed loudly. He'd let his guard down for one pathetic moment and given himself away. He was supposed to be over all that by now, and he wasn't sure Harry would forgive him for not being so, and worse, for lying about it.





~Flashback~

"I don't know," Harry muttered, rubbing his tired face with his hands. "I think... I think it might be for good this time."

"You've said that before, though," Ron pointed out. "It's only been three weeks. You've been broken up longer than that before."

"True." Harry shrugged. "This time just feels different. I can't explain it. I'm just... I've gotten used to her not being around as much. And – and now you're around instead. And that feels... it just sort of feels normal. I still love her, but... but maybe this is just it."

"Maybe. It does seem kind of unlikely, from an outsider's perspective, just based on how many times you two have managed to get back together in the past, but..."

Harry shrugged again and shifted a little on the sofa to face Ron more easily. "Is it any easier for you? Dating blokes, I mean?"

Ron flushed slightly. "Well, I don't... I don't really date them. But... I don't imagine it would be any easier. I suppose it could be, but... but blokes are complicated, too. They're a lot less likely to know what they want."

"Do you know what you want?" Harry asked quietly.

Ron looked at Harry and opened his mouth, but found there was no answer. Harry was staring at him with those piercing green eyes and Ron was lost in them and their vulnerability, completely unable to lie.

Before he could recover from his loss of concentration, Ron found himself being kissed.

"Harry," he said quickly, pulling back so roughly he almost fell off the sofa. "What..."

Harry blushed magnificently and licked his lips. "Um."

"That's not what I meant!" Ron exclaimed in a panic. "That's not what I meant at all! I don't – I don't want you! I don't want anybody! That's – that's why I don't date. I don't want any of them."

Harry stared disbelievingly at Ron. "Oh. I thought..."

"Maybe I do," Ron continued on, breathlessly. "Maybe you're right. But that – that doesn't mean you should kiss me!"

"Why not?" Harry asked quietly.

"Because you're straight! And you shouldn't – and I can't..." Ron took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and stop rambling. He looked imploringly across the sofa at Harry, silently begging his best friend both to stop this right now and to be with him forever. "I can't just be some mistake you make when you're all heartbroken about Ginny," he said, his voice practically a whisper.

"I'm not – you're not a mistake, Ron. You could never be a mistake."

Ron shook his head. "You're straight, Harry."

"Am I?" Harry asked, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "I've been thinking about this since you first came out."

"Thinking about what?" Ron asked cautiously.

"About kissing you," Harry said, staring blatantly at Ron's lips. "All the ways I... all the places... it's not a mistake to kiss the person you're closest to. Even if – even if no other men appeal to me, you do, and it's not... I'm sure I could be with you. If... if you wanted it, that is."

"You have no idea," Ron breathed, staring at Harry and trying to take in his words.

"Show me," Harry whispered, moving closer. "Teach me."

Ron nodded and accepted Harry's lips this time. He was instantly and breathlessly consumed by an urgent need. He'd wanted Harry for so long, so long, and now Harry was kissing him, and it was all Ron could do to keep from stripping Harry naked and devouring him right then and there.

Harry moaned, just barely, somewhere deep inside his throat, but Ron heard it and lost what little self-control he had left. He grabbed at Harry's waist, digging his fingers into the skin there. He maneuvered them on the sofa so Harry was lying beneath him, flush against him, panting slightly as their kiss broke.

Ron ignored the panic in Harry's eyes; he was too far gone to stop now. He'd wanted this for far too long, and every ounce of desire and lust and love he'd ever felt for Harry had come brimming to the surface and there was nothing Ron could do to hold it back.

Harry's hands were lying awkwardly on Ron's back, an unsure, dead weight. Ron moved one of his own hands to Harry's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them with a practiced ease. Harry's fingers clenched around Ron's shirt as Ron slid his hand into Harry's pants and gripped Harry's soft cock.

Ron tried not to focus on how hard he was and how soft Harry was. It's his first time, he told himself, he's just nervous. He pulled his hand out of Harry's pants, licked across it, and replaced it quickly, determined to do everything as fast as possible so Harry had no time for second thoughts. As he went about stroking Harry's cock, he focused his lips on Harry's exposed neck. Harry's skin was damp; he was sweating already and Ron pretended that it was because the heat in George's flat was too high and that it wasn't related to the fact that Harry's hands were suddenly shaking slightly against his back.

"Budge up," Ron muttered, lifting his weight for a moment so Harry could scoot back on the sofa. Harry complied, sitting up slightly against the armrest. He looked down at Ron and Ron was surprised to see trust, rather than hatred or confusion, in his eyes. Harry trusted him, and what was Ron doing with that trust?

Ron sat back slightly and pulled Harry's jeans and pants down on his thighs. He was half-hard by then and Ron took in the sight of the short, black, curly hairs nestling at the base of his shy, hesitant cock.

"Ron?" Harry whispered, shifting his hips slightly as Ron continued staring down at him.

Ron dragged his eyes back up to Harry's and gulped. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked against his will.

Harry nodded and swallowed hard, apparently steeling himself for what Ron was about to do.

Ron leaned down, his back an exaggerated arch, and licked from the base of Harry's cock all the way to the tip. To his relief, Harry's cock twitched at this new stimulation, so he repeated the long, slow lick over and over until Harry's cock was straining against his tongue and Harry was breathing heavily above him.

"It's not so bad, right?" Ron asked, teasing slightly as he looked back up at Harry for the first time in minutes. Harry's head had fallen back, unsupported, and his mouth was hanging open. Ron lifted his own head slightly to get a better view of Harry's face as he wrapped a hand back around Harry's cock. He gave it a squeeze and Harry gasped slightly, his eyes clenched tightly. Ron told himself it wasn't because Harry can't look at him. Besides, he thought, unable to stop himself, he could always just pretend I'm Ginny.

Suddenly determined to make sure Harry knew he was definitely not Ginny, Ron surged up on the sofa and kissed Harry hard on the lips.

"I'm so hard for you," he whispered against Harry's cheek, his tongue darting out to dip in Harry's ear.

To his surprise, Harry reached out blindly and found his hard cock, still hidden inside his own uncomfortably tight jeans. Ron groaned uncontrollably as Harry timidly rubbed the bulge, his fingertips dragging along the throbbing underside of Ron's cock.

"Stop," Ron gasped when Harry's hand became more sure, his grip more firm. He didn't want to come in his jeans from light fondling, but he was so turned on by it that he wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself. "Fuck, you're hot," he muttered, staring down at Harry's flushed face.

Harry winked and Ron grinned, relieved. Harry didn't hate him for pushing this so far so fast; Harry was even enjoying himself. Ron returned his attention to Harry's cock, stroking it swiftly and firmly. Harry squirmed and bit his lower lip roughly, a humming noise trapped in his throat. Ron bowed his head down to kiss Harry's vibrating Adam's apple, then bit down on the side of Harry's neck and sucked roughly on the hot skin. He wanted to mark Harry as his own, to show the world (and himself) tangible evidence that they were finally together.

Harry moaned loudly as Ron's fingers tightened around his cock. He thrust his hips up into Ron's hand, silently urging Ron to move faster. Ron broke away from Harry's neck and slid further down, wishing he had time to explore every inch of Harry, but they were both still fully clothed and Ron wanted to get to the point of all this.

And the point of all this was Harry's long, glorious cock pulsing in his mouth as his tongue mercilessly tickled its sensitive head. Harry came almost as soon as Ron's mouth had settled back around him; his back arched off the couch with a shout and he grabbed roughly at Ron's hair as Ron swallowed the head of his cock.

"Ginny – Ginny," Harry gasped shakily as he held on to the redhead between his legs. "Oh – oohh – fucking – AH! – oh God, oh – oh God, Ron, Ron, oh God, fuck!" He babbled senselessly as Ron extended his orgasm to an almost painful ecstasy.

Finally, breaking away just before the point of choking, Ron pulled back and sat up to swallow the last of Harry's come. He chanced a glance at Harry and found the other man all but unconscious from the intense climax. Harry looked extremely sated; his face was relaxed, his eyes were closed peacefully, and there was a hint of a smile on his wet, swollen lips.

Ron took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Maybe he didn't mean to say it. Maybe he wasn't thinking about her. Maybe it was just out of habit. He had a hard time convincing himself Harry's slip up was completely coincidental.

"Are you still hard for me?" Harry's husky voice broke Ron out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Ron whispered, trying to figure out if Harry was pretending he didn't remember saying Ginny's name or if he actually didn't remember saying Ginny's name.

"Well..." Harry trailed off uncertainly, staring up at Ron's blank face.

"You don't have to," Ron said quietly. "That was a lot, I think. And you're new at this. You don't have to do anything. We could just stop."

To Ron's disappointment, Harry looked tempted by this offer. Ron started to get up from the sofa but found himself being pulled back down after a second. Harry pushed him against the opposite armrest and started unfastening his jeans.

"Harry," Ron whimpered as Harry pulled down his clothes and exposed his already-leaking cock. "I said you didn't have to. We don't have to do this anymore." It killed him a little on the inside to say this, to admit that it wasn't going to work out despite Harry's reassurances, to admit that he knew it wouldn't work out from the very beginning and yet had gone along with it anyway. His face was burning with self-loathing and the last thing in the world he wanted was a pity blowjob from his best friend.

"I want to," Harry said quietly, wrapping a hand around Ron's cock and pulling on it.

Ron knew it was a lie, but he didn't know what else to do but sit back and let it happen. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't the worst mistake he'd ever made.

Harry's hand was warm and soft around his cock; it was exactly how he'd always imagined it would feel, and that fact alone drove him toward the orgasm the rest of him was dreading. Harry kissed him forcefully, apparently determined to prove something to Ron with sheer intensity. When Ron pulled back for air, Harry dropped down and sucked the head of Ron's cock into his mouth. Ron covered his eyes with both hands, unable to stand the sight of all that black hair bobbing along his aching cock. Harry's mouth was wet and wonderful, but his speed was awkward, his hands were limp on Ron's hips, and his intent was obvious: he wanted to get Ron off as quickly as possible so this whole mess could come to an end.

Ron groaned pathetically, grabbed Harry's hair with one hand, and guided the tempo until it was fast enough and sure enough to bring him over the edge. Still keeping his eyes firmly covered with his other hand, Ron let himself picture the start of all his favorite fantasies: Harry spread out on a bed, his limbs flung to the side, maybe even tied down, and his cock standing to attention.

Harry hummed around Ron's cock and Ron jerked painfully as the burning coil of need in his balls finally sprang free and he started coming into Harry's mouth.

Coughing slightly, Harry held Ron's cock against his stomach and continued licking the underside of his head as he finished coming all over his shirt. Harry pressed his tongue to the base of Ron's cock as it pulsed with aftershocks of pleasure that had Ron huffing desperately.

Ron couldn't quite bring himself to uncover his eyes to look at Harry yet, so he spent time catching his breath and waiting for his heart rate to slow down instead. He listened to the sound of Harry rustling on the couch, sitting up and moving away from Ron, and wondered if Harry was just going to leave without saying anything. He knew it was a mistake. And now he knew that Harry had finally admitted it, too. Otherwise, Harry would have be kissing him; otherwise, they would have be nuzzled together on the couch, falling asleep in each other's arms.

"For someone who's never done that before," he said, unable to take another second of silence, "you were pretty decent at it."

Harry waited for Ron to finally reveal his eyes before speaking. "I was just doing what I like," he admitted, staring dazedly at Ron.

"It was good," Ron assured him pointlessly. There was a long pause and Ron could almost feel the regret emanating from Harry.

"Ron–"

"Don't apologize," Ron whispered quickly, closing his eyes again. He couldn't stand to look at Harry; he couldn't even stand to look at himself or the mess he had just made on his shirt. All he wanted to do was sink into the couch and disappear forever.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said anyway. "I didn't know – I thought I could. I thought I wanted to. I was so fucking sure I wanted you." He sounded as though he hated himself almost as much as Ron hated them both. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I – I'm so–"

"Stop apologizing," Ron said, opening his eyes. He turned on the couch and put his feet back on the floor, wanting desperately to clean himself off and change his shirt, but wanting just as much to never move again.

"I don't know what else to say," Harry admitted. "This... I mean, I shouldn't have – we shouldn't–"

"Stop talking," Ron interrupted, staring down at the floor. "Stop talking before I hit you." He ran a hand over his face. I can't believe I just ruined our entire friendship for a blowjob, he thought, feeling more shame and remorse than he had ever thought possible. "Maybe you should leave."

Harry said nothing and Ron knew it was because he agreed. The best thing to do now was probably to pretend the whole incident didn't mean anything and had never happened. Ron wasn't sure he'd ever recover, but he had no other choice.

"Will... are we going to be okay?" Harry asked.

Ron's heart broke just a little bit more and he felt his throat swelling and his eyes stinging with tears he had no intent of shedding in front of Harry. "We'll be fine," he said shortly. "Please, just go."

Harry stood, tucked himself back into his jeans, and left without saying goodbye.

~End Flashback~





"It's not like you ever said anything," Harry said bitterly, gripping his beer bottle tightly.

Ron looked up from where he lay on his bed. Harry was sitting on his own bed in their new room, stuck in a game of Solitaire.

"What?"

"It's not like you ever said anything," Harry repeated. "You just expected me to know."

Ron put down the atlas he had been inspecting and sat up, turning and dropping his legs over the side of the bed. "I didn't expect you to know," he said gently. "I didn't even want you to know."

"What happened to full disclosure, Ron?" Harry snapped, tossing down a card and glaring across the room at Ron. "What happened to honesty and vulnerability and trust? What happened to rebuilding our friendship from the ground up? What happened to leaving that all behind and moving on?"

"Stop it," Ron demanded. "Stop it. You have no idea what I – you don't think I've been trying to move on? You think I want to still feel this way? Well, guess what, I don't. It just – it is what it is, okay? That's just how... that's just who you are to me, okay? There's nothing else I can do about it."

Harry scoffed.

"There's not," Ron insisted. "I ignore it all the time. I sleep with other men, I support your relationship with Ginny, I pretend like there's nothing else going on. Because there's not, okay? It doesn't matter. It's not something I'm pursuing, it's not something I sit around thinking about all day, and it's not something I like about myself. I ignore it, okay? Why don't you just... do the same and drop it."

Harry exhaled angrily and turned back to his card game. He took a long swig of his beer and Ron stood up, not wanting to be around him when he was this upset.

"I'm going for a walk," Ron muttered before grabbing his coat and heading out of the hotel.

It really wasn't his fault he still had feelings for Harry. He had been trying for years to move on past that stage of their friendship. It's just that Harry was so Harry... and he was so sexy and so perfect all the bloody time. Ron couldn't change that, and even if he could, he wouldn't want to.

Ron cast the modified self-heating charm that Harry had learned from Bill as he started off around the small town. He wanted to go back home. He didn't know what help Harry would be in the case; the missing Aurors simply had not been here. There would be traces, magical or otherwise, if they had been. There was nothing left to do but return to Robards and tell him Kelley and Edwards were likely dead somewhere, and Davies and Griffiths were likely still in contact with the giants. That was the only conclusion Ron could come to: the Welshmen had kidnapped the Aurors, forced them to send back false information, and then killed them.

And, to top it all off, maybe Robards was right; maybe Ron was to blame. Ron had known the final update had been off. There wasn't enough information, it had been sent in a bizarre way, and the Aurors had never shown up to confirm it all. Ron should have known straight away that something was wrong, that someone should investigate farther. Sure, Robards had seen the same update and given him the okay to file it away and close the case, but Ron should have listened to his instincts. It was his case, not Robards', and he had failed.

Now, Kelley and Edwards were likely dead, Harry was angry with him for having feelings that he couldn't control, and he would most likely have to go back to work for George.

"Bad day doesn't even begin to cover it."





When Ron woke up the next morning, Harry was on his bed, lying on his stomach, and staring down at Ron's atlas. Ron pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his face tiredly. He had come back to the hotel so late the night before that Harry had already been asleep.

"Morning," Ron croaked as he stood up and started to stretch. "Are you working out how to get back?"

Without looking up from the atlas, Harry motioned for Ron to come over and look at the atlas. Ron walked around to Harry's bed, leaned down, and stared at the spot Harry was pointing to.

"What?" he asked after inspecting the map for several seconds and not seeing anything special.

"Look how low this valley is," Harry said. "Compared to these mountains..."

"Lauterbrunnental," Ron tried to pronounce the name on the atlas.

"I was reading about it earlier," Harry explained, reaching under the atlas and producing the tourism pamphlet he had been looking at the previous day. "Most of it's not even very wide and there are all these steep cliffs... it's the lowest point around."

Ron stared down at Harry. "You... you want to go there?"

"Don't you?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"I – I guess, if you... are you really sure you want to help me with this? We could just go home."

"No," Harry said firmly. "We're proving Robards wrong. You're an excellent Auror, Ron. Or, at least you would be if he gave you half a chance. Maybe this is your chance. We can't just go back empty-handed and totally defeated. That's what he wants."

Ron sat down on the edge of his bed and frowned at Harry. "Does he know you're here?"

"Well, yes. I had to ask him... if he knew where you were, because I had no idea. You should've seen his face... he knows we live together and the fact that you didn't tell me... anyway, it doesn't matter. He said he'd sent you out to look for Kelley and Edwards. I volunteered to help and he tried to stop me, but I wouldn't let him."

"Why not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Maybe because I didn't want you to die. Would you like me to go back without you so you can continue freezing and starving to death?"

Ron glared at Harry. "No. I'd rather try going to... to Lautybrauty."

Harry snorted. "Lauterbrunnental?"

"Yeah, whatever. When do you want to go?"

"Right now," Harry said, standing. "We should go during the day to get a good look around. You're all packed, right?"

"Um." Ron glanced over at his stuffed bag. "Yeah."

"All right. Let's go check out."





"This can't be right," Ron muttered, staring down at the villages from where he and Harry stood on the top of an impossibly steep cliff.

Harry said nothing and kept his eyes firmly on the valley below.

"There's roads," Ron continued. "There's houses, Harry. People live here – Muggles live here! There can't be any giants."

Harry pursed his lips.

"Damn," Ron sighed. "I'd really hoped this whole thing would be over by now."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and spun quickly.

Ron landed on his arse when they Apparated to Harry's destination.

"Little bit of a warning next time?" he asked, getting to his feet and rubbing his sore backside. "Where are we?"

"A bit farther west," Harry explained, looking around. "Just above that lake we saw."

"We saw two lakes," Ron muttered. He watched tiredly as Harry stalked around between the trees. It was obvious that Harry had gone into tracker mode; he wasn't going to stop until he found at least one of the things they were looking for. Ron was a tracking specialist as well, but he had no idea what to do here, and as Harry wasn't sharing any information, all he could do was stand there stupidly until Harry clued him in.

After a few minutes, Harry signaled for Ron to follow him. They headed off together, Harry on a silent mission and Ron trailing behind, wondering just how well their stealth and tracking training would serve them in the Alps.





By sunset, Ron was exhausted. He and Harry had been hiking through snow for hours and had yet to find anything promising. He'd stopped asking questions a while ago; Harry didn't seem to have any answers, only instincts. Ron hated Harry's strategies (or lack thereof), but had no room to complain at the moment, seeing as how Harry had just saved his life two days before.

"I meant to tell you," Harry said suddenly, slowing down to walk beside Ron. "Dean sent an owl on Thursday asking to make plans with us for this weekend."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"Dean," Harry repeated. "Sent an owl. Tried to make plans."

"Oh," Ron said stupidly. "I... did you write him back?"

"I told him you were gone for a work emergency. I don't know if he responded after that."

"Right."

"And Lee stopped by on Wednesday."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, shrugging. "He said something about George being a prude. I don't really know what he meant by that, but I assume he came over for advice."

Ron snorted. "That's a laugh."

"Why? You're close with George."

"I used to be," Ron said bitterly. "He's a complete dolt, lately."

"Well... if Lee and Angie are really together..."

"They are."

"That can't be easy to watch," Harry said sympathetically. "I mean, think about all that history. It's got to be a big adjustment."

"Sure, if that's actually the problem."

"What do you mean?"

Ron slid slightly on a patch of ice and Harry grabbed him around the waist to steady him.

"You all right?" Harry asked, his voice soft in Ron's ear.

"Fine," Ron choked out. He righted himself and squirmed out of Harry's grip. "I'm fine." He walked forward quickly, forcing Harry to jog after him.

"What were you saying about George?" Harry asked when he'd caught up with Ron.

"It's nothing," Ron said quickly. "Nothing more than a guess, really. I shouldn't gossip about it."

"You're not usually one to have deep insights about other people," Harry said slowly. "But when you do, they're usually right."

Ron sighed; this was true. It also wasn't a guess; Lee knew that George was gay, too. But Ron wasn't particularly keen on discussing George's unrequited love for Lee with Harry, not when their recent argument about Ron's own similar feelings was so fresh in their memories.

"It's nothing important," Ron lied. "He just needs more time to get used to it. Like you said, it's a big adjust – oof!"

Ron, who hadn't been looking where he was going, walked straight into Harry. He lost his balance and fell sideways onto the snow.

"What the hell, Harry?" he asked indignantly, trying to stand back up.

"Shush," Harry whispered urgently. He walked up to a large tree and peered cautiously around it.

Curious and excited, Ron scrambled awkwardly to his feet and went over to the tree, looking over Harry's shoulder.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, in awe of the scene below them.

No less than ten giants were dozing in the tiny valley at the bottom of the cliff Harry and Ron were standing on. Some were huddled in pairs for warmth, others were curled up against the mountains. At a somewhat safe distance from the band of giants, a small tent was set up. It was glowing and flickering slightly; there was a fire burning on the inside.

"Holy fuck," Ron repeated, his hand gripping Harry's shoulder tightly. "You fucking found them."

Harry grinned back over his shoulder. "We found them," he corrected. "And now we're going to find out who's in that tent."

"What, now?" Ron asked incredulously as Harry walked around the tree and knelt down near the edge of the cliff.

"Better while they're sleeping," he said, indicating the giants. "If we can do everything without ever having to deal with giants... well, it'd just be easier, wouldn't it?"

"Quite," Ron agreed. "Please don't tell me you want to climb down that," he said hopefully.

"No, that'd be a bit suicidal." Harry stood back up and looked at Ron. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Ron grinned, grabbed hold of Harry's arm, and spun.





"There's four of them," Ron whispered, studying the shadowy figures inside the tent. "Two of them aren't moving."

"Probably Kelley and Edwards, do you think?"

"Probably," Ron agreed. "How should we do this?"

Harry rubbed his cheek with a gloved hand, thinking. "Honestly," he said, "our best bet is probably just to go in there. Wands out, ready to attack. There's not much else to do. There's nowhere to hide, there's no point in disguising ourselves. Best to just... go right for it."

Ron nodded, steeling himself for the chance that a battle between Aurors and Dark Welsh wizards might wake the giants.

"Ready?" Harry asked, and Ron was relieved to hear a hint of nervousness in his voice. It was somehow reassuring that Harry also realized the danger of their mission.

"Ready."

They set off for the tent, breaking into a run after a few seconds and charging in without warning.

Kelley and Edwards were tied back-to-back in some chairs. They looked half-dead, as though they hadn't eaten or slept properly in weeks. Davies and Griffiths were hovering over a table, looking at the mess of papers spread out there. They turned around at the sound of Harry and Ron entering their tent at full speed, but before they could reach for their wands, Ron had stunned them both.

"Good," Harry said, then went to look out the mouth of the tent to make sure the giant's hadn't woken up.

Ron rushed over to Kelley and Edwards and began untying them.

"How did you find us?" Kelley croaked.

"Long story," Ron muttered as he fumbled with the knots. He pulled out his wand and tried a few spells, but nothing worked. "Harry," he whispered sharply.

Harry strapped the unconscious Welsh wizards to each other, then rushed over to help Ron.

"The papers," Edwards said weakly, nodding at the table. "We need them."

Ron left Harry to deal with the ropes and went to gather up what was on the table. He stacked everything in a messy pile and grabbed the four wands that had been under all the papers.

"You Harry Potter?" Kelley asked, slumping to the floor when Harry finally managed to break the charm on the ropes and untie him.

"Yes," Harry said shortly. "Are you two okay to head back now?"

"How're we traveling?" Edwards asked as Harry helped pull him to his feet.

"Portkey," Harry answered, nodding at Ron.

Ron opened his bag, stuffed the papers and the wands inside it, and pulled out Harry's tourist pamphlet. He set it on one of the chairs, tapped it with his own wand, whispered, "Portus," and watched as the pages glowed blue for a moment. "All set."

Suddenly, the ground shook beneath them. Ron glanced at Kelley and Edwards, who had gone white with fear.

"Time to go," he said quickly. "Hurry!" He knelt down by the Welshmen and grabbed the ropes Harry had used to tie them together.

"Our wands," Edwards whispered, looking wildly around the tent.

"They're in the bag," Harry practically shouted as he grabbed hold of Ron's backpack. "Let's go!"

Kelley and Edwards bent down, and, on Ron's count of three, they all placed a finger to the pamphlet.





When they reached the Apparition portal in the Ministry Atrium, Ron and Harry had to drag Kelley, Edwards, and the Welshmen over to a fireplace so they could Floo to Robards' office.

"What the – Weasley! Pot... Potter? Kelley, Edwards... what in the world..." Robards' flustered voice came from a distance after they all fell out of his fireplace. Ron's head was buried beneath the stunned Welsh wizards. He grunted and pushed them away, managing to sit up.

Robards was standing over the pile of people in his office, staring blankly down at them all.

Harry got to his feet first. "These are for you," he said rudely, pulling the stack of papers out of Ron's bag and shoving it at Robards. "Davies and Griffiths are stunned. Do with them what you will. Ron and I are taking Kelley and Edwards to St. Mungo's."

"Not so fast," Robards said as Harry began helping Kelley and Edwards untangle themselves from the heap. "They all need to be questioned! This is highly unusual. Aurors bursting into my office on a Sunday night... how did you even get here? You can't Apparate or Floo from that distance... you didn't use an illegal Portkey, did you?"

"Does it look like we care?" Harry practically shouted at his boss. Ron bit back a grin as he got up off the floor. "If you want Kelley and Edwards to die, by all means, keep them here for questioning. Personally, I'd rather they live, but as you're in charge..." Harry let go of Kelley, who slumped back to the floor, unable to muster enough strength to stand on his own.

Robards looked down at Kelley and gulped. "Perhaps – St. Mungo's is in order," he said, sounding terrified.

"Wise decision," Harry said mockingly as he helped Kelley back up. "Ron?"

"Portus," Ron said again, aiming his wand at the pamphlet. It glowed blue for the second time that night and he looked back up at Harry. "All set."

He steadied Edwards, who was leaning heavily on him, grabbed Edwards' hand and bent down to touch the pamphlet, Harry doing the same with Kelley.

"Another illegal Portkey!" Robards shouted furiously, taking a step toward them. Ron and Harry were too fast for him, however, and a second later they were spinning through space, headed for the hospital.





Kelley and Edwards collapsed as soon as they reached St. Mungo's lobby.

Ron sighed down at them. "Was Portkey really any better than Apparition at that point?" he asked Harry. "I mean... look at them."

"Portkey's always safest," Harry muttered, glancing around. "Where're the bloody Healers?"

"Right behind you," a cool voice said.

Ron spun around to see a short blond woman in green Healers robes.

"Thank Godric," Harry said. "These three men need help."

Ron gaped at Harry. "What – three?"

"You almost died, Ron," Harry snapped, helping pull a half-conscious Kelley to his feet. "You need to examined."

The Healer conjured three stretchers and, after Harry threatened to hex Ron's penis if he didn't get on his, led her new patients upstairs, followed by Harry.

"What's happened to them?" she asked once Kelley, Edwards, and Ron were all situated in some hospital beds.

"We're not sure," Harry explained. "We just got back from an Auror mission. They were being held captive by some Welsh wizards... and there were giants, though I'm not really sure if they had anything to do with it. They might just be exhausted and hungry, I don't know."

"I see," the Healer eyed Kelley and Edwards with interest. "Well, if you'd go back downstairs and fill out some paperwork for them, I'll get started on the examination." She pulled out her wand and stepped up to Kelley's bed.

"Can I go, too?" Ron asked hopefully, sitting up.

"You'll stay where you are," the Healer snapped.

Ron glared menacingly at Harry as he left the room, waving cheerily.





By the time Harry came back, Kelley and Edwards had been sedated and the Healer had given Ron permission to leave.

"Come on," Ron said, stopping Harry before he could even enter the room. "Let's get out of here before she changes her mind."

Harry peered over Ron's shoulder at the Healer, who was waving her wand over Edwards' body. "Are they going to be all right?"

"Of course," she said curtly. "They just need time to rest."

"Oh. Well, good. Thank you very much."

When she said nothing in response, Harry shrugged and turned around, leading the way back downstairs.

"I need to go home," Ron said as soon as they were in the lobby. "I need sleep."

"We've still got their wands," Harry said suddenly, shrugging off Ron's bag, which he had been carrying since they'd left Robards' office.

"We can always bring them back in the morning," Ron managed to say before he yawned.

"I think..." Harry sighed. "I think I should go back to the Ministry. Someone needs to talk to Robards before he sacks us both."

"He has no right to sack us after what we just did."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But he's an idiot, so there's no telling what he thinks he has the right to do. It's no problem." He pulled the four wands out and then handed the bag over to Ron. "You go back and get some rest. I'll go deal with Robards."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked warily. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I really don't care," Harry said. "I'd love to see him try to get me in trouble."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just don't push your luck, all right?"

"No promises," Harry said, winking. "I'll see you at home." He grabbed some Floo powder from a hovering pot near a line of fireplaces, picked a grate, threw in the powder, and was gone in an instant.

Ron took a deep breath, thought longingly of his bed, and spun.





Ron was woken up unreasonably early the next morning by an owl pecking insistently at his window. He checked his watch, saw that it was only six o'clock, and pulled a pillow over his head. When he could still hear the owl, he flung the sheets off his bed, stormed over to the window, and opened it roughly.

"It's too bloody early," he grumbled at the owl as he untied a note from its leg. "I've only been asleep for three hours. How do you feel about that?"

The owl hooted soothingly at Ron, rubbed his beak on the back of Ron's hand, and then took off out the window. Ron rolled his eyes and closed the window before reading the note.

Thank you for finding Kelley and Edwards.
You may have the day off to recover and re-acclimate.
Be in my office at 9am tomorrow.
Robards

Ron sighed heavily and dropped the note to the floor. "Wake me up early to tell me I can sleep in," he muttered, climbing back into his bed and pulling the sheets back over him. "Arse."

When he woke up six more hours later, Ron was surprised by how hungry he felt. Grumbling and wishing he could sleep for even longer, but knowing it would be ridiculous if he slept past noon, he got himself out of bed and went to the kitchen. To his surprise, Harry was there, slumped over the table and snoring loudly.

"Er... mate?" Ron tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mate."

Harry snorted and sat up quickly, looking around in a confused sort of way. "What?" he asked, staring blearily up at Ron.

Ron bit back a smile. "You fell asleep at the table."

Harry groaned and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Noon."

Harry groaned again, replaced his glasses, and stood up. "I'm supposed to meet Ginny for lunch."

"You should get some sleep," Ron said. "Were you with Robards all night?"

Harry nodded and stifled a yawn. "I need to go meet Ginny," he insisted. "She's worried sick about us."

"Well... send her my love."

Harry nodded vaguely, grabbed his wand off the table, and spun with a crack.

Ron's gaze lingered for a moment on the spot where Harry had just been standing. Harry was so clearly in love with Ginny. It was sickening sometimes, and not just because of how Ron felt about Harry. Sometimes he worried he would never find anything like that; sometimes he worried his one and only chance at such a romance had already come and gone and he had missed it because Harry was straight.

He blinked and those thoughts faded away as he turned toward the counter and started pulling out ingredients to make himself a giant omelette.





As the afternoon wore on, Ron grew more and more restless. He'd taken a shower, unpacked his bag, tidied up his room, listened to the Wireless, written his mother a long letter about Switzerland, and completed a detailed report about the mission for the Ministry.

He was bored.

Feeling only slightly guilty, he decided to poke around in Harry's room for something to do. Maybe Harry had a set of Muggle cards or something else Ron could use to entertain himself.

Harry's room was messy: the bed was unmade, there were Muggle clothes and Ministry robes on the floor, all the dresser drawers were open with clothes hanging out of them, the closet floor was covered in unsorted folders and books. And his desk, Ron decided, was disgusting. There were three mugs of cold tea, two plates covered with crumbs, and an open bottle of beer. Ron picked it up and sniffed at it, wondering how long it had been there and why Harry hadn't thrown it out; it was long past flat.

Ron was about to put the bottle back on the desk, as he had no intention of cleaning up Harry's obscene mess, when he saw what had been underneath it. He grabbed the slip of paper, set the bottle back down, and left Harry's room with a hastily formed plan already in his head.





Less than an hour later, Ron found himself standing on a tree-lined street filled with terraces and blocks of flats, some nicer-looking than others. He walked up the street for a few minutes, noting all the weird lamps and statues people had placed in their windows, until he reached the address on the scrap of paper he had stolen from Harry's room.

When he found the right building, he stared up at it for a moment, wondering exactly what he was doing. No one had asked him to come here... what if he was unwelcome?

Deciding he might as well do what he came to do, Ron approached the front door of a house on the end of a terrace, then took a sharp right and headed down the stairs that led to the flat on the lower ground floor. There were several potted plants at the bottom of the stairs, and Ron stopped to admire them for a moment, stalling and trying to collect his thoughts.

When he finally felt too awkward to lurk on the patio any longer, he rang the doorbell and waited. Not thirty seconds went by before the door opened and Ron found himself staring at a paint-covered Dean.

"Ron," Dean said, looking utterly bewildered. It was quite an endearing expression on him, Ron though, especially because of the blue and green paint smeared across his cheeks and forehead.

"Dean," Ron said, unsure how to explain his presence. "I, um... I just got back from Switzerland and I... Harry said you sent an owl."

"I did..."

"I suppose I could have just... sent one back." Ron smiled uncertainly. "But then I found your address and I thought... thought I'd come by and apologize in person."

"Apologize for what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"For not being able to see you over the weekend," Ron explained lamely. "Especially after I promised to make sure Harry and I were both free for dinner..."

Dean shrugged and stepped aside so Ron could come into his flat. "It's no problem," he said. "Harry said you had a work emergency. Did you say you were in Switzerland?"

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, looking around the tiny hallway they were in. "It's a long story."

Dean opened another door and led Ron into the living room. "Well," he said, sounding slightly nervous for some reason, "this is where I live."

The living room had a white, modern-looking sofa in the corner facing the door they had just walked through. In front of the sofa sat a long, fat coffee table covered in books and magazines. Other than that, there was no furniture. The rest of the room was dedicated to Dean's artwork. Several large canvases, each looking more unfinished than the next, were propped up on easels around the room. Most of the floor was covered with a clear tarp decorated with copious paint stains. There was a small side table in front of all the easels where Dean kept all his paint.

"I thought you did graphic design?" Ron said after a long moment.

"Oh. Um, I do," Dean said, scratching his face and getting more paint on it in the process. "I've a computer through there," he said, nodding toward the dining room that was partially visible in the opposite corner. "I just, um... paint sometimes."

Ron glanced at Dean, who was staring at the floor, clearly uncomfortable with Ron seeing him, his flat, and his art in such a messy state.

"It's brilliant," Ron said encouragingly. "I like... the... colours," he said, staring hard at the painting that was the most finished. As far as Ron could tell, it depicted a naked man sitting on some vaguely defined object and smoking a cigarette. There was a small photograph taped to the top of the easel and Ron squinted to see it better; it was the same scene Dean was painting just below it.

"Thanks," Dean muttered. "Do you want to take your coat off? Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, you don't have to," Ron said politely. "I don't have to stay... I see you're in the middle of working. I just came by to apologize, like I said..."

"It's no problem," Dean said quickly. "Please, you can stay. You came all the way out here..."

"It's not that far," Ron said, shrugging. "Only five minutes on the Underground. This is a really nice flat, by the way."

"I can't afford it," Dean admitted. "I'm renting it from the family upstairs. They're old friends of my mum, otherwise... well, they give me quite a discount, but I'm not sure how much longer they'll be willing to do it. It wasn't supposed to be a permanent thing."

"But you haven't been here that long," Ron reasoned.

"I know. I just feel guilty. It's such a nice place..."

"Do you want to show me the rest?" Ron suggested, shrugging off his coat.

"It's not that big," Dean said, taking Ron's coat and tossing it on the sofa. He led Ron across the room. "Here's the dining room, and the kitchen's just off there. My bedroom..."

Ron walked past the dining room table and the computer desk and followed Dean into the bedroom.

"The loo's just there," Dean said, pointing to a door on the right side of the room.

Ron was still impressed; the flat might not have been that big, but it was clean and looked very modern. There was minimal furniture, but all of it was nice. Dean's bed was low to the ground and huge; it took up a good portion of the bedroom. Ron had to resist the urge to plop down on it because the duvet looked enticingly soft and fluffy.

"It's brilliant," Ron said for the second time. "I, uh... I like the way you've decorated it."

"It's not even my furniture," Dean explained. "It's theirs, what they were willing to spare, anyway. Except the desk out there, that's mine. But the rest of it..."

"It's still a nice place," Ron said, smiling. "Can I take you up on that drink?"

"Of course," Dean said, taking Ron back through the dining room to the kitchen. "What would you like? I've got some beer, some juice if you want... tea, coffee... water?"

"Do you want tea?" Ron asked, looking at the drawings on the refrigerator.

"Yeah, I could do with some," Dean said, filling up a teapot with water from the sink and setting it on the stovetop. "Oh, those are just... from some friends. Back in the States."

"I like this one," Ron said, pointing to a caricature of Dean. The exaggerated version of Dean was impossibly buff and toned, frowning ridiculously, and covered head-to-toe in paint of every colour. He was holding a laptop in one hand, and there was a mini-Dean, also covered in paint, doing some sort of jig over the keyboard. In his other hand, there were four paintbrushes, each one tucked at the base between two fingers. Above each paintbrush, as though they had just been painted in the air, were four different coloured penises.

"Yeah, I keep meaning to frame that one," Dean said. "I'm worried it'll get ruined if I just leave it on the fridge like that."

"What's with the rainbow dicks?"

"I sort of paint a lot of naked men," Dean explained hastily. "Christ, look at me, I'm a mess right now. Sorry." He turned back to the sink and began washing the paint off his hands.

"I don't mind," Ron said, grinning at Dean's embarrassment. "I was just thinking, after we have some tea, would you want to go out for dinner? It's almost that time..."

Dean dried his hands on a towel and checked his watch. "That could be nice. Do you want to go back closer to you, or..."

"No, let's stay out here," Ron said, still smiling. "Show me around Camden. I haven't been out here much."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, don't you ever leave Soho?"

"Don't really have to," Ron said, shrugging. "The Ministry's right there, isnt it? Half the time, I walk to work. Plus, the Leaky's there... Diagon Alley..."

"Must be nice."

"Not to mention the gay bars," Ron added. "Like I said, I never really have to leave the neighborhood. But, yeah, that's boring, you should show me around here. I'm sure it's all sorts of ridiculous."

Dean snorted and pulled out two mugs and two teabags. "Black tea all right?" he asked as he poured the boiling water into the mugs. "That's all I've got at the moment."

"Black's just fine," Ron said, taking the mug and using it to warm him hands. "Thanks."





After they'd had their tea, and after Dean had taken a quick shower to get the rest of the paint off him, they headed out to an Italian restaurant that Dean favored. Once they were seated and had ordered pasta, Dean's with chickpeas and Ron's with sausage, Ron decided to try his luck at getting Dean to open up.

"So, really, what's with all the naked men you say you paint?"

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, it's, you know, it's just my... my subject matter."

"Well, obviously. But why? I'm interested."

"It's... just what I like to paint," Dean said slowly. "I like drawing the human form, and... what better way to do that than with nudes? Sometimes I do them clothed, but I think it's more interesting to have them naked... especially if I can paint them in a normal setting, in a setting where it wouldn't necessarily make sense for them to be naked."

Ron paused to think about this. "The one in your living room, with the bloke sitting down and smoking? What's the setting there?"

"Oh." Dean reached for his glass of water and paused as their waitress brought the wine they had ordered. She filled their glasses, left the bottle for them, and then walked away.

"What were you going to say?" Ron prompted.

"It's... it's a man sitting on some boxes. With – with the rest of the room filled with boxes, too. Like, the room's all packed and he's just... there. Smoking."

"Naked."

"Yes."

"I was looking at the photograph you're using, while you were in the shower," Ron admitted. "Did you take it, or..."

Dean stared moodily into his wine glass. "No, I took it. I set up the scene and everything. It was, um, it was at my old flat in New York, just before I moved back here."

"Did you know that bloke, then?"

Dean shrugged and took a long sip of his wine. "Yeah, we sort of dated a bit."

"Good for you," Ron said seriously. "He looked quite fit."

Dean nodded. "He was. Complete idiot, but definitely nice to look at."

Ron smiled. "So, tell me about America. What you were doing there and all. I mean, I know you were in school for a bit, right?"

"Yeah, for four years," Dean said. "I was in Philadelphia, at an art school. I majored in graphic design, but I took most of my other classes in painting and photography. I sort of... decided a bit too late that I was in the wrong major, but I like graphic design, and it's easier to get a job with that, so whatever."

"Was it weird?" Ron asked. "You know, going from... from Hogwarts to being in hiding to... being an art student at a Muggle university in America?"

"Probably not as weird as it should have been," Dean said quietly. I was pretty desperate to get out of the Wizarding world by that point... and to really do that, I felt like I pretty much had to get out of England. I just dove right into the whole art student thing. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to cope with my mum's death, but it's what I did, so there you have it."

Ron nodded and watched as the waitress came back with their food.

"Can I ask how she passed away?" Ron asked, pushing the food on his plate around with a fork and watching the steam rise.

"She had breast cancer," Dean said, sounding somewhat bitter. "She didn't know for a really long time and then... it was just really bad by the time she found out. I wanted..." Dean sighed and shrugged, leaning back in his chair and staring at his plate with disgust. "I wanted to stay with her, take care of her, you know? Spend time with her before... before it was too late, but she knew I was in trouble and she didn't want anything to happen to me. So, she made me go into hiding. I mean, I probably would have done it eventually, but... and she... she was just dying and I couldn't contact her at all. And she finished all my art school applications for me. I was already hoping to get out of England by that point, and she knew it and she wanted me to go and become some sort of famous artist she could admire. I told her it doesn't work that way anymore, but she wouldn't listen. I thought maybe I should go to New York, but she enrolled me at the school in Philly... it turned out to be fine, I quite liked it there."

"You said... she died right before you left for school?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. She wasn't supposed to have lived that long. The doctors said six months and she managed twelve, but... they weren't very good months. After the war, when I was finally back home... she was really sick and there wasn't anything I could do, there wasn't anything my sister could do. It was just depressing all the time." Dean sighed and sat up straight again, reaching for his fork. "Then she died and I went off to America and refused to think about it or deal with it in any way for about two years. Like I said, it wasn't really healthy."

"I'm sorry all that happened," Ron said after a moment. "Seems quite unfair."

"There's nothing fair about death."

"This is true." Ron took a few bites of his dinner and thought over Dean's story in his head. "You said you went to school in Philadelphia?" Dean nodded, his mouth too full to respond. "But you said you took the photo of that naked bloke in New York?"

Dean swallowed and took a sip of wine. "Yeah, I moved there for a year after I graduated. I tried to get a job doing graphic design or something, but it didn't really work out. I had a stupid job at a coffee shop that I hated, instead. Eventually, I managed to find some design work here and there, but it was never anything lasting. It never would have paid the bills. Not that I can pay them now, but still."

"What made you move back?"

Dean took another drink of wine before responding. "There just wasn't anything keeping me in the States. I was done with school, I didn't have a job, I didn't have many local friends... the only person I ever cared about there was on the other side of the country by that point. It just didn't make sense anymore... plus, I wanted to be closer to my sister and her kids."

Ron swallowed a mouthful of food a bit too quickly and nearly choked. "You've got nieces and nephews?" he rasped, reaching for his glass of water.

"One of each," Dean said, nodding. "We're pretty close and I came back a few summers to visit with them. Like I said, it just didn't make sense for me to be away anymore."

"And the only person you ever cared about there?" Ron asked, finally able to breathe again. "I take it wasn't the fit-looking idiot bloke from the photo?"

Dean frowned. "No. No, it... it's a long story."

"Fair enough," Ron said, feeling that he had finally crossed a line, but surprised it hadn't happened sooner in the conversation. He smiled at Dean. "Well, I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks," Dean said. "I'm pretty glad to be back as well. My sister's certainly glad for it. She asks me to babysit for her all the time, now."

"Does she live in London, too?"

"She does now, yeah. Just a bit farther north, in Tufnell Park. She lived in our mum's old house for a while, in Cambridge, but she got bored there and decided to move the kids down here." He shrugged and ate a quick bite of his dinner. "They're good kids. Tiring, but good."

"How old are they?"

"Lottie's seven now, and Danny just turned four last month."

"Sounds like a handful," Ron said appreciatively, thinking of his brothers' children. "Is their dad around?"

"No, the women in my family aren't the best at picking men who stick around for very long. Kendra's actually my half-sister, and I've had a fair amount of step-siblings over the years... Mum was married four times."

Ron let out a low whistle. "That's a lot."

"Yeah... hopefully my sister doesn't make the same mistake... at least, not that many times."

Ron smiled. "Do you have any better luck with men?"

Dean shrugged. "I think it's a bit different... I'm not popping out kids that demand a lifelong commitment, but... I've only had one serious relationship and it didn't end with him deciding he preferred someone else, so I guess I've had better luck so far. What about you?"

Ron pulled a face. "I've had no serious relationships and I'm not out looking for any."

"You're not dating that bloke, then?" Dean asked, avoiding meeting Ron's eyes by focusing on his half-empty plate.

"What bloke?" Ron asked blankly.

"Robert."

"Oh, fuck," Ron said, suddenly remembering that he had slept with Robert right before leaving for Switzerland.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, is it supposed to be a secret?"

"What, no, it's not – there's nothing to keep secret," Ron said quickly. "We're not dating. He's just a friend. They're all, those three blokes you met, they're all just friends of mine. I drink with them a bit and... maybe we flirt sometimes, but it's nothing serious."

Dean nodded. "It just seemed like... he wanted me to know that you were his."

Ron sighed heavily. "Yeah, he... we've a bit of a history and he can get quite jealous, but... like I said, it's nothing serious. Not on my end, anyway," he added, muttering.

"Does he know that?" Dean asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know, probably not. It's... it's definitely something we have to work on. Anyway, I'm sorry if he was unfriendly to you at the pub that time. He can be really rude when he wants to be."

"It's fine, I wasn't bothered by it. I was too distracted by the other two to pay him much attention, anyway."

Ron snorted into his wine glass. "Yeah, Sean and William... they're an odd pair. William definitely fancies you, though."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Ron emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. "What about it, then? Did you fancy him?"

Dean wrinkled his nose slightly. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "He... well, he's certainly fit, but he's a bit mad, isn't he?"

"Quite more than a bit mad," Ron agreed, smiling. "And how about Sean?"

Dean finished off his dinner before answering. "He was most definitely attractive. As was his sister."

Ron smiled knowingly. "Poor girl could probably get herself married in a heartbeat if she stopped hanging around gay blokes for a half a minute. But, yes, Sean is gorgeous. Obscenely so."

Dean nodded. "Have you ever..."

"No. Well, we've snogged a few times, but it's always been interrupted by William. He'd never let us shag, if only out of pure spite. You'd probably have a good chance of it, though."

"Why's that?"

"You're not me," Ron said, shrugging. "I don't think William cares who Sean sleeps with, as long as it's not me."

"And, er... how did Robert feel about you kissing Sean?"

Ron smiled guiltily. "He never saw any of that. And we thought it best not to tell him... lest he try to murder Sean in the middle of the night."

"That would be unfortunate."

"Yeah, because then you'd never be able to have a go at him. Do yo want me to put in a good word for you?"

"Er, no," Dean said quickly. "I don't really... do that."

"What, sleep with blokes?" Ron teased.

Dean shrugged. "Not as... um, often, maybe, as you all probably do..."

"Are you calling me a slut?" Ron asked in mock offense.

"No, I just meant–"

"I know what you meant," Ron assured him. "And Sean's definitely not a slut. It takes quite a lot to get into his pants... and I'd bet you're the same way."

Dean pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "Well, thanks for the offer, anyway, but I don't really think I'm ready for any of that."

"For any of what?" Ron asked, confused.

"Just, you know, dating, relationships... all that."

"But... but you've been out to gay clubs since you moved here, haven't you? And you said you were looking for someone to invite home with you, didn't you? And you went to the gay bar..."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I say and do these things, but I don't really ever mean them," he explained, avoiding Ron's gaze again. "I guess I'm a bit of a prude, but I try my best to act like I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure a prude wouldn't constantly paint naked blokes," Ron pointed out.

"Good point," Dean admitted. "I don't really know how to explain it. I just have these urges to go out and meet people, but as soon as I do, I regret it. I'm sort of a guilty hermit..."

Ron chuckled. "You're weird, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. It comes with the territory."

"What territory?"

"The penis-painting artist territory."

Ron laughed and finished off his wine. "All right," he said, checking his watch. "I'd better get home and into bed soon. I have to meet with my boss in the morning. Blech."

Dean stopped a passing waiter to ask for the check, and their waitress turned up a minute later to give it to them.

"I'm paying this time," Ron said, grabbing the check book before Dean could touch it.

"You don't have to," Dean said quickly. "Really, we can split it."

"Nonsense. You paid last time, I'll pay this time. We can split it next time."

"The wine was expensive," Dean protested.

"Yeah, and I drank most of it, so I'm paying for it." Ron reached for his wallet, pulled out his Muggle credit card, and slipped it into the check book.

"You've got a credit card?" Dean asked quietly as the waitress walked back over to take it away. "Do most wizards?"

"Probably not. I only got one to stop awkward questions about why I always paid in cash. I'm usually only ever involved with Muggle men, and I just thought it made sense to get one. I don't have one of those mobile telephones, though, and that usually confuses them. Most of them probably think I'm lying and trying to avoid getting in contact with them again... which, you know, is partially true, or would be if I had a phone, but I don't."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to show Ron. "They're quite handy, but I suppose if you're not trying to contact Muggles you've got no use for one."

"Exactly," Ron said as the waitress came back again. He took his credit card and the receipt and slid them back into his wallet. "Shall we go?"

"Thanks for paying," Dean said as they slipped their coats back on and headed outside. "It was really nice of you."

"And it was nice of you to pay last time," Ron countered. "We're such nice blokes."

Once they were out in the cold night air, Dean pulled out cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you want one?" he asked, offering the pack to Ron.

"Do you mind?" Ron asked.

"No, of course not. Here, I'll light it for you." Dean took out a cigarette, slipped it between his lips, and lit it with the plastic lighter. "There you are," he said, taking it out of his mouth and handing it to Ron. "I promise I'm not sick or anything."

Ron laughed and slipped the cigarette between his own lips. "Thanks. I never did get the hang of those weird Muggle lighters. I prefer matches."

Dean shrugged and lit a cigarette for himself as they headed back toward the Underground station Ron needed to get back home. "It's sort of adorable that you can't work a lighter properly."

Ron snorted, hoping Dean couldn't see him blush in the dark. "Thanks, I guess. How long have you been a smoker?"

"About two years. I should probably quit..."

"Probably," Ron said, shrugging. "Did you start smoking the same time you became a vegetarian?"

"Um, yeah, about that time."

"Was it because of the same person?" Ron asked, only half joking.

Dean took a long drag and exhaled loudly. "You could say that. It's wasn't really because of the same reason, but... the same person sort of influenced both, yeah."

"Am I allowed to ask his name?"

"What makes you think it's a he?"

"You would have said so if it wasn't," Ron reasoned. "And it's probably the same person you said you cared most about over there, right? And, by that logic, probably the same person you had your one serious relationship with."

Dean coughed slightly. "Are you drunk?"

Ron pondered this question as he tapped the ash of the end of his cigarette. "I guess I'm a bit tipsy," he said. "I don't generally talk like this when I'm sober."

"I kind of like it when you're drunk," Dean said. "You're so frank and honest."

"You're avoiding my question."

"Maybe I don't want to tell you his name."

"And why wouldn't you want to do that?"

"Maybe I don't like talking about him. Maybe I don't like thinking about him."

"Merlin, did he break your heart or something?"

"I just told you," Dean said sternly, tossing his cigarette butt into the street, "I don't like talking about it."

"All right," Ron said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll stop being a jerk."

"Good luck with that."

Ron grinned and stabbed out his cigarette butt on a lamp post. "I like it when you're punchy."

"Christ, how much wine did you drink?" Dean asked, staring at Ron with wide eyes.

"Not enough," Ron said sadly. "I am not looking forward to tomorrow."

"Because you have to meet with your boss?"

"Because I have to meet with my boss," Ron confirmed. "And then I have to go find my stupid older brother and yell at him for being so goddamn stupid."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like fun."

"Blech."

"Right. Well, on that note, the station's right there." He pointed across the street. "Thanks for stopping by. It was nice to have company over for once."

"Thanks for not kicking me out," Ron said, grinning. "You have my address, right?"

"Yeah, Harry gave it to me."

"Good. Well, you're welcome anytime. You don't have to send an owl or anything, the door's always open for you."

"Thanks," Dean said. "Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime."

"You absolutely should." Ron held out his hand and Dean shook it tightly. "I'll send you an owl about plans for this weekend, yeah?"

"That'd be great." Dean dropped Ron's hand and waved as Ron started to cross the street. "Thanks again for dinner," he called out after Ron. Ron reached the other corner, turned around, and gave Dean a salute before disappearing into the Underground station.





"You're not out," Ron said stupidly when he stepped into his flat that night.

Harry looked up from where he was lounging on the sofa. "Am I supposed to be?" he asked.

"I thought you'd still be with Gin," Ron explained as he dropped his coat to the floor. He walked over to the sofa, shoved Harry's legs off, and sat down.

"Rude," Harry complained, readjusting himself into a sitting position. "And where've you been?"

"I just had dinner with Dean, up near his flat. Did you know he paints naked blokes for fun?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, laughing.

"You know he's an artist, don't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that's what he does! He paints naked blokes."

"I see."

Ron glared over at Harry. "You're a tosser."

"You're clearly drunk," Harry teased.

"I'm not drunk," Ron protested. "I had... most of a bottle of wine..."

"You know what wine does to you."

"Shut up," Ron said, pouting.

"Fine, but just for that, I'll not be helping in the morning."

"I don't need your help."

"You say that now."

Ron stuck his tongue out at Harry, who laughed.

"So, how is Ginny?" Ron asked in an attempt at normal conversation.

"She's good. I was just too tired to do anything other than sit on my arse. How's Dean? Besides the... naked bloke painting thing."

Ron shrugged. "I think he's a bit lonely. And I still haven't seen him smile."

Harry paused before asking, "You do fancy him, don't you?"

"Godric, it's hard not to," Ron whined, tossing his head back on the sofa cushions. "He's bloody perfect, isn't he? All gorgeous and sad and some sort of secret brilliant kinky artist."

Harry chuckled. "Why's he sad?"

"His mum died," Ron explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just after the war. Apparently he didn't grieve for two years and I bet it was epic when he did. Shit, why am I so attracted to damaged men?"

"Um."

"I'm not even talking about you. Hell, maybe I am. I don't even know. I'm drunk. I'm drunk and I'm horny and Dean's arse keeps wiggling about in my head!"

Harry laughed again. "You should go to bed, mate," he suggested. "You've got to be up for work tomorrow and we both know that's not going to be a pretty sight."

"Bugger." Ron sighed and turned to look at Harry. "How's Robards?"

"Probably about to be put on suspension," Harry said, biting back a smile. "Don't tell him I said that, though."

Ron's mouth fell open. "How'd you manage that?"

"I had a chat with Kingsley," Harry said simply. "Told him Robards sent you out on a mission alone and without any provisions. Plus, there was that whole bit where you asked him if you should close the case even though there wasn't enough information from whatever their faces are, and he said yes. The whole thing was his fault to begin with. Kingsley's going to have a chat with them, with, uh..."

"Kelley and Edwards?"

"Yeah, them. Kingsley's going to have a chat with them tomorrow at St. Mungo's and see what happened. He already took all the case reports and all those papers from the Welshman. Robards is probably scared out of his wits he's about to get fired."

"Is it bad that I hope he does get fired?" Ron asked.

"Of course not," Harry reassured him. "Especially not after what he just did to you."

"And the Welsh idiots?"

"They're being held at the Ministry until they can be questioned probably by Kingsley. I think it's unusual for the Minster to get so involved with an Auror case, but..."

"But since when has Kingsley been a usual Minster?"

"Exactly."

Ron nodded and closed his eyes, dreading his meeting with Robards in the morning.

"Why don't you just go on to bed," Harry suggested after a few minutes.

"I can't," Ron moaned. "I'm just going to have some stupid sexy dream about Dean and I don't want to deal with that."

Harry snorted and Ron opened one eye to glare at him. "Is there a reason you've resigned yourself to having dreams about him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, closing his eye again.

"Why haven't you just... you know, told him you fancy him? Or whatever it is you do to pull blokes."

"I can't just tell him," Ron protested. "He's already told me he's not interested in a relationship right now. He's not even interested in a shag right now. Apparently he doesn't sleep around. He's all... noble and innocent."

"Hm, you're right." Ron opened his eyes at the amusement in Harry's voice. "You definitely don't do noble and innocent. He's all wrong for you."

"Shut up," Ron demanded, smacking Harry across the chest with his arm. "I'm going to bed," he said spitefully, standing up.

"Mind your dreams," Harry called after him as he headed for his bedroom.

Ron made a rude hand gesture at his flatmate before going into his room and collapsing on the bed without removing his clothes.





Ron woke up in the morning with the distinct impression that someone was knocking bricks together behind his eyes. He groaned croakily and tried to fall back asleep, wondering why he'd been so stupid the previous night and hoping he could just die already and get it over with.

"Morning, sunshine."

Ron groaned again and rolled over, much to the dismay of his stomach.

"I brought you something to ease the pain."

Ron opened his eyes and immediately regretted it; the room was far too bright for his poor eyes.

"Stop being so pathetic and sit up a bit."

Ron grumbled as warm hands helped lift him into a sitting position. A vial was placed into one of his hands and he drank it warily, hoping it would stay down long enough to be effective.

"Better?"

Ron opened one eye and looked up to see Harry smiling at him.

"A bit," he managed, still feeling quite queasy even though the pounding in his head was subsiding. "Thanks." He lay back down and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could stay in bed for the rest of the day.

"Next time, don't drink wine on a weeknight," Harry suggested cheerfully before leaving Ron's room.

Ron sighed and stayed in his bed for a few more minutes before forcing himself to get up and get dressed.

By the time he reached the Ministry, he was feeling more or less normal, though he was still unenthusiastic about his meeting with Robards.

"Weasley," Robards barked as Ron approached his office.

Ron gulped and entered the office. "Good morning, sir."

"Sit down." Robards indicated a seat opposite his desk and Ron sat obediently. "You are in good health?"

"Um, yeah," Ron answered, somewhat surprised by the question.

"Good, good," Robards said vaguely. "Now, if you would, I'd like to hear from you exactly what happened while you were in Switzerland."

Ron thought about the case report he had in his bag, but decided not to say anything about it; he wanted to give it directly to Kingsley. "Didn't Harry tell you about it already?"

Robards narrowed his eyes. "Potter told me his side of things, yes. I want to hear from you."

"I'm sure whatever he said was correct," Ron said, holding Robards' angry stare. "Nothing much happened before he showed up, anyway. I was just blindly hunting for a few days."

"Weasley," Robards said slowly, and Ron could hear nervousness mixing with the anger in his voice. "I am your boss. I am asking you what you did on the mission I sent you on, and all you have to say for yourself is that you were 'blindly hunting' until Potter showed up?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said, a bit defiantly. "That's exactly what happened. Not because I'm not a good Auror," he added, thinking he might as well say what he really wanted, "but because you didn't prepare me well enough for it."

Robards' lips thinned dangerously. "For a new Auror, you're not showing much promise in the area of respect."

"For Head of the Auror Department, you've done very little to earn my respect."

Robards' eyes flashed menacingly, but Ron refused to break eye contact, even though his heart was racing with anxiety and he could feel his face burning with nervousness.

"You may go," Robards said suddenly.

Ron blinked. "Sorry?" he asked, too surprised to remember to stay stern.

"Go!" Robards barked.

Ron jolted in his seat, then stood and left quickly before he got into real trouble.

He went by Kingsley's office, found it empty, and left his case report in Kingsley's in-box. With no assignment and no desire to ask Robards or anyone else in the department for one, Ron spent the rest of the day hiding in Hermione's office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He gave her a long, detailed account of his time in Switzerland, minus the argument with Harry over his lingering romantic feelings, and she scolded him heavily for his stupidity and stubbornness. Harry joined them for lunch and even though Hermione begged him to take Ron away, Ron stayed with her for the afternoon, distracting her from working and generally being a pain.

By the time Ron and Hermione met up with Harry in the Atrium that evening, Harry had received only one small update from Kinsgley about Ron's case. The note read: Kelley and Edwards are being given the rest of the week off. Court date for Davies and Griffiths set for next week.

Ron wasn't sure what to make of such news. Had Kingsley been able to find out anything useful from either the Aurors or the Welshmen? He supposed Kingsley must have done, otherwise there would be no need for a court date.

"Try not to worry about it, mate," Harry said reassuringly as they headed out of the Ministry after saying goodbye to Hermione. "You'll find out the whole story eventually."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Ron asked. "I've got nothing else to work on and I certainly can't go ask Robards for another assignment any time soon."

Harry shrugged. "Just hang out with me tomorrow. I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something for you to do. Fuck Robards, he's a cocksucker, remember?"

"Bollocks," Ron said, stopping short on the pavement. "I forgot, I've got to go talk to George."

"See you at home, then?" Harry called over his shoulder, barely slowing down.

"See you," Ron shouted, then turned and headed for the Leaky Cauldron.





Ron knocked on the door to George and Lee's flat, but then tried the doorknob before waiting for a response. He found it unlocked and let himself in. Lee and Angelina were at the kitchen table playing a Muggle card game and listening to music on the wireless.

"Where's George?" Ron asked, not bothering to say hello.

"Hiding in his room," Lee said dully. "As per usual."

Ron nodded and headed for George's room, which he entered without knocking.

"You're going to listen to what I have say whether you like it or not," he said once the door was closed securely behind him. George didn't move from where he was lying on the bed, flipping through a Muggle comic book. "If you're in love with Lee, you need to tell him. You can't just wait around for him to make the first move. He's not going to do it. Not because he's straight, but because you've not given him a reason to do it."

George opened his mouth to speak, but Ron shot him a deadly look. "And, you need to stop pretending you're so bloody straight! If you're gay, just fucking admit it. What am I supposed to think if you spent all that effort trying to make me come out, telling me it was normal and how much happier I'd be if I wasn't keeping it a secret, and then having my back when Mum went ballistic – what am I supposed to think of all that if you can't even admit it yourself? Was all that just bullshit to make me feel better about myself? Or are you really that much of a hypocrite?"

George looked up at Ron for a long moment, then casually turned his attention back to his comic. "Get out."

"Gladly," Ron said, leaving the room with a dramatic flair he usually saved only for annoying George, and slamming the door behind him.

He waved goodbye to Lee and Angelina, ignoring the inquiring looks they were giving him, and headed straight for his and Harry's flat, hoping he could persuade Harry to cook him a decent dinner. When he arrived home, however, Harry was nowhere to be found.

Ron flopped down on the sofa and considered his options. He knew there wasn't much food in their flat; he desperately needed to go shopping but was far too lazy to actually do it, especially when he could just go out for dinner instead. He ran a tired hand from his face down to his thighs, pressing his palm hard against his cock and trying to count the days since he'd (probably) had sex with Robert.

Ron got up from the sofa with a grunt and went into his room to change clothes. He was going to treat himself to dinner, then find a sexy bloke to bring home and shag.





"So," Harry said as he Ron sat in a small cafe the next afternoon, "did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Ron tore his gaze from the suspect they were tracking and turned to Harry. "What?"

"Last night," Harry repeated. "Did you enjoy yourself? Because it sounded like you did."

Ron rolled his eyes and looked back toward their suspect. "Is there a reason you're trying to bring up my sex life? We're supposed to be working."

"Come off it. You know just as well as I do that man's not a dark wizard."

"Then why are we here?" Ron asked, exasperated. He was incredibly bored of sitting in this cafe with nothing more to do than avoid discussing the hot sex he'd had the previous night.

"Because I don't fancy going back to the Ministry empty-handed just yet," Harry answered. "And because you still haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I enjoyed myself," Ron said flatly. "Satisfied?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I was hoping for more details, but I suppose that'll have to do."

Ron sighed and traced the rim of his teacup with a fingertip. "How much more time until our meeting with Kingsley?"

Harry checked his watch. "Another hour."

"Oh, good." Ron watched as their suspect got up and left the cafe. "Should we follow him?"

"No point, is there?" Harry asked as he leaned back in his chair. "He's as innocent as Neville."

Ron snorted and drank the rest of his room temperature tea. "I'm bored, Harry."

"I can see that."

Ron propped his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, deciding to take a nap until it was time to meet with Kingsley.





"How much do you already know?" Kingsley asked as Harry and Ron settled themselves into chairs in his office.

"The bare minimum," Harry said. "Though, it wasn't my case."

"I can't say I know that much either," Ron added.

Kingsley nodded and tapped the desk with his fingers for a few moments. "Well, it seems Davies and Griffiths, the two Welsh wizards, were trying to teach the giants magic."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "What?"

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Yes. Magic. They were even trying to fashion some wands for the giants. Thank Merlin they never succeeded. Can you imagine? Anyway, Aurors Kelley and Edwards found the giants and the Welshmen about a week before you got that last update from them, Ron. They spent that week trying to wipe the giants' memories of all the dark magic they'd been trying to learn."

"Can you wipe a giant's memory?" Harry asked, sounding awestruck.

"Not very easily," Kingsley admitted. "It took a lot out of them, but they finally managed it. Unfortunately, Davies and Griffiths caught them at it. They were forced to send that update back to you, and then they were tied to some chairs and left to die, basically."

"Left to die?" Ron asked, his insides squirming. "But they were inside the tent! Davies and Griffiths were right there! They weren't just going to watch them die, were they?"

Kingsley cleared his throat. "You two got my note about the court date?"

"When is it, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Next Monday, actually. Ron, you should spend tomorrow and Friday compiling all the evidence against them, all right? They're still being held here, but hopefully they'll be off to Azkaban next week. We've plenty to accuse them of, and there's no excuse for anything they've done."

Ron nodded, glad to finally have something useful to do. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, also, Robards is on suspension as of today. I'm having some personnel start an investigation of his work and all his records. Don't spread any rumours about it, though. We don't want there to be any more attention drawn to him, or to you two, than strictly necessary. If anyone asks, you don't know why he's been put on suspension, all right? John Dawlish is taking over the department until the investigation is over. I trust you two won't give him any trouble."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant! Will he take over permanently if Robards get sacked?"

Kingsley cleared his throat again. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, I'm afraid I don't have much longer. I've a meeting in five minutes. Do you have any questions about the case?"

"I do," Ron said quickly. "Is anyone else going to go out and make sure the giants aren't doing anything... you know, Dark or magical? I know you said their memories were wiped, but Davies and Griffiths probably had time to re-teach them a few things after that, didn't they?"

Kingsley gave Ron a small smile. "Very good, Weasley. We are going to look into doing that. In fact, you should talk to Dawlish about it. He'll be the one organizing the mission. You two would be perfect for it, seeing as you already know where the giants are."

"Thank you, sir," Ron said appreciatively. It wasn't very often he felt valued at work.

Kingsley checked his watch. "Anything else?"

"No," Harry said, standing up. "Thanks for the update, Kingsley. We'll see you in court on Monday?"

"Of course." Kingsley stood to shake their hands. "I'll see you then."





Can I come over? – Ron

Of course. – Dean





Ron rang the doorbell to Dean's flat and waited impatiently, his face stinging from the cold. He wasn't entirely sure what had made him owl Dean to begin with; all he knew was that he was in a terrible mood thanks to his annoying flatmate. Harry had spent the rest of the afternoon pestering him about the sex he'd had the night before, and it had taken all of Ron's self-control not to strangle Harry for it. He didn't like discussing his sex life with Harry to begin with, but now that Harry knew how Ron still felt, it made him even more uncomfortable; he didn't understand why Harry couldn't take the hint and drop it for good.

Dean opened the door and gave Ron a dopey sort of grin. "Halloo."

Ron quickly burned the image of Dean smiling into his brain. He had somehow forgotten what Dean's smile had looked like in the five years that had passed since they'd last seen each other, so he was surprised to see Dean's dimples and perfectly white teeth. Most of all, Ron was surprised to see how much more evident Dean's cheekbones were when he was smiling; they were already unusually high and prominent, but when he smiled, they were even more striking.

Not wanting to stare, Ron tore his eyes away from Dean's cheeks and looked up at Dean's heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes.

"Hello," he said awkwardly, completely taken aback by Dean's appearance and attitude. Ron saw now that Dean was wearing nothing but loose cotton pants with a drawstring waist and a thin white tee-shirt. He also looked as though he hadn't shaved since Ron last saw him.

"Come in," Dean said, stepping back so Ron could get past him. He closed the door and led Ron through to the living room. "How are you?"

"Good," Ron said distractedly, his bad mood suddenly forgotten as he saw the progress Dean had made on the painting of the naked man. The packed boxes had been filled into the background and partially colored in, and the man himself had much more realistic shading and muscle definition. The look on the man's face was breathtakingly sad, and Ron was struck with a deep sense of loss and regret. "Wow," he muttered. "That's... coming along nicely," he finished lamely, feeling Dean's eyes on him.

"I was working on it earlier," Dean explained, walking around Ron and moving toward the dining room and kitchen. "Do you want some tea?"

"Sure," Ron said, following him. Something was off with the way Dean was acting, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "How's your day been?"

"Really good," Dean said, shooting Ron another smile over his shoulder as he filled a kettle with water. "I've been getting a lot of good work done this week. How's Harry?"

"Oh, he's good." Ron said, suddenly remembering his bad mood. "I've spent a bit too much time with him today, though."

"What?" Dean turned around and gave Ron an unfocused look. "Sorry, I'm a bit stoned. I made brownies earlier. They've got weed in them."

Ron grinned. "That would explain it."

"Is it really obvious?" Dean asked, crinkling his nose.

"Just a bit," Ron teased. "This is the first time I've seen you smile since you moved back."

"It's hard not to," Dean said, smiling yet again. "I'm just feeling very happy. I've been watching one of my favorite films on my computer."

"Oh yeah?" Ron glanced out at the computer in the dining room. "What's it like, having a computer?" he asked curiously.

Dean snorted with laughter. "What a weird question."

"Hey, I'm a wizard," Ron defended himself, going out to sit in front of the computer. "Wizards don't generally own computers. How do I use this thing?"

Dean came into the dining room, grabbed Ron's hand, and put it on the mouse. "You use this to click on things," he explained, keeping his hand on Ron's and guiding the cursor around the screen. He leaned down and put his chin on Ron's shoulder as he opened up an internet browser and clicked on a few links to demonstrate.

Ron stared ahead at the computer, not really taking in what Dean was trying to show him, as he was too distracted by Dean's warm hand on his and Dean's face so close to his. He could smell the chocolate on Dean's breath and all he wanted to do was turn and give Dean a kiss.

The kettle started whistling and Dean stood up again. "Just type something in there," he said, pointing to the address bar at the top of the browser. "Anything, really, and it'll search for websites about it."

Ron tried to think of something he needed or wanted to search for as Dean went into the kitchen to make their tea. He ran his fingers over the keyboard and searched for letters, trying to figure out the pattern of the layout. When he finally found all the keys, he started typing.

"G... a... y..." Ron looked up from the keyboard to make sure the letters were being typed into the address bar. They were, and a menu had dropped down below them, offering not only search suggestions, but some of Dean's saved websites as well.

"Oh, God, don't click on those," Dean said as he set down two steaming mugs on the computer desk.

Ron smirked and clicked on the first website listed in the menu. When it finished loading a few seconds later, Ron found himself staring at picture after picture of ridiculously buff naked Muggle men touching their cocks, balls, and arses in a wide array of lewd positions.

"I told you not to click on it," Dean mumbled, sounding both amused and embarrassed.

"This is brilliant," Ron said, clicking on a picture of a particularly gorgeous blond bloke. He grinned when the website reloaded to show him a larger version of the photo. "Is there a lot of Muggle porn on the internet?"

"That's all there is on the internet," Dean said. "That's all the internet's for, really. Just porn... lots and lots of porn."

"Brilliant," Ron said again. "Too bad the pictures don't move, though."

"That's what the videos are for."

"Videos?" Ron asked, his eyes wide. "Shit. How come no one ever told me about this?"

Dean chuckled. "Are you lacking porn in your life?"

"No," Ron said firmly. "Though wizarding porn is quite different... it's all magazines and stuff. But the pictures move and sometimes you can even tell the blokes what to do, if they feel like listening."

"I might have to get my hands on some of that," Dean said. "Oh, do you want a brownie with that?" he asked as Ron reached for a mug.

Ron considered the offer, wondering if it was smart to get high on a weeknight. It'd been years since he'd done any drugs, and he didn't trust his body not to overreact in the morning. "I'd better not," he said apologetically. "I've got work tomorrow."

"Fair enough." Dean pulled a chair away from the dining room table and sat himself next to Ron. "I can save some for the weekend if you're interested."

"That'd be brilliant," Ron said, grinning. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Dean reached for the computer mouse and closed out of the porn website. "Anything else you want to look up?" he asked teasingly.

"Not really. Do you want to finish watching your film?"

"Sure," Dean agreed. Ron watched as he moved the cursor around and clicked the mouse a few times until the entire screen was filled with a shot from the movie. "Do you want me to explain the plot?"

"Nah, don't bother. I'm sure I'll figure it out." He pulled out his wand and used it to turn out the lights as Dean started playing the movie.





By Friday afternoon, Ron was very much looking forward to spending that night getting stoned with Dean. He'd spent the past two days working his way through the large stack of papers he and Harry had nicked from the Welsh wizards. The papers included step-by-step plans for how the Welshmen were going to train the giants, as well as more detailed reports about the case written by Kelley and Edwards. Ron had spent endless hours in his cubicle sorting the evidence and trying to decide which papers would be most advantageous in an attempt to put Davies and Griffiths into Azkaban; he was pretty sure he was killing more brain cells by staring at endless rolls of parchment about giants than he would by eating a weed brownie.

When Dean let him into the basement flat that evening, he was slightly disappointed to find that a sober Dean was still an unsmiling one. However, he did enjoy seeing that the stubble on Dean's cheeks from two days ago had grown out even further, the promise of an attractive beard not far behind.

"How've you been since Wednesday?" Dean asked, taking a seat on the living room sofa and indicating that Ron should do the same.

"Bored as hell," Ron answered, plopping down next to Dean. "Only good thing that's happened is I might get to go back to Switzerland next week or the week after, but only if my boss gets sacked and the temp they've got in now stays on for the job."

"What's in Switzerland?"

"Giants," Ron said, not at all wanting to discuss the case he had been buried in for the last thirty hours. "There were some Welsh idiots trying to teach them magic... someone's got to go make sure their memories are wiped. The temp wants me to go, but my actual boss hates me, so... we'll see how it goes, I guess."

"Wow," Dean said slowly. "I do not miss that sort of drama."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I suppose painting naked blokes is a lot less stressful."

"Truer words you've never said." Dean suddenly reached his arms above his head to stretch, moaning appreciatively. "Do you want to do anything else before we eat the brownies? Or do you just want to dive right in?"

"Let's dive right in," Ron said decisively. "Though, I will have some tea, if you don't mind."

"Excellent." Dean stood and headed for the kitchen with Ron trailing behind him.

"I haven't done this in years," Ron warned, eying the plate of brownies on Dean's counter.

"Don't worry, they're pretty mild," Dean assured him, setting a kettle on the stove. "It'll be about an hour after you eat them before anything happens, anyway. We could watch another movie if you like, or put on music or something."

"A movie would be good," Ron said distractedly as Dean bit into a brownie. Dean handed him one and he took it, sniffed it, and then nibbled off a piece. "It tastes like chocolate," he said stupidly.

"It wouldn't be very good if it tasted like weed," Dean reasoned.

"That's very true," Ron said before taking a larger bite. He saw that Dean had put his brownie down on a napkin to finish later, and Ron did the same, wondering what would happen if he ate the whole thing right then.





Less than two hours later, Dean was turning off the movie before it was finished. He was having trouble concentrating on it, and Ron was having trouble doing anything other than giggling madly at everything the characters did.

"Are you always like this when you're high?" Dean asked, standing to switch on the light.

"I don't even remember," Ron admitted as he got to his feet. He stretched and then laughed at how good stretching felt. "I feel ridiculous."

"As you should," Dean teased, smiling coyly. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Everything," Ron said quickly. "Do you have a chess set?"

"To eat?" Dean asked, looking confused.

Ron laughed loudly. "To play! I'd be so damn good at chess right now."

Dean snorted and went into the kitchen to find food. "I don't have a chess set," he said when he came back out a minute later, holding a large bag. "But I do have crisps."

"Glorious." Ron followed Dean into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa, waiting impatiently for him to rip open the bag.

"Oh, my God," Dean moaned, tossing his head back and slumping against the cushions.

"What?" Ron asked, reaching for the bag and opening it himself. He reached in for some crisps and shoved them into his mouth, relishing in the salt.

"I just had the best idea for a painting," Dean said, staring up at the ceiling.

"What's that?" Ron asked through a mouthful of crisps.

"You, naked, eating crisps."

Ron coughed as he tried to swallow. "What?" he choked out.

"You, naked, eating crisps!" Dean repeated.

Ron gave Dean an incredulous look, then broke into a fit of laughter. "You're insane," he gasped.

"Am not," Dean said vaguely. "It'd be a fabulous painting. You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."

"You're right," Ron said, handing off the bag to Dean. "I'd love to paint myself naked and eating crisps."

Dean giggled and grabbed one crisp out the bag. He popped it into his mouth and smiled at the satisfying crunch it made as he bit into it.

"Would you let me?" he asked a moment later.

"Hm?"

"Would you let me paint you naked sometime?"

Ron laughed again as he considered the idea. "What, seriously?"

"Yeah." Dean suddenly ran his hands from his knees, up his thighs, over his crotch, and onto his stomach. Ron watched the trail of his hands, mesmerized.

"Um."

"Please?"

"That's not weird?" Ron asked, unsure what else to say. The idea of Dean painting him naked was intriguing, though mostly because it involved nudity. Even in his altered state, Ron could tell that such an event could cause problems. For example, if he got naked and let Dean stare at him for hours on end, chances are he would get aroused. He liked it when blokes admired his body; the only thing he liked more was admiring their bodies.

"It's not weird," Dean confirmed. "I've painted tons of my friends nude before. Here, let me show you."

Ron watched as Dean got up and opened the door to the front hall. Directly across the small foyer was another door Ron had assumed led to a coat closet. Dean opened it now and Ron saw that it, in fact, led to a sizable storage space. Canvases of all sizes were stacked against the walls and Dean ruffled through them carelessly. He grabbed a few of the larger ones and brought them out to show Ron.

"This was my best mate in New York, Matthew," he said, propping one canvas up on the coffee table so Ron could see it. "I painted him at least half a dozen times."

Ron leaned forward slightly to look at the painting better. Matthew was sitting at a table and eating a slice of pizza, but Dean had painted the scene from a low angle so that the view could see Matthew's cock, nestled gently between his legs underneath the table.

"Oh," Ron said when he realized Dean was waiting for a response. "Um. I like it."

"See, it's not weird," Dean said again, propping another canvas up in front of the first one.

This one depicted a naked man standing at a kitchen sink and washing the dishes. Ron was immediately impressed, and a little turned on, by the detail Dean had given the man's back and arse muscles. He was clearly a very fit bloke, and Ron wished to see the front side of him as well.

"I don't look nearly that good with my clothes off," Ron said modestly.

"I'm sure that's not true," Dean said quietly. Ron looked up and saw that Dean was staring wistfully down at his own painting.

"Who's that, then?" Ron prompted. "Another friend?"

"Ex-boyfriend," Dean said without taking his eyes off the canvas. "Allen."

"He's gorgeous," Ron said, still watching Dean's face. "Did you ever paint his front?"

"Um..." Dean glanced at the paintings still in his other hand. "No. Anyway, you get the idea." He picked up the canvases from the table and put them, along with the ones he hadn't shown Ron, back into the storage room. When he came back out, he had what Ron thought was a rather fake smile on his face. "So, will you let me?"

"Let you do what?" Ron asked as Dean sat back down next to him.

"Paint you starkers. Will you let me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Ron smiled weakly, hoping the weed would make Dean forget that he'd agreed to it.





Ron woke up the next morning with a terrible taste in his mouth and a terrible pain in his neck. He shifted uncomfortably and grunted in annoyance when he couldn't find a better position to lie in. Heaving a great sigh, Ron opened his eyes and sat up.

He blinked and looked around, confused that he didn't immediately recognize where he was.

"Morning."

Ron glanced around to see Dean leaning against the doorway to the dining room.

"Morning," he croaked, frowning slightly as memories from the night before came back to him. "Um..."

"I'm making tea if you want," Dean offered. "And I can try to scrounge up some breakfast."

Ron nodded vaguely and stood up to stretch, trying to wake himself up. His head felt extremely groggy and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still a bit stoned. When he finally made his way into the kitchen, Dean was standing in front of the fridge with the door open, frowning.

"I don't have much," he said, looking up as Ron came into the room. "I could try to make omelettes, though I should warn you that last time I tried, I failed miserably."

"How do you fail at making on omelette?" Ron asked.

"It completely fell apart," Dean explained. "It was sort of like scrambled eggs, but... more burnt than usual."

Ron chuckled and crouched down to inspect the contents of Dean's fridge. "Well, I could make omelettes," he offered, seeing that Dean not only had plenty of eggs and cheese, but a crisper drawer completely stocked with vegetables. "I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty good omelette chef." He pulled out the carton of eggs and stood up again.

"What's an omelette chef?"

"It means I'm excellent at making omelettes and complete crap at making anything else," Ron explained, smiling. "Chop some vegetables and I'll teach you."

Dean began unloading his crisper drawer as Ron found a cutting board and some suitable knives.

"Sorry about the sofa," Dean said as he placed red and green peppers on the cutting board. "I know it's not the most comfortable."

"It's no problem," Ron said, running the peppers under some tap water. "Thanks for letting me stay the night. I was in no shape to go home."

"I noticed," Dean said, his tone amused. Ron looked out of the corner of his eye to see if Dean was smiling, but was disappointed yet again.

They chopped peppers, onions, tomatoes, and spinach before Ron declared the mix good enough to be an omelette filling. He whisked some eggs together and set about making the omelettes as Dean started putting slices of bread in his toaster.

"This is the fanciest breakfast I've ever had in this flat," Dean said appreciatively as Ron slid an omelette out of the frying pan and onto a plate. "Usually, I just go for cereal. Maybe oatmeal if I'm feeling especially hungry."

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Ron said as he poured more eggs into the pan for a second omelette. "I eat omelettes every chance I get."

"It's good protein," Dean said, watching over Ron's shoulder.

Ron shrugged and dumped the chopped vegetables into the pan. "It's delicious, is what it is."

He finished up the omelette, slid it onto a plate, and went to sit at the dining room table, where Dean had placed mugs of tea, glasses of orange juice, and a stack of buttered toast.

"Fit for a king," Ron said, raising his glass in Dean's direction before sipping it.

"You are a king, are you not?" Dean teased, cutting off a piece of his omelette with his fork. He ate the bite and hummed in appreciation. "This is delicious. Thank you."

"It's no problem," Ron said, grinning as Dean enjoyed his food. "I could make an omelette in my sleep."

Dean's mobile phone rang from the bedroom and he frowned mopily. "That'll be my sister," he said, getting up from the table.

Ron began eating a slice of toast as Dean went to his room to retrieve his phone.

"Hello?" he answered, sounding bored. "I'm doing all right, how're you? ... Yeah, I figured. ... No, no, it's fine, it's fine. ... Yeah, as long as you don't mind I've got a friend over. ... Ron, from Hogwarts. ... No. I mean, yeah, he was here, but he slept on the couch. ... Shut up. ... Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you then. ... All right, good bye."

Dean reemerged from his room and sat moodily in his chair.

"Was it your sister?" Ron prompted.

"Yeah, she's dropping the kids off in half an hour," Dean said, cutting off a few more pieces of his omelette. "Emergency babysitting, you know."

Ron nodded and finished off his toast. "You sound thrilled."

"I was looking forward to relaxing," Dean explained. "Not that I haven't been relaxing... last night was relaxing... I just don't have the energy to deal with them just now."

"I could stay if you like," Ron offered, hoping it wasn't inappropriate. "I like kids. I could help."

"You can stay as long as you like. I've already told her you're here, so it doesn't matter to me. Don't stay out of obligation, but if you really want to do it..."

"I want to," Ron said firmly. "It's no trouble. I've done plenty of babysitting for my own nieces."

"How many have you got?"

Ron paused to count in his head. "Three at the moment, two more on the way."

"Whose are they?" Dean asked. "Not Ginny or George's, I take it?"

"No, not either of theirs, thank Merlin. Bill's got two kids and Percy's got one. Both their wives are pregnant again, though."

"Do you think either of them will have as many kids as your mum did?"

Ron snorted. "I should hope not. I could never remember that many names."

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to eating his omelette. Ron ate in silence for a few minutes, then decided to bring up something he'd been thinking about before Dean's sister's kids arrived.

"So, do you only smile when you're stoned?"

Dean swallowed a large chunk of omelette and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Um."

"I ask because that's the only time I've seen you do it. You don't smile when you're sober, you don't smile when you're drunk–"

"You've never seen me drunk," Dean corrected.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Oh... well, do you smile when you're drunk?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, probably. I just... you know, I smile a lot when I'm not in a normal state. I get sort of goofy and... sometimes smiling happens."

"And you never do it when you're sober?"

Dean shrugged again. "This is a weird conversation. I smile when I'm sober, I just haven't done it in front of you, yet. It's not that I'm a sad person or anything, it just takes a bit to really make me smile. I'm sure it'll happen someday."

"I look forward to it," Ron said, winking.

Dean finished off his omelette and then went to tidy up the flat and put away his unfinished paintings while Ron kept eating.

"Do your sister's kids know you're gay?" Ron asked when he finally got up from the table to help Dean do the dishes.

"Sort of," Dean explained, turning on the hot water in the sink and pouring dish soap on a sponge. "She's explained it a few times, but I'm not really sure they understand. I don't think they'd care if they did understand, but I think they're too young to know it's... you know, not the usual way."

"And do they... know you can do magic?"

"Ah, no." Dean scrubbed the frying pan thoughtfully. "We're not really sure how to tell them that one... it's a bit more out of the ordinary."

Ron laughed and grabbed the plates Dean had finished washing to dry them off. "That's one way to put it."

"So, yeah, you can be as camp as you want, but no magic allowed."

"I think I can handle that."

Ron dried off the rest of the dishes as Dean went to change into clean clothes. He looked down at himself and his wrinkled outfit, thinking it was stupid of him to have slept that way.

Loud, insistent knocking broke the silence and Ron looked up in time to see Dean running full speed to the front door. He dried his hands and timidly made his way through the living room and toward the tiny entrance hall.

Kendra looked remarkably like Dean, considering they had different fathers. She had the same high cheekbones, though her face was a bit rounder, so they weren't nearly as pronounced. They also had the same narrow nose and, Ron realized as he watched her hug her brother, the same wide smile.

"This is Ron," Dean said once his sister had let go of him. "Ron, this is my sister, Kendra, and her kids. There's... where's Danny?"

"Hiding behind me," Kendra explained, shaking Ron's hand. "He's shy," she whispered.

Ron grinned and peered over Kendra's shoulder to see a small, very dark-skinned boy with his arms wrapped around one of his mother's legs.

"I'm Charlotte!"

Ron looked around to see that Dean's niece had already gone into the flat and was standing behind him.

"I'm Ron," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Very nice to meet you."

She curtsied clumsily. "Are you Uncle Dean's new boyfriend?"

Ron tried not to laugh. "I'm afraid not," he said, glancing at Dean, who was avoiding Kendra's inquisitive gaze. "We're just friends."

"That's too bad," the young girl said innocently. "You're cute!"

This time, Ron did laugh.

"All right, that's enough," Dean said, reaching around Kendra and forcing Danny to let go of her. "Let her go, Danny, she'll be back in a few hours."

Danny looked nervously up at Ron and Ron smiled warmly down at him.

"You'll behave, Lottie?" Kendra asked, giving her daughter a stern look.

"I'll try," Lottie said mischievously.

Kendra rolled her eyes and turned back to Dean. "Thanks so much for doing this."

"It's no problem," Dean insisted, pushing her out the door. "See you later."

"Nice meeting you, Ron," Kendra called just before Dean shut the door in her face.

"Do you want to see a magic trick?" Lottie asked excitedly.

Ron chuckled and let her guide him over to the couch, where he sat down. "I'd love to see a magic trick," he said, his eyes not on her, but on Dean, who had just picked up Danny and was whispering soothingly into the distraught boy's ear.

"Give me a penny," Lottie demanded.

Ron frowned slightly and turned his attention back to her. "Well, what if I don't have a penny?"

"Then I can't show you my magic trick!" Lottie crossed her arms and pouted dramatically.

"I've got pennies," Dean said, putting Danny back on the floor. "I'll be right back," he said to his nephew before walking away.

Danny put his hands in his pockets as Ron got up and went over to him.

"I'm Ron," he said, kneeling down to Danny's level. "I'm your uncle's friend. And you're Danny, right?"

Danny nodded but didn't say anything.

"Do you want to come watch your sister do a magic trick me with?"

Danny pursed his lips, clearly considering Ron's offer with all the effort he could muster. Finally, he nodded his head solemnly. Ron held out his hand, which Danny took, stood back up, and walked over to the couch, Danny trailing behind him. When he had sat back down, Ron reached out, grabbed Danny under the arms, and picked the boy up. He set Danny on his lap and was pleasantly surprised when Danny scooted farther back on his legs in order to lean into Ron's torso.

Dean returned from his room and gave Ron an appraising look when he saw where Danny was sitting. He handed Lottie the coin and then took a seat next on the sofa next to Ron.

"Are you good with Ron or do you want to sit with me?"

Danny shook his head, his eyes focused intently on his older sister. Dean winked at Ron and then turned to focus on Lottie as well.

"I'm making the penny disappear by rubbing it on my elbow, okay?" She held up the penny with her right hand, stuck it on her left elbow, and rubbed vigorously. "It's not working!" she announced, dropping the penny on the coffee table and giving her uncle a fake frown. "This isn't a very good coin. I guess I can try it on my other elbow." She picked the penny back up with her right hand, transferred it to her left hand, and then stuck her left hand on her right elbow. She rubbed her elbow a few times, then pulled her hand away to show that it was empty. "Ta-da!"

Ron, Dean, and Danny all clapped enthusiastically.

"That's amazing," Dean said, pretending to be awestruck. "How did you do it?"

Lottie opened her right hand to reveal the penny. "Magic!"

Ron laughed heartily, Danny bouncing slightly in his lap as his body shook. "Brilliant!" he assured her when she gave him a threatening look. "You really had me going."

Lottie beamed proudly and handed Dean back his penny.





Ron and Dean had fed the kids both lunch and dinner by the time Kendra came back. They had played computer games, card games, board games, and make believe games. They had suffered through several more of Lottie's magic tricks, none of which were as convincing or funny as her first. They had teased and tickled Danny so hard that he almost wet himself.

"Oh, my God," Kendra slumped down onto Dean's couch after he let her in. "That was the longest day I've ever worked."

"Let me get you some tea," Dean offered.

Kendra watch him leave for the kitchen, then turned to Ron, who was sitting on the floor with Danny, trying to help him untie his shoelaces.

"You're still here," she said, sounding surprised.

Ron smiled sheepishly. "Yeah... I've had fun, though."

"Are you going to be here every time Uncle Dean babysits us?" Lottie asked, throwing herself on Ron's back and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I don't know," Ron said, reaching up to loosen her grip on his throat. "Probably not, but maybe sometimes, yeah."

"What happened to Danny's shoelaces?"

Ron raised his eyebrows and pulled out of Lottie's grip so he could turn around to glare at her. "You tied them together!" he exclaimed, holding up the giant knot she had made. "Or do you not remember?"

Lottie shrugged innocently, so Ron reached out a hand to threaten to tickle her. She shrieked and jumped away, letting him get back to untying her knot. Danny climbed into Ron's lap and placed his warm hands on Ron's knees, watching the knot grow slowly smaller.

"Did you apologise?" Kendra asked Lottie.

"Apologise for what?"

"Apologise for doing that knot and then making Ron undo that knot for you."

"Sorry, Ron," Lottie said in a quiet, sing-song way.

"You should be," Ron said, feigning sternness.

"Here you are," Dean announced, returning from the kitchen with a mug of hot tea. He handed it to his sister and sat down next to her on the sofa. "Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah, I ate," Kendra said quietly. "Look at Danny."

Ron kept his eyes fixed on the knot, pretending he couldn't overhear Dean and Kendra's whispered conversation.

"I know," Dean said. "It's a miracle. I've never seen him take to anyone so quickly."

"He must be good with children," Kendra reasoned.

"He's got nieces and nephews of his own," Dean explained. "I guess he's just used to it."

"It's lovely to watch."

"Oh, shut up."

"What? He's gorgeous, Dean. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Shut up," Dean hissed insistently.

Kendra sniggered and started sipping her tea just as Ron finally managed to untangle the last few knots.

"Done!" he announced, placing the shoes on the floor and admiring his work. "Let's get them on your feet, now, shall we?"

Danny nodded, so Ron set about slipping the shoes onto Danny's tiny feet and then tying them up again. Once his shoes were secure, Danny pushed himself out of Ron's lap and ran over to the sofa to finally greet his mother.

Ron remained on the floor as Kendra drank her tea and questioned her children about what they had done that day. He watched as Lottie told her excitedly about the games she had played and the food she had eaten, Danny occasionally offering a quiet, yet excited, "yeah, yeah" to back up her story.

Eventually, when her mug was empty and Danny was half-asleep on the floor, Kendra stood and worked quickly to get herself and Lottie ready to leave.

"Thanks again for taking them at such short notice," she said as she pushed her children toward the door. "I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem, really," Dean said. "You know I'm willing any time."

Ron got tiredly to his feet and followed Dean and his family to the door to say goodbye.

"And thank you, Ron," Kendra said, shaking Ron's hand enthusiastically. "It was wonderful of you to stay and help. I'll see you around, sometime?"

"Yeah, definitely." Ron grinned as Danny hugged his legs in farewell. He patted Danny's head gently, then waved as Danny, Lottie, and Kendra went outside and started up the steps to the street.

"Goodnight!" Dean called up to them before closing the door. He paused for a moment, apparently contemplating the doorknob, then turned to face Ron. "You're fucking brilliant with Danny."

Ron tried to shrug off the compliment. "It's pretty easy... he's a cute kid."

"No, you don't understand. He's horrified of strangers. Kendra can't even hire a proper babysitter because it upsets him too much to be looked after by anyone other than me."

Ron's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I... that sounds a bit extreme for a four-year-old."

Dean shrugged one shoulder and led Ron back through to the living room. "It probably has a lot to do with his dad, but... it's not worth talking about now. It was just surprising to see him warm up to you so fast. You must send out trustworthy vibes or something."

Ron smirked. "Yeah, that's me. Mr. Wholesome and Trustworthy."

"Thrustworthy, maybe."

Ron raised his eyebrows, momentarily speechless. Dean cleared his throat and turned away, his cheeks distinctly pink underneath their dark tone.

"I don't know where that came from," he admitted, sounding surprised at himself.

"Well, I certainly don't know where it came from," Ron teased.

"Let's pretend it didn't happen."

Ron smirked again, but nodded his agreement. "So... should I head off, then? Let you get some rest after a long day?"

Dean's lips twisted with indecision. "I was thinking about getting a drink, actually. After I take a shower, I mean... maybe shave..."

"Don't shave," Ron said firmly. "Don't even think about it."

Dean blushed again. "What, you like the half-arsed beard?"

"I do," Ron said, feeling his own face heating up quickly. "Anyway, I'd love a drink. And a shower, actually. Do you want to meet up in, say... an hour?"

"Sounds perfect. Same bar I saw you at that one time?"

Ron laughed and grabbed his coat from the back of a dining room chair. "Yeah, that place. I'll see you in an hour, then?"

"An hour," Dean confirmed, following Ron to the door. "And thanks again for staying and helping with Lottie and Danny... you really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Ron insisted. "I enjoyed myself, I promise. I'm not just saying that. I'll see you in a bit." He shook Dean's hand and let himself out into the cold November night.





"Oh, shite," Ron mumbled, reaching up to scratch his head and effectively blocking his face from view of the bar door.

Dean turned around stupidly and Ron frowned, missing the warmth and pressure Dean's arm had made against his own. "What?"

"It's fucking Saturday. Don't look, don't look!"

Dean turned back to Ron, his eyebrows raised. "What's wrong with Saturday?"

"Robert," Ron grumbled. "He just walked in with the rest."

Dean turned around again and found himself face-to-face with William. "Oh."

"Hello, again," William said, grinning.

"Hello," Dean said, reaching out to shake William's hand.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly as he turned around. "Hey, friends."

Sean laughed and stepped around William to speak with Ron. Robert hovered behind him, staring intently at Ron.

"You weren't here last week," Sean pointed out. "We missed you."

"Yeah, I was away on business," Ron explained. "Sort of a last-minute trip."

"I see." Sean leaned closer to Ron under pretense of inspecting the label on his beer. "Tread lightly. Robert's inches from slicing your head off."

Ron gulped as Sean backed away and went to find a table with his sister. Ron glanced over at Dean, whose personal space was still being invaded by an insistent William. After watching for a few seconds, he forced himself to make eye contact with Robert.

"Hey," he offered.

Robert's eyes narrowed. "Can I have a word?"

"Um."

"I'll be quick."

"All right, then," Ron found himself saying. He downed the rest of his beer, slipped on his coat, and followed Robert outside. He glanced over his shoulder as they reached the door to give Dean a pleading look, but saw that Dean and William had joined Sean and Mary at a table.

"Come on, then," Robert said, holding the door for Ron.

Ron left the gay bar and stood awkwardly by one of the windows, waiting for Robert to say whatever it was he had to say.

"What do you want from me?"

Ron blinked drunkenly at the other man. "What?"

"What do you want from me?" Robert repeated. "I'm sick of playing this stupid game with you and I want you to tell me what you want from me."

Ron sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "I don't... I don't want anything from you," he said, trying not to sound as mean as he felt.

A strained silence fell between them. When Robert finally spoke, his voice was loud and harsh against Ron's cold ears.

"Just sex, then?" he asked bitterly.

"I – I guess. Not even that, really. Look, what happened the other week... it was probably a mistake. I was drunk. I was dead fucking drunk, I don't even remember... it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. I apologize. I'm sorry if I've hurt you, I'm sorry if I've been leading you on, but I'm just not... I'm not interested... in that... with you."

Robert laughed, a sharp and angry bark. "That's abundantly clear. We had sex and you disappeared for two weeks. Two weeks, Ron. You've got no mobile, I don't know your email, I don't even know if you have an email, and I didn't want to show up at your flat and scare Harry... I've got no way of getting in contact with you! You're just this fucking enigma who shows up whenever he feels like and fucks whomever he pleases and damns the consequences. It's not fair, Ron. I've done everything but shout the words and you're still completely oblivious as to how I feel about you."

Ron lowered his gaze to the pavement, unable to stand the pathetically heartbroken look on Robert's face.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling worse than he had in a long time. "I know I've made all the wrong decisions when it comes to us, and I know this doesn't mean anything, but I really didn't want to hurt you. I just... you know full-well how stupid I can be when it comes to romance. That's why I never have relationships."

"You could try," Robert suggested, his voice slightly hopeful.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. Until recently, he had had no desire to be in any sort of relationship with anyone. Now, suddenly, he found himself secretly pining for Dean even though Dean also claimed to not be interested in relationships. And here was Robert, practically begging for Ron to consider him, and all Ron could think about was getting back inside to Dean.

"Listen, Robert–"

Robert pushed Ron up against the window with a hard kiss, his hands desperately gripping the back of Ron's head.

Ron pushed Robert away as best he could. "Robert, please–"

Robert stepped back and pushed Ron again, this time out of anger. "It's him, isn't it?"

"What's who?" Ron asked, wincing at the pain in his back from where the windowsill had hit his shoulder blades.

"You're friend, Dean," Robert hissed, practically spitting. "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

"No," Ron said quickly. "I'm not. I'm not fucking anyone, Robert. I'm just not interested. You're... look, you're gorgeous and loads of fun to be around, and I know I should be interested, and maybe... maybe some days I have been interested, but I'm just... you deserve someone who cares instead of someone who's just an arse."

Robert shook his head, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed mutinously. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shoved Ron back into the windowsill again instead.

"Robert, come on," Ron shouted after him as he stormed off down the pavement. "Robert!"

Ron watched as Robert slowly disappeared into the night, wondering if he had lost a friend forever, and not at all wanting to know how William or Sean would take the news of their fight. He glanced around at the other pedestrians on the pavement, all of whom quickly looked away and pretended they hadn't been watching the scene. Rolling his eyes, Ron went back inside.

He found Dean and the others at their table and put his hands on the back of one of the two empty chairs they had left for him and Robert.

"He's not coming back," Ron said awkwardly when they all stared expectantly up at him.

Sean sighed. "I hope you at least let him down easy."

"I tried," Ron muttered, taking off his coat again and hanging it off the back of the chair. "I'm getting a drink, I'll be right back."

He went to the bar and ordered two glasses of the strongest beer they had. When he sat back at the table, he slid one across to Dean, who was looking distinctly frazzled and uncomfortable sitting between William and Sean.

"Cheers," Dean said gratefully, moving the beer closer and leaning down to sip at the nearly overflowing head.

"What happened?" William prompted. "Ow!"

Sean rolled his eyes. "Is this really an appropriate time to ask that?" Evidently, Sean had stepped on William's foot under the table.

"Of course not, but when would be an appropriate time?"

"How about never?"

Ron glanced across the table at Dean, who was biting his lower lip. It looked as though he were attempting to hold back a smile. Ron took a large drink of beer and silently willed Dean to do the same; he wanted to see Dean drunk.

"Honestly, though," William continued, ignoring the look Sean was giving him. "What happened?"

Ron shrugged, not especially keen to talk about it. "He..." Ron trailed off and Mary smiled sympathetically at him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "He said he'd done everything but shout the words at me, and said I was still oblivious as to how he felt about me. I mean... it's sort of a fair point. I wasn't that oblivious to it, I did – I do know how he feels, but..."

"But you chose to ignore it," Sean offered. Ron was grateful for his non-judgmental tone.

"But I chose to ignore it," Ron confirmed, nodding. "Because I'm really that much of a bastard, apparently."

"We've known that for years, mate," William teased.

Ron sighed and smiled weakly at Mary when she patted him gently on the arm.

"Try not to worry about it," William said, uncharacteristically serious. "He'll forgive you eventually."

"He's got no reason to," Ron muttered before taking another drink. He glanced across the table again and Dean gave him a small, sad sort of smile.





"Holy. Shit." Dean stumbled into his flat after wrestling with the lock. "What the fuck kind of beer was that?"

"I don't remember," Ron said, only just remembering to close the door behind him as he pushed his way past Dean and into the living room. "You should know, you had at least three!"

"Oh, God, was it that many?" Dean struggled to get off his coat. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I wanted to see you drunk," Ron said as though this should have been obvious.

"I'm going to make tea," Dean decided, walking quickly into the kitchen.

Ron went through Dean's room to find the loo, suddenly painfully aware of his full bladder. He had had another glass of the strong beer as well as another bottle of the first beer he had been drinking before he and Dean decided it was time for them to leave the gay bar. William was having trouble keeping his hands to himself and Ron was seriously considering the idea of snogging Sean before Dean announced that he wanted to go home.

When Ron came back into the dining room, Dean was sitting at the table with two mugs of tea. Ron sat next to him and grabbed the second mug.

"Your friends are ridiculous," Dean commented, staring at the label on the end of his tea bag.

"My friends are fucking cocksuckers," Ron corrected.

"Well... obviously."

Ron frowned for a second, unsure where the obviousness of his statement was. He broke into laughter as it slowly dawned on him. Dean followed suit, and soon they were drunkenly guffawing, Ron slapping his thighs and Dean rocking back and forth, dangerously close to slipping off his chair.

"You're going to fall," Ron gasped, clutching his aching stomach as he continued to laugh.

Dean slid off his chair on purpose, landing on the floor with a thud and laughing even harder as he sat under the table.

Ron crawled after him. "You're on the floor," he pointed out.

Dean snorted with giggles and leaned forward to run his hand through Ron's hair. Ron's eyes widened.

"You really like my beard?" Dean asked after hiccoughing.

Ron swallowed heavily, trying to figure out where this was going. Dean's fingers were rubbing his scalp gently, though, and it felt good enough to prevent him from being able to think about much of anything.

"Yeah, it's – it's sexy."

"Touch it," Dean whispered, moving even closer to Ron.

Ron bit back a whimper and reached out to touch Dean's cheek. He watched dazedly as his pale fingers ran over the short, black hairs along Dean's jaw. He slid his hand down Dean's neck and rested it on Dean's shoulder.

He swallowed again, trying to wrap his intoxicated mind around the thick tension between them. Dean was breathing heavily, his fingers still laced in Ron's hair, and his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as he stared at Ron.

Ron became overwhelmed with a need to say something of importance, something to explain how he felt about Dean. "I don't like the way Sean looks at you."

Dean's fingers loosened their grip slightly and Ron panicked, thinking his chance was over. He leaned forward and kissed Dean full on the lips, his hands moving to cup Dean's cheeks. Dean hummed appreciatively against Ron's lips, his hand grabbing Ron's hair with a renewed passion.

"That was a pleasant surprise," Dean said when Ron finally let him pull away.

Ron flushed. "Was it okay?" he asked, his fingers brushing against Dean's beard again.

"Yeah."

"Okay," Ron whispered, moving in for another kiss.

They moved slowly, drunkenly, sleepily together; Ron clutched tightly to Dean, relishing the long-awaited moment, and Dean lowered Ron to the floor and moved on top of him. Ron moaned as Dean's lips moved to his neck. He closed his eyes and clutched Dean's shirt, trying not to pass out as his blood started rushing to his cock.

"Ron," Dean said sharply. "Ron."

Ron opened his eyes. "Hm?"

"Wake up."

Ron propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at where Dean was sitting next to him, still under the dining room table. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Dean said quietly, looking embarrassed. "Come on, you can spend the night here."

Ron crawled out from under the table and followed Dean to his room.

"You don't want me to sleep on the sofa?" Ron asked as Dean pulled back the sheets.

Dean shook his head and started undressing. Ron did the same and got into the bed wearing his boxers and tee-shirt. He lay there and watched Dean getting ready, trying to figure out if he had really fallen asleep while they were kissing, and why Dean was suddenly acting strange and distant.

"Goodnight," Dean said shortly, getting into his bed, pulling up the sheets, and rolling onto his side. He faced away from Ron, turned off the light, and settled into silence.





Ron woke up the next morning with a stabbing headache. He moaned pathetically and pressed his face into the warm pillow, wanting nothing more than to die.

When it became clear that his stomach was not going to allow him to get away with that, he forced himself to open his eyes and sit up.

"...the fuck?" he grumbled, not immediately recognizing his surroundings.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around, slowly realizing that he was not only in Dean's flat, but in Dean's bed as well. His stomach lurched in warning as a sinking feeling came over him that had nothing to do with his nausea.

Groaning weakly, Ron pushed himself out of bed and headed for the toilet.

When he emerged a few minutes later, he found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed with a glass of water. Dean offered the glass to Ron, who took it gratefully and sat down next to him.

"Sorry," Ron croaked.

"It's no problem," Dean said quietly. "I wasn't exactly feeling my best when I woke up, either."

Ron nodded and sipped at the water. "Did, um... did we..."

"No," Dean said quickly. "No, you just – we just went to sleep."

Ron nodded again, feeling exceptionally embarrassed. "I should really stop drinking so much."

Dean shrugged. "It was fun, though, right? I had a good night, anyway..."

"It was fun," Ron agreed. "At least, I think it was."

"You don't remember?" Dean asked cautiously.

Ron closed his eyes and tried to run through the events of the previous night. "I remember what happened with Robert, and... and I remember coming back here and drinking tea. I sort of feel like I may have been underneath the dining room table at one point, but I can't imagine what I was doing under there."

"Just laughing," Dean said quickly. "We were pretty drunk."

Ron snorted in agreement. "If... if I did anything stupid last night..."

"You didn't," Dean said quietly. "Mostly we just laughed and went to bed."

Ron drank the rest of his water, hoping with everything he had that Dean wasn't lying to him. "I guess I should go," he said awkwardly. "Harry probably thinks I'm dead by now."

"You didn't see him last night?" Dean asked as Ron stood up to get dressed. "When you went home to shower?"

"No, he was probably off with Ginny," Ron explained as he pulled on his jeans. "They can't get enough of each other."

Dean stood and hovered uncertainly in the doorway between his bedroom and the dining room. "If you want to stay," he began softly, "we could try to make breakfast again. Maybe... maybe I could paint some..."

"You don't still want to paint me starkers and eating crisps, do you?" Ron asked, managing a smile.

"No, I – I had a different idea. You can say no, though. I'm sure you're sick of me by now."

"Sick of you?" Ron asked incredulously. "Aren't you the one who should be sick of me?"

"I'm not sick of you," Dean said, not entirely meeting Ron's gaze. "You can stay as long as you like."

Ron considered this as he put on his shirt. He really didn't want to go back to his flat; it was boring there and Harry would surely spend the day pestering him about his friendship with Dean. The thought of spending yet another day with Dean was tempting; even though he fancied Dean a lot, he never felt the need to be fake or impressive around Dean. He liked feeling comfortable and able to be himself around Dean. It was a nice change from the few Muggles he had ever been interested in.

"I suppose I could stay for some tea," Ron said, trying to sound casual. "I'm not sure if my stomach's up for an actual breakfast."

"I'll go make some, then," Dean said, disappearing quickly.

Ron stared after him, trying to figure out what felt different about today. Dean was acting odd, as though they had slept together, but Ron didn't think Dean would be the sort to lie about something like that. Maybe he just felt awkward that Ron had slept in his bed.





"I got an owl from Seamus the other day," Dean said quietly as he set up a fresh canvas in his living room.

Ron shifted slightly on the stool he was sitting on. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ron watched as Dean spent an unnecessarily long time centering the canvas on his easel.

"Well... what did he say?"

"Said he wanted to get lunch some time," Dean explained, stepping back to examine the easel. "Try and work things out."

"Well, that's good." When Dean said nothing, Ron asked, "Isn't it?"

Dean shrugged and finally looked over at him. "Is it?"

"Isn't he your best mate?"

"He used to be," Dean said sadly. "I sort of fucked that up, though."

"What–" Ron cut himself off, not wanting to ask yet again what had happened between Dean and Seamus.

"Can I take some pictures?" Dean asked suddenly, picking up one of the cameras he had set out on the coffee table.

"Oh, um, all right." Ron bit his lower lip and watched as Dean played around with the camera for a few seconds before raising it to his eyes.

"Think about Robert." Ron rolled his eyes and Dean snapped a photo. "Just kidding."

"Ha, ha," Ron said flatly. Dean took another picture. "Am I supposed to be doing something?"

"No, just keep talking to me," Dean said, stepping closer, keeping the camera in front of his face. "What did you do at work last week?"

"Well, I – do you want me to look into the camera?"

"Yes. Keep talking." Dean pressed down on the trigger again.

"This makes me uncomfortable," he admitted.

"Just go with it," Dean prompted. "You don't have to pretend to feel anything other than what you do feel. If you feel uncomfortable, show me."

Ron cleared his throat as Dean took yet another photo.

"What did you do at work last week?" Dean asked again.

"Um. I... compiled some case reports against the Welsh wizards who were trying to teach magic to the giants."

"Mhm," Dean said absently, taking one last photo and then going back to the coffee table to get a different camera.

"So, you're painting my face?" Ron asked as Dean moved even closer to him to take another picture. "Instead of my naked arse?"

"Yeah, that'd be why your clothes are still on," Dean said, reaching around the front of the camera to twist the lens. "Tell me about Harry."

Ron paused and Dean snapped a photo. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me about Harry," Dean prompted again. He reached out to fix Ron's fringe, then pulled his hand away and took a few more pictures of Ron's frozen expression.

"Harry's my flatmate," Ron said, trying to think straight as Dean touched his hair again. "And my best mate. And..."

"And he's dating your sister," Dean said, stepping back slightly to take another photo.

"He's dating my sister," Ron confirmed. He didn't want to talk about Harry. Dean took a few pictures in rapid succession, then set his camera down.

"All right, hang on a second." He took his cameras into the dining room and sat down at his computer. Ron followed and watched as Dean plugged the cameras into the computer. The pictures Dean had just taken opened on the screen and Ron was surprised to see that they were mainly of his eyes.

"Where'd you get the idea for this painting?" Ron asked as Dean browsed through the photos, tracing the outline of Ron's eyes with his fingers and smudging the computer screen.

"Last night," Dean said. He reached under the computer desk, hit a button on a machine, and then sat back in his chair, apparently waiting for something.

"Did you spend a particularly long time looking into my eyes last night?" Ron asked, staring under the desk and watching as copies of the photos started coming out of the machine.

Dean said nothing in response. He simply waited for his photos to finish printing, then grabbed the stack of papers and returned to the living room. Ron followed and sat down next to him on the couch, watching as Dean spread the photos out on the coffee table. He looked over the pictures, unable to see much difference between most of them. His eyes looked tired and surprisingly old in most of them.

"Didn't get you smiling," Dean muttered, picking up one photo and examining it closer.

"Were you trying to?"

"No."

"Oh." Ron sat in silence and watched as Dean pored painstakingly over the pictures. It was mesmerizing to see Dean so involved in his work; his concentration was evident on his face, and he kept absentmindedly licking his lips.

"Okay," Dean finally said, grabbing a few of the photos he had printed out. He taped them to the sides of the large canvas he had set up, then stepped back to evaluate.

"Do you need me here if you're just painting from a picture?" Ron asked curiously.

"Yes. Get back on your stool."

Ron smiled and sat on the stool again, brushing the hair out of his eyes and watching as Dean drew a grid over the canvas with pencil. Dean then drew similar grids on all the photos taped onto the canvas.





"Are you going to paint me any time soon?" Ron asked teasingly.

Dean looked up from what he was doing. "Sorry. I... get a bit lost sometimes."

Ron raised his eyebrows, unsure what that actually meant. Dean dropped to his knees by the coffee table and dug around on the bottom shelf until he found a much smaller canvas.

"Okay, so, sit up straight," he instructed as he stood and disappeared into the storage room. He came out a few seconds later with another stool, which he set directly in front of Ron. He dragged the side table with his paints on it over next to the stool, then sat on it. "Ready?"

"Um," Ron said, confused. "I don't know. What are you doing?"

"Smaller practice run," Dean explained, sketching a grid onto the canvas he had propped up on his left arm. "You should start talking again."

"I don't have anything to talk about," Ron said stupidly as Dean gave him a long, hard stare. "Can't you talk?"

"I can try," Dean said quietly, glancing down at his canvas. He grabbed a small paintbrush, dipped it into a paint daub on his palette, and then began sketching the outline of Ron's eyes and eyebrows. "Eyes up here," he said when he looked back up and found Ron watching his hands.

Ron lifted his gaze to Dean's face. "Sorry."

"What would you like me to talk about?"

"Anything," Ron whispered, trying not to watch as Dean began sketching again. He had never seen anyone paint before and found it fascinating, even the way Dean was holding the paintbrush.

"I could tell you about Seamus," Dean offered, looking up at Ron again. "You have to promise to tell me one of your secrets, though."

"Deal," Ron said without thinking, excited to finally hear the truth.

"Okay." Dean put more paint on the brush. "So, the last time he came to visit me, it was... let's see, just after I'd graduated. So, last summer. Well, no, two summers ago. The summer before last."

"Right."

"And I'd just moved to New York," Dean continued, studying Ron's face. "My flat wasn't very big and I didn't have a sofa. I barely had a bed, it was just a mattress, really. And, um..." he trailed off, concentrating on getting the bags under Ron's eyes just right.

"Is it distracting to talk?" Ron asked.

"No," Dean said quickly, looking back up to compare his sketch with Ron's face. "I told you, I just get lost sometimes. Where was I?"

"You didn't have a sofa."

"Right. I didn't have a sofa. So, Seamus came to visit for a week and we slept on my mattress. It wasn't the world's smallest mattress, so it wasn't too bad. Better than sleeping on the floor, at any rate." He wiped his brush in a different color and started making some of his lines darker. "I was sort of heartbroken at the time. Allen had just told me he'd started dating someone else, and I hadn't managed to have any sort of even vaguely successful romance my senior year. Seamus had come to sort of comfort me, but..."

Ron blinked as Dean reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes. "Thanks." Dean gave a small, closed-mouth smile before returning his gaze to the canvas. Ron gulped and tried to ignore the hair that was standing up on the back of his neck, both from Dean's touch on his forehead and from the first sober smile Dean had allowed him to see.

"One night," Dean continued, hunching slightly to look more closely at his canvas as he painted, "we got really drunk. I mean, that's basically what we did every night, but on this particular night, I had a bunch of tequila and... well, tequila makes me go a bit crazy, sometimes." He glanced back at Ron, his paintbrush still. "So, I was drunk and he was – well, he was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as me. This incident almost put me off drinking for life." He turned back to his painting. "To make a long story short, I kissed him."

Ron's eyes widened and Dean looked up at him again. "You can't change your expression like that," he said, pouting slightly.

Ron cleared his throat and tried to control his face. "Sorry. I was just surprised."

"Yeah. Well... he was, too. That's probably obvious." Dean picked up a different paintbrush, dipped it in some very pale paint, and started to fill in Ron's skin color. "Nothing really happened. He went along with it for a bit, then got all upset and ended up sleeping in the bath. He was furious the next morning."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Dean mumbled. "He kept saying he felt betrayed. Like I had... purposely set out to ruin our friendship. He said he didn't trust me anymore, said he couldn't believe I would risk so many years of friendship for a kiss when I knew he was straight. He was overreacting quite a bit, but he's always been slightly homophobic." Dean added some pink to his paintbrush. "Personally, I think he probably is attracted to blokes, at least a little, but doesn't want to admit it, or doesn't know how to. I really don't even care because I'm not interested in him in the slightest. I've never wanted to shag him. I was just drunk... and upset and probably confused." He sighed and looked back up at Ron's eyes. "Anyway, he cut the trip short and left early because he couldn't stand to be around me anymore."

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly, trying not to change his expression. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Dean shrugged and continued painting. Ron chanced a glance down to see that Dean was working on shading his skin properly.

"Well, that's the story. I haven't heard much from him since, so... I'm not really sure what to expect from this lunch he wants to set up."

"You should go for it," Ron said encouragingly. "It's worth a shot, at least. You two were so close for so long."

Dean nodded, but said nothing as he concentrated on the canvas.

"Do you want to hear my secret?" Ron asked, suddenly wanting to tell Dean how he had had a somewhat similar experience with Harry.

"Later," Dean whispered, squinting at his work.

Ron nodded and continued to sit in silence for what seemed like well over an hour as Dean put more and more details into the painting.

"Mmmmm," Dean groaned, sounding frustrated as he went over one of Ron's eyebrows one last time. "All right, I'm done," he said, handing the canvas carelessly to Ron. "I'm sick of staring at it."

"You're sick of staring at my face?" Ron asked, looking at the painting and frowning at the odd feeling he had of looking into a mirror. Dean's details were amazing; the lines around his eyes, the placement of his freckles, the precise color of his irises – it was all perfect.

"No, I'm sick of staring at that shoddy painting of your face." Dean stood and stretched dramatically, flinging his arms out in all directions and arching his back. "Do you want lunch?"

"It's not shoddy," Ron insisted, setting the canvas down gently on Dean's stool and following him into the kitchen. "It's bloody good."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, opening his fridge. "I really need to go shopping."

"We could go out for lunch," Ron suggested. "My treat."

"All right," Dean agreed quickly, closing the fridge. "It's not your treat, though. We're splitting the bill this time, remember?"

"Yes," Ron said, smiling. "That sounds fair."





"I could just move in here and sleep on your couch forever," Ron teased as he and Dean entered the basement flat again after their lunch.

"That probably wouldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened."

Ron grinned, then startled when a loud bang came from Dean's room. Dean shot Ron a confused look, then went to investigate, Ron right behind him. The source of the noise was obvious when they came into Dean's room; Harry's owl was beating its wings insistently on the panes of the small window above the bed. Dean had to stand on the bed and stretch to get the window open, as it was almost at the ceiling.

The owl flew straight at Ron and began beating him round the head with its wings, clearly angry at being left outside for so long.

Dean scrambled down from the bed and snatched the owl out of the air, holding it still so Ron could pull the scroll off its foot.

"Bloody menace," Ron mumbled, watching as the owl flew back out of the flat as soon as Dean released it.

"What's it say?" Dean asked, nodding at the note.

Ron unrolled it and read through it quickly.

Ron,
Where the hell are you? Are you dead somewhere? Or are you shacking up with Dean?
Harry
P.S. Tell him how you feel.

Ron could feel himself going red. He tried to roll the note back up, but Dean snatched it out of his hands before he had the chance. Ron watched helplessly as Dean read over Harry's note, damning Harry for writing such a postscript on something that Dean could have read so easily.

"You should write back," Dean said, handing Ron the note and not quite making eye contact. "Tell him you're not dead."

"The owl left," Ron said stupidly, crumpling up the note and shoving it in his pocket. "Wait, how did you send me an owl that time I was in Switzerland?"

"Diagon Alley," Dean explained quietly.

"Oh, right."

"Well... if you can't send an owl, do you want to go home, then?"

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "He knows I'm not actually dead."

"Do you... want to keep painting?"

"Sure," Ron said, relieved there was something to do, but not entirely grateful it involved Dean staring into his eyes for hours on end.

"You can make yourself comfortable," Dean said, gesturing back toward the living room. "I'm going to the loo."

Ron went back to the living room and sat on his stool. He drummed his fingers nervously on his knees, not sure if he should bring up Harry's note or not. He thought it was probably pretty obvious what he felt toward Dean, but he couldn't read how Dean felt about him. Dean hadn't seemed upset by Harry's postscript, but he also hadn't asked about it. Maybe he's shy, Ron rationalized. Or maybe he's not interested. He knew there would be no point in bringing it up if Dean was just going to reject him. Though, he supposed it might be nice to have a bit of closure.

When Dean came out from the loo, he immediately began setting up his side table of paint, ignoring Ron. Dean started sketching on the large canvas without telling Ron, and Ron watched, not caring if his head was tilted the wrong way or if he had the wrong expression on his face. He couldn't decipher Dean's mood at all, but before long, he stopped caring. Dean was beautiful when he was working; his eyes were intense and focused, his long, thin fingers were poised perfectly around the tiny pencil he was using, and his mouth was hanging open slightly, his tongue darting out occasionally to moisten his lips.

Ron wasn't sure how much time had passed before Dean finally stepped away from the canvas to examine his sketch.

"I need to look at your eyes," Dean finally said, sounding guilty.

"All right..."

Dean sighed and sat on the second stool that was still in front of Ron. He leaned forward slightly and stared directly into Ron's eyes, his own expression completely blank.

Ron gulped and tried not to blink. He wished Dean would give him some sort of sign.

"I need you to talk," Dean said suddenly, startling Ron out of his thoughts. "Tell me your secret from earlier."

"Oh, that..." Ron sighed and licked his lips, wanting to look away from Dean's intense stare but knowing he couldn't. "It, um... I used to have a – a thing for Harry. I was... pretty much head over heels madly in love with him."

Dean snatched one of the pictures he had taped to the canvas, turned it over in his lap, and began sketching wildly as Ron talked.

"I wasn't ever going to tell him," Ron continued, trying to remember a time he had ever felt less self-conscious. "But one night it sort of... came out. How I felt about him, I mean. And he – I thought he would be angry, but instead, he... he kissed me."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched and Ron looked down to see what he was working on. There were at least six separate drawings of his eyes on the sheet of paper, each one only slightly different from the last.

"What happened?" Dean prompted, looking up and seeing that Ron was staring down at his sketches. "Eyes up here."

"Right." Ron looked up again and forced himself to make eye contact with Dean. "So, he kissed me and... and said all this stuff about how he wanted me and wanted us to be together. He and Ginny were broken up at the time, so I thought... I don't know what I thought, actually. I thought it was stupid and I thought it would never work out and I thought it would just be a huge mistake. But, I went along with it anyway, and ended up... ended up giving him a blowjob."

Dean set the sketches aside and turned his gaze back on Ron, who blushed.

"You gave Harry a blowjob," Dean said blankly, as if the words had only just hit him.

Ron nodded. "And he gave me a handjob. It was... it was probably the worst mistake I've ever made."

"How's that?" Dean asked, leaning forward again to get a better look at Ron's eyes. Ron fought to stop himself from kissing Dean.

"It was instantly clear we shouldn't have done it," he explained quietly. "It took us a long time to recover from it. Friendship-wise, I mean. We would have stupid fights and we didn't trust each other and we couldn't tell each other anything. It was awful. We were both to blame, but... I kept thinking that if I hadn't fancied him so much, I would have been able to stop it from happening."

"But you're flatmates, now."

"We are, yes. We did get over it, eventually. Sort of. Well... he got over it. I've... spent a long time trying to ignore my feelings for him. That's the other reason it was a mistake. I feel like it would have been a lot easier to get over him if we'd never done anything. Instead, I – I had this idea in my head, this very concrete idea, of what it would be like to be with him. It's been... very difficult to put that behind me and try to find someone else. It's one of the reasons I never date. Partially because I'm still slightly hung up on Harry and partially because I'm terrified to put myself out there again and... partially because I'm totally incapable of acting like a normal human being in front of anyone besides Harry or George... or you, but you're new, so I'm... not quite used to it yet."

Dean looked away, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and got off the stool.

"Are you ready?" he asked, picking up his palette and a paintbrush.

Ron nodded. "If you're ready."

"I'm ready," Dean said, dabbing his brush in paint and making the first mark on the canvas. "It's wonderful that you're still able to be friends with him," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I couldn't ever live without Harry, even if he's only my best friend for the rest of my life. He's too important to me. That's why I think you should make a go of it with Seamus. It's at least worth trying, you know? Worst case scenario, you guys stay the way you are now and know you did your best to fix things. Best case scenario, you get your best mate back."

"You're right," Dean said quietly.

Ron nodded again and sat in silence for a few minutes, letting Dean concentrate on his painting.

"Do you want to tell me about Allen, while we're spilling all our secrets?" Ron asked when Dean took a break to step back and look and what he'd done so far.

"Maybe," Dean said, scratching his nose and smearing paint on his cheek. "Tell me about your history with Robert first."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's a short, uncomplicated history. We fuck a couple times a year and both pretend it never happeneds. He harbours a secret love for me and I ignore the shit out of him. He finally confronts me about it and I confirm his worst nightmares, telling him I'm not interested and that, yes, I have knowingly been a complete bastard to him for years."

"Hm." Dean stepped back to the canvas and began painting again. "Why?"

Ron sighed, trying to keep his frustration under control so it wouldn't show on his face. "Because I'm an idiot, I guess. The whole thing with Harry really... I have no idea how to interact with blokes in a normal way."

"I think you're underestimating yourself, mate."

"It's probable. Anyway, your turn."

"My turn," Dean agreed, bringing his face closer to the canvas as he painted the shadows under Ron's eyes. "Allen was my boyfriend for two years, my sophomore and junior years. He... well he was just completely perfect in every way, or so I was convinced at the time. I'm still partial to the idea, but... yeah. I couldn't get enough of him. I was a fucking mess on the inside because of my mum and all, and he was the first person I ever really talked about it with. He was also the only person in America I ever told about, you know, magic and whatnot. I shared my entire soul with him, but he was a year older than me, so he graduated at the end of my junior year and went back home to California, which is all the way on the other side of the States from Pennsylvania."

"Did you break up?" Ron asked quietly, taken aback by the raw emotion in Dean's voice.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I already knew by then I wouldn't be living in the States permanently. And he knew he wanted to live in San Francisco, so... he left and I stayed and finished school. I was fucking miserable, but I didn't really have any choice. He was... he was my best friend and my lover and all I ever cared about in that country. I wanted to just... leave, but I knew I couldn't waste my education like that, so I stayed. I stayed and became a vegetarian because he'd been one and I missed him. I started smoking because I was so stressed out all the time without him around to talk with. I... it was bad, I was completely addicted to him."

"Maybe he was good for you though," Ron suggested. "If he got you to talk about your mum and everything."

Dean nodded and studied one of the quick sketches he had made while Ron had talked about Harry. "He was very good for me. I was basically a shell of a human until we started dating. I was pretty dramatic at times, but... I don't know. I loved him."

"He sounds lovely."

Dean put the sketches down and looked over at Ron. "I don't have any more secrets."

Ron opened his mouth to say, "me neither," but found himself saying something else instead.

"I do."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

Ron nodded, feeling totally out of control of his actions. He didn't know why he was doing this. This is not the time, he tried to tell himself.

"Something you want to share?" Dean asked, confused when Ron didn't offer up the secret right away.

"It's nothing," Ron said quickly before anything else popped out of his mouth. "It's not a secret, it's just..."

"Just...?"

"Just, um..." Ron trailed off stupidly and blushed, feeling ridiculous. Why couldn't he ever keep his stupid mouth shut?

"Oh," Dean said slowly, sounding as if he was suddenly realizing something. "Does this... this non-secret... is it something to do with Harry's note?"

"Um," Ron said nervously, trying to read Dean's cautious expression.

"I have a secret, too, then," Dean said suddenly, sitting himself back down on the stool across from Ron and looking determined. "I lied about last night."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"Last night... when I said nothing happened between us."

Ron's eyes widened. "We didn't sleep together," he pleaded.

"No, we – we didn't sleep together. But we kissed... under the table."

Ron sagged on the stool, both relieved and embarrassed. "Oh."

"It was good," Dean assured him gently. "I – I quite liked it, but you... fell asleep."

"Oh, Godric," Ron muttered, covering his face with his hands as the missing memories suddenly fell into place. Hazy images of his hand on Dean's beard flooded his mind and he could feel himself blushing even harder. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Dean asked harshly, pulling Ron's hands away from his face. "I'm trying to tell you it's okay. I – I feel the same as you do, I think... maybe..." He trailed off uncertainly, giving Ron a pleading sort of look.

"Maybe?" Ron squeaked, not sure how he was supposed to be consoled by that.

"Well, I thought I did," Dean explained, his grip on Ron's wrists tightening slightly. "Now, I'm not... I can't tell how you feel. This isn't the reaction I was expecting."

Ron pulled his hands out of Dean's grasp and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm – this isn't – I'm not good with this sort of thing. I fancy you like hell, but I've never actually dated a bloke before and you've already said you're not interested in dating right now, so–"

Dean cut him off with a kiss. Ron froze, too startled to react.

"Shut up," Dean whispered against his lips. "I want you. I thought you were the one against dating."

"Usually I am," Ron said quietly, nervously moving his hands to Dean's shoulders. Dean grabbed Ron's waist, then got off his stool and closed the small space separating them. He stood between Ron's thighs and leaned down for another kiss.

Ron looped his arms around Dean's middle, holding the other man closer to him. Dean's lips were hot and wet and perfect against his own, and one of Dean's hands moved to his hair, tipping his head back.

"This is how I got the idea for the painting," Dean whispered, pulling away. Ron slipped his hands into the back pockets of Dean's jeans and squeezed Dean's perfectly round arse. "Last night," Dean continued, smiling broadly. "Under the table, when you were stroking my beard."

Ron nuzzled Dean's beard with his own clean-shaven cheeks, his cock jerking at the delicious feeling of course hair against his smooth skin.

"Am I finally good enough for your sober smiles?" he asked.

Dean snorted and pulled Ron up off the stool. "You've always been good enough. It just took me a while to warm up to the idea."

"I'm glad you did," Ron said, moving in for another kiss. "You're gorgeous when you smile."

Dean pressed his lips to Ron's cheek and sighed. "So... you're not against dating?"

"No, as long as you realize I'll probably be pants at it. You're not against dating?"

"No," Dean echoed, "as long as you're willing to take it slow."

"Slow how?" Ron asked, renewing his grip on Dean's bottom. "Emotionally or physically?"

"Both," Dean whispered, pressing his hands to Ron's chest. "If that's..."

"That's fine," Ron reassured him. "Probably for the best."

They stood there, holding each other close and pressing their noses together, for as long as they dared.

"This is a weirdly sappy moment," Dean finally said, moving his hands around to the small of Ron's back. "We went from sexy snogging to this and now I don't know where else we should be going."

"We could go back to painting," Ron suggested, pulling his hands out of Dean's pockets.

"I'm sick of painting," Dean said. "I'd rather go back to sexy snogging."

"That works, too," Ron said, laughing.

Dean grinned and grabbed the back of Ron's head, pulling him in for a rough kiss.





Ron returned home that evening with a raging erection he'd had a hard time concealing on the Underground. He desperately wanted to lock himself in his room and spend the night wanking, but Harry caught him before he'd even gotten his coat off.

"Hello, lover boy," Harry said, emerging from his own room to greet his flatmate.

Ron rolled his eyes and tossed his coat onto Harry's head.

"That's no way to treat a long lost friend!"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Ron said, trying to sound innocent. "Can I get by, please? I need sleep before the trial."

"No, I want details," Harry said, blocking Ron's path. "You've got a hard-on and I want to know why."

Ron gaped at his friend. "That might be the creepiest thing you've ever said."

Harry laughed. "Might be. Come on, Ron. You've been out of the flat for two days! Something worth talking about must have happened."

Ron sighed and glared at Harry. "I had a chat with Robert," he said flatly. "He might never speak to me again, but there's zero chance of us ever sleeping together from now on, so that should please you."

Harry frowned. "That is not even what I was talking about, and you know it. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you sorted things out with Robert, but you know damn well I was asking about Dean."

"Dean might be my boyfriend," Ron said casually, wanting to get it over with quickly. "Or he might become my boyfriend. I'm not really sure. We didn't discuss details."

Harry beamed like a schoolgirl. "Too busy shagging?"

Ron rolled his eyes again. "Would I have a hard-on if I'd shagged him?"

"Good point. Too busy snogging?"

Ron winked and stepped around Harry. "Am I free to leave?"

"Yeah," Harry said, chuckling. "Go and get some 'sleep' before the trial."

Ron made a rude hand gesture at Harry before going into his room. He locked the door by hand and by magic, wanting to make absolutely sure Harry couldn't burst in and interrupt him.

Once he was satisfied with his security measures, Ron wasted no time in undressing and sprawling out on his bed. He grabbed his needy cock and stroked it firmly, remembering how Dean's own erection had felt against his thigh as they'd kissed on Dean's sofa earlier that evening. He recalled Dean's hands wandering under his shirt and up his chest, and Dean's long, rough fingers brushing against his nipples. He imagined what it would have been like if he'd gotten Dean naked and been able to explore that body as much as he wanted to; Dean's arse was plump yet firm, his arms strong and muscular, his abs hard and defined, his cock, as far as Ron had been able to tell, deliciously long and thick. He thought about Dean's beautifully pouty lips, how wet and plump they were against his own, and how they would feel elsewhere on his body.

It didn't take very long before Ron was coming all over his flushed and heaving chest.





"What do you say to celebratory drinks?" Ron asked as he and Harry left the Ministry the next evening. "We've had a lot of excellent news today."

"Can I meet you somewhere?" Harry asked, checking his watch. "I promised I'd tell Ginny how the trial went."

"She can come, too," Ron suggested. "I'll invite Dean as well. "We can go where ever it is you go with Neville and Seamus all the time."

Harry gave Ron hasty directions, then went off toward Ginny's flat. Ron went back to their own and scribbled a quick note to Dean.

Dean,
We won the trial and my boss got sacked. Harry and I are getting celebratory drinks with Ginny in an hour. You're invited. Meet me at the Leaky in 45 minutes and we can walk to the pub together.
Ron

Once he had sent Pig out with the note, Ron took a shower, then dressed in Muggle clothes and headed out to meet Dean even though Pig hadn't yet come back.

"Hello," Ron said, smiling warmly when he approached the Leaky and saw Dean loitering just outside the door.

Dean gave a quick, lopsided smile. "Hello."

Ron held back from giving Dean a hello kiss, not sure how Dean felt about public displays of affection. He nodded in the direction of the pub and started to lead the way.

"How was your day, then?" he prompted when several minutes of silence passed.

"Unproductive," Dean said sadly. "I tried to finish that one painting with all the boxes, but... it wasn't working out. Then, I tried to do some graphic design stuff for my actual job, but I was just... really uninspired. So, I went grocery shopping instead."

"Well, that's somewhat productive. You did need more food."

"This is true," Dean conceded. "I take it your day went a lot better?"

"It was wonderful," Ron said, grinning. "The trial was a cinch. We got the Aurors from the case to testify, Harry and I testified... the case was perfect. Those idiots are in Azkaban, now, anyway, so I'm happy."

"Congratulations."

Ron winked. "Here we are," he said, opening the door to the pub and letting Dean inside. "They're over there."

He led Dean over to the table where Harry and Ginny were already sitting with four bottles of beer.

"Welcome," Harry said, reaching out to shake Dean's hand as he and Ron sat down. "Good to see you, again."

"Thanks," Dean said, reaching for the drink closest to him. "Hey, Gin."

Ginny beamed across the table. "Hey. Welcome back. I'm so glad you're here."

Dean smiled nervously and Ron took a sip of his beer to hide his own grin.

"Harry was just telling me Robards got sacked," Ginny explained. "You must be chuffed."

"You've no idea," Ron said. "Dawlish is a fucking genius compared to that old idiot."

Harry and Ron spent the next hour thoroughly bashing Robards as they drank more and more beer.

"Long story short," Ron concluded, finally sensing Dean and Ginny's weariness of the topic, "Robards is a cocksucker we'll never have to deal with again."

"Cheers," Harry said, finishing off another beer. He suddenly looked sharply at Ginny, whose hand, Ron now noticed, was beneath the table. "You want to go?" he asked, laughing.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry squirmed dramatically, squeaking.

"We're leaving," he announced, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and shrugging it on quickly.

Ron rolled his eyes and waved half-heartedly as Harry and Ginny left the pub holding hands.

"They're disgusting," Ron said apologetically to Dean.

Dean shrugged and slipped one of his own hands under the table. He slid it slowly from Ron's knee to Ron's fly. "They might be on to something, though."

Ron cleared his throat and gripped his empty beer bottle tightly. "That's... not going very slowly," he warned, not sure how much teasing he would be able to handle.

Dean slid his hand back to Ron's knee. "I mean, if you don't want to come back to my flat so I can give you a handjob..."

Ron gulped. "What?"

Dean smiled and moved his hand up a few inches to squeeze Ron's thigh. "This 'slow' thing... it doesn't have to be so bad. We can move in stages, see? First, there's the handjob stage, then there's the blowjob stage... then the fingering stage..."

Ron shifted as his cock jerked with interest at the thought of fingering Dean's arse. "Are you sure?" he asked, not wanting to be disappointed if Dean somehow ended up changing his mind.

Dean answered by putting his hand back over Ron's cock and giving it a firm squeeze.

"All right, then," Ron said, standing quickly and grabbing his coat. "Back to your flat, it is!"





"It's been a week, George! You can't honestly be that angry, can you?" Ron pounded on the door to George and Lee's flat, his knuckles rapping against the painted wood as well as the window panels. "Let me in!"

"You are so impatient!" George shouted when he finally flung the door open a minute later. "Did you think I couldn't hear you knocking? The whole Alley heard you, Ron. Get the fuck inside. What do you want?"

Ron stepped inside and looked around, confused by the pile of clothes on the floor by the sofa, the only blemish in the otherwise tidy living room. "What, can't I stop by to chat with my favourite older brother without wanting something?"

"No. What do you want?"

Ron shrugged. "I just wanted to chat... see how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine," George said shortly, his face going inexplicably red.

"Right," Ron said suspiciously. "Where's Lee?"

"Napping. Where's... Harry?"

"Out with Ginny," Ron said, frowning. "Where else would he be? Why're you acting so weird?"

"I'm not," George said quickly. "I just don't want you here."

Ron rolled his eyes and moved toward the sofa. "What's with the laundry pile? Did you lose your hamper?"

"No, it's... mind your own, Ron."

Ron raised his eyebrows, then looked more closely at the pile. "That's Lee's favourite shirt," he said, toeing the cloth. "And those are definitely your pants."

"Did you really come over to inspect my dirty clothes?" George asked, sounding exasperated.

Ron shrugged and turned back to his brother. "Not really. I told you, I came by to chat. I haven't seen you in a week. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," George insisted. "Business is booming. Sales are up. It's a pretty standard pre-Christmas season. You're not interested in this at all, why are you asking? How're you, what have you been doing?"

Ron bit back a smile, amused by George's nervousness. "I've been busy at work," he explained. "Robards got sacked, which is pretty fantastic news. Dawlish is the new Head, and he's letting me and Harry go back to Switzerland to close up the case in a few weeks."

George nodded, pretending to be interested. "That's great."

"Okay, I give up. What is going on here?"

"There's nothing," George said quickly.

Ron rolled his eyes again. "When did you become such a terrible liar? You're acting like you've got some dirty little secret!"

George's face went red more quickly than Ron had ever seen before. "It's not a secret," he said defensively. "It's just none of your business."

Ron frowned slightly, then glanced back at the pile of clothes near the couch. "No," he said softly, unwilling to believe what all the evidence was suggesting. "You didn't actually..."

"Didn't actually what?" George snapped defensively.

"You told him, didn't you?" Ron asked in awe. "You told Lee! And he – and you – and you shagged him on the sofa!"

George's neck and one ear went red as well. "We didn't shag on the sofa," he muttered, not meeting Ron's accusatory glare.

"But you told him!"

George nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I told him."

"And?" Ron demanded, waiting impatiently. He didn't understand why George was being so secretive about the whole thing.

"And... you interrupted a – a moment."

Ron paused to decipher George's words, then sniggered. "No! Were you starkers with him on the sofa when I first knocked?"

"No," George muttered.

"Rotten liar," Ron said, grinning. "Did you only tell him just now?"

"Over the weekend," George said, his voice still low and embarrassed. "Angelina cursed his lips together when he broke up with her..."

"Ouch," Ron said sympathetically. "I hope you've been giving them plenty of rest time."

To Ron's amusement, George blushed again. "Shut up."

"No can do," Ron said, clapping George on the back. "This has been a long time coming. I'm going to milk it for all it's worth."

"Would you get out, already?" George pleaded. "Did you not hear when I said you'd interrupted something?"

"Oh, right," Ron said, laughing and heading back toward the door. "We'll talk later, then," he said seriously, pointing a stern finger at George. "And I'll tell you all about my own romantic adventures."

"I don't need to hear how many arses you've been inside this month, thanks," George said, pulling a face.

Ron stuck his tongue out. "Not what I was referring to, but thanks." He opened the door and started to leave.

"Wait," George said suddenly. "What were you referring to?"

Ron glanced over his shoulder, then turned around and leaned against the door frame to study George's curious expression. "Dean," he said vaguely.

George waited for more and frowned when Ron remained silent. "What, that's all I get? No explanation, no details?"

Ron shrugged innocently and began going down the stairs. "Get back to your man."

George made an obscene gesture at his brother before closing the door.





~Three Weeks Later~

"Are you completely sure about this?" Dean asked for the hundredth time. "It feels very weird. The last time I saw your parents–"

"Shut up," Ron commanded as they took the last few steps to reach the Burrow. "Mum invited you, it's fine."

"And it won't be awkward?"

"It won't be awkward."

"Christ, I need a fag."

"You had three on your way here," Ron said calmly. "You'll be fine. There is no need at all to be so nervous. You've met all these people before."

Dean grumbled something in response. Ron grinned, kissed his boyfriend briefly on the lips, then knocked on the door. It opened immediately, leading Ron to suspect that his mother had been eavesdropping from the other side.

"Welcome, welcome," she said merrily, letting them in the house. "Happy Christmas Eve, happy Christmas Eve!" She hugged Ron tightly, then turned to Dean and ignored the hand he was holding out for her to shake. She embraced him warmly, as if he were a long lost son. Dean returned the hug awkwardly, looking over her shoulder at Ron, who was laughing silently.

"I'm so glad you could join us, dear," she said when she finally released Dean from her grip. "You've no idea how thrilled we are that Ron finally has someone to bring home for the holidays."

"Mum!" Ron complained, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's true. Go on and make yourself at home." She gestured toward the living room before turning back to her cooking. "Dinner should be ready soon."

"Thanks, Mum," Ron said, pulling Dean along with him as he went out of the kitchen.

In the living room, he found Ginny, Harry, George, Charlie, and his father.

"I don't know if you've met Charlie," Ron said, gesturing to his older brother. "Charlie, this is Dean."

Charlie stood up from the sofa and came to shake Dean's hand. "Nice to meet you." He turned to his brother and winked. "Well done."

Ron groaned and kicked the back of Charlie's legs as he retreated to the sofa. "Where're the rest, then?"

"Respective mother-in-law's houses," George explained as he started setting up a chess board. "They'll be coming tomorrow, kids and pregnant wives and all."

Ron chuckled at the thought of how crowded the Burrow would be with the addition of Bill's and Percy's families the next day.

"Come and have a game," George said.

Ron went to sit with George and watched gratefully as Harry and Ginny beckoned Dean over to them. He hoped Dean would loosen up soon; he really saw no reason for Dean to be so nervous in the first place.

"Where's Lee?" Ron asked in a low voice as he watched George make the first move.

"Home with his family," George responded casually.

"I take it you didn't tell Mum, then."

George said nothing, his eyes on Ron's hands as the second move was made.

"You should, you know," Ron suggested, his eyes scanning the board.

"Baby steps, little brother," George said, moving another piece. "Baby steps."

Ron snorted and made his move quickly, now forcibly reminded how terrible George was at chess.

"Is Angelina talking to you yet?" he asked a few minutes later.

"That'd be a no," George answered, taking one of Ron's pieces.

"She'll get over it," Ron said bracingly, taking one of George's pieces in response. "Hermione did just fine."

"We'll see. Blimey, I forgot how bad I am at this game." George moved another piece and then frowned at his choice. "How was Switzerland, by the way? I heard you almost didn't get back in time for Christmas."

Ron rolled his eyes and made another move. "Yeah, that would be Harry's fault. He went above and beyond, as per usual... tried to convince the team we should stay to teach the giants that 'light' magic is better than Dark magic. Personally, I think Hermione got in his ear about some sort of political fairness bullshit, you know how she does, but he won't admit to it."

George snorted and moved another one of his pieces. "Well, at least the case is finally closed, yeah?"

"Yeah, definitely." Ron glanced down at the board, laughed, and made one last move. "Checkmate."





"Ouch," Ron said dully when he lost his balance and fell onto Dean's living room floor.

"Sorry," Dean said, helping him up. "I'm still really out of practice with Apparating."

"Not your fault," Ron said, dusting off the seat of his jeans. "I'm a bit tipsy as well. I'm sure that didn't help the matter."

Dean laughed and reached out to brush the hair out of Ron's eyes. "Thanks for taking me to your parents'," he said quietly, rubbing this thumb over Ron's lips. "It was really lovely."

"Thanks for coming with me," Ron countered, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and pulling the other man against him. "I hope it wasn't too dreadful."

"It wasn't." Dean slid his cold hands under Ron's shirt and Ron shivered. "How come Lee wasn't there with George?"

Ron moved his own hands to Dean's arse. "George still isn't out, yet. He needs some more time, I think. He'll come around, though."

Dean leaned down slightly to nuzzle Ron's neck. "Do all the gay boys in your family fancy black men?"

Ron stifled a laugh and grabbed Dean's head, pulling him up for a kiss. "I think it's only me and George," he whispered against Dean's lips. "Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"I thought I saw Charlie checking me out a few times," Dean said teasingly.

"He's just a flirt," Ron said. "Though... I can't pretend that wouldn't explain a few things about Charlie... anyway, who could blame him for checking you out? You're gorgeous."

"Am I?" Dean asked, one eyebrow raised. "I'd no idea. You've never said."

Ron snorted and pressed his lips to Dean's Adam's apple. "You're silly when you've had champagne."

"So're you," Dean pointed out.

"Come on," Ron whispered, moving his mouth to Dean's ear. "Let's go celebrate Christmas."

He stepped away to head for Dean's bedroom, but Dean reached out and pulled him back, capturing his lips in a reckless kiss. Ron let himself melt into the kiss, his hands clutching to Dean's face and neck.

"Okay," Dean said breathlessly when Ron began kissing his neck. "Bedroom."

Ron followed him, both undressing along the way. When they reached Dean's room, Ron kicked the door closed behind him, then pushed Dean onto the bed and crawled on top.

"Happy Christmas," Ron said, grinning, as he wrapped his hand around Dean's cock.

Dean sniggered and pulled Ron's head down for another kiss.

"Oh, God," Dean groaned a few minutes later when Ron slithered down his body to suck on his cock instead. He spread his legs wider as Ron settled between them, bending his knees slightly to expose his arse as well.

Ron moved his mouth to nip gently at Dean's thighs as his fingers lightly teased Dean's hole. Dean sighed appreciatively and bent his knees further as Ron lapped at his balls.

"Mmph!" Dean let out a muffled squeak as Ron pressed the tip of one finger into him.

"Lube?" Ron asked, sitting up suddenly and drawing his hand away from Dean's arse.

Dean nodded at the bedside table, breathing heavily. Ron grinned and leaned down to bite Dean's lower lip before scrambling off the bed to get the lube. Dean readjusted himself toward the top of the bed, resting against the pillows. When Ron returned, he kissed Dean briefly, then licked slowly all the way from Dean's neck to Dean's twitching cock as he spread lube on his fingers.

As he pressed his finger back against Dean's arse, Ron moved up again to tease Dean's ear with his tongue. Dean arched against him as he slipped his finger inside.

"You're awfully randy tonight," Ron said, amused, when Dean began begging for more of his fingers.

"It's the champagne," Dean said breathlessly when Ron added a second finger. He rocked his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Ron's long fingers. "God, I want you to fuck me."

Ron gulped and pushed a third finger into Dean's arse, trying to ignore the lewd images that had just popped into his head. "But we're still on the fingering stage," he reminded Dean. "We've only just started it, really."

"I don't care," Dean breathed, reaching for Ron's cock and stroking it quickly. "It's Christmas. I want you to fuck me."

"I'm... not so sure what Christmas has to do with fucking," Ron choked out as Dean squeezed his balls, trying to stay sensible when all he really wanted to do was exactly what Dean was suggesting.

"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Dean asked, leaning up to lick Ron's neck.

"Well... yeah, obviously." Ron sat up and pulled his fingers out of Dean, who pouted. "Look, we're a bit on the drunk side. We shouldn't do this now."

"I don't see why not," Dean said, sitting up to kiss Ron. "I've been planning this for days."

Ron gulped again and concentrated on not coming right then and there as Dean's hand twisted around the head of his cock. "Days?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Dean nodded, grinning. "Please?"

Ron moaned and kissed Dean roughly, unable and unwilling to control the mad desire that was quickly consuming him. Though he had enjoyed every second of naked time with Dean so far, and though going slow was both incredibly sexy and incredibly worthwhile, it was the world's biggest tease to constantly be in bed with Dean and yet be unable to have sex with him.

"D'you have a condom?" Ron asked, breaking the kiss and dragging his lips across Dean's still-bearded cheek.

"With the lube," Dean whispered, thrusting his cock against Ron's.

Ron swallowed a moan and scooted across the bed to the side table again. When he turned back, condom in hand, he found that Dean was on all fours, facing the wall, and touching himself. Ron growled at the sight and sheathed his cock quickly, wanting to get inside Dean as soon as possible. He moved behind Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and pulling the other man up to a kneeling position before pressing a kiss to the back of Dean's neck.

Dean leaned his head back on Ron's shoulder. "It was worth the wait, right?" he asked, sounding drunk and paranoid.

Ron chuckled and grabbed his cock, aligning it between Dean's round cheeks. "Definitely."

"Good," Dean said, a bit breathless as Ron pushed forward. "I thought about waiting until you were begging for it, but–" he inhaled sharply as the head of Ron's cock slipped inside him.

"But what?" Ron asked soothingly, reaching around to stroke Dean's cock, as Dean's hands had moved to Ron's hips.

"But I couldn't wait any longer. Shit." Dean let out a low groan as Ron settled himself completely inside Dean. "It's been too long," he said, sounding almost apologetic.

Ron took a few deep breaths and pressed his forehead to the back of Dean's neck, trying to keep his grip on reality. He had been inside plenty of arses before, but Dean's was so tight, and so... so Dean's. He was overwhelmed and his head was spinning with champagne and lust and lack of blood. He was sure his cock had never been harder and Dean's arse was squeezing it wonderfully, perfectly.

"Move, already," Dean complained, wriggling in a way that had Ron grinding his teeth to keep from groaning.

Ron breathed in deeply as he pulled his hips back, then exhaled sharply as he thrust forward again. Dean moaned and tossed his head back farther, his hair brushing against Ron's cheeks. He pushed Ron's hand off his cock and began pulling on it in time with Ron's slow rhythm.

Ron was gripping Dean's hips tightly, trying to hold on to something tangible as he began falling apart, the strange mixture of physical and emotional passion for Dean quickly pushing him toward the edge.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Dean babbled when Ron shifted his hips and lifted his head to press a kiss to Dean's neck.

Ron continued rocking against Dean at this new angle, delighting in the way Dean was now moaning uncontrollably as Ron hit his prostate over and over again. Focusing on Dean's pleasure was enough to keep Ron's own in check, even though Ron wasn't sure he had ever seen anything sexier than Dean wanking in his arms as he pounded into Dean's arse.

"Ah – ah!" Dean's free hand flew to Ron's hip and gripped it roughly, his fingernails digging into Ron's skin. Ron pressed a kiss to the smooth, hairless skin just behind Dean's ear.

Suddenly, Dean's grip tightened painfully and he was gasping wildly as his body jolted. Ron groaned against Dean's neck as he watched Dean come onto the wall and the pillows, feeling himself moving ever closer to his own orgasm. After a few seconds, Dean sagged in Ron's arms, still clinging to Ron's hip.

Ron stilled his hips to give Dean a chance to recover, but before Dean had even caught his breath, he had his hand back on his still-hard cock.

"Are you going to come again?" Ron asked in awe, watching as Dean resumed stroking himself at full speed.

Dean nodded and let go of Ron's hip only to reach behind his head to grab at Ron's hair. "Soon," he choked out. "Keep going."

Ron moaned and snapped his hips roughly, his hands moving to Dean's chest. "You're so fucking sexy," he growled, picking up speed.

"You're fucking inside me," Dean whispered, "and I can't stop coming."

Ron closed his eyes and cried out as his climax broke over him. He jerked violently, moaning and gasping for breath at each wave of pleasure. Dean clenched impossibly tighter around Ron's cock as he came again, whimpering in ecstasy.

Ron pulled out and sat back on his heels, panting heavily and watching as Dean slumped over to lie across the bed sideways.

Dean covered his eyes with one hand and sighed. "That was ridiculous," he said, sounding thoroughly out of breath.

Ron pulled the condom off carefully and tossed it in the trash bin next to the bed before collapsing next to Dean. "Ridiculous," he repeated, his heart still beating rapidly in his chest.

"I think you killed me."

"I think you killed me," Ron muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow.

Dean rolled over on top of him and kissed him sweetly. "It was good," he whispered.

"It was more than good," Ron corrected. "It was bloody fucking amazing."

Dean smiled sleepily and kissed Ron again. "Would you mind cleaning up? I've never been very good with those spells..."

Ron nipped at Dean's nose before getting up and figuring out where he had discarded his jeans. He found them in the dining room and extracted his wand from a pocket before returning to Dean's room to Scourgify Dean's pillows and the wall behind the bed.

"I wish I could spend Christmas with you," Dean said as he and Ron crawled under his covers, still naked. "Lottie and Danny are going be absolutely hell all day."

Ron snorted in agreement as he pulled the duvet up to his chin, then rolled onto his side to wrap an arm around Dean's waist. He pulled Dean's back against his chest and pressed his nose to Dean's neck, breathing in deeply. "At least you've only got two," he said somewhat bitterly. "I'll be dealing with three. Plus two pregnant women. Plus my mum. Plus all my brothers. Plus Ginny and Harry."

Dean put his hand over Ron's and laced their fingers together. "I like your family."

"I like my family, too," Ron admitted begrudgingly. "They're just a lot to deal with sometimes."

"Understandable," Dean whispered before yawning.

Ron scooted closer to Dean, nuzzling his warm neck. "I'll see you on Boxing Day, though. Did you and Seamus ever pick out a restaurant for us?"

"Yeah, we've got reservations."

"Good."

"Good," Dean repeated, squeezing Ron's hand. "I can't wait to give you your present."

"Why couldn't you have given it to me today?" Ron asked, pouting.

"Because I didn't want to," Dean answered simply.

"Well, go on, then. What is it?"

"It's a surprise."

"I'll tell you what I got for you," Ron offered.

"I already know what you got for me," Dean said.

"How's that?"

"You asked me what I wanted," Dean reminded him, chuckling quietly. "I assume that's what you bought?"

"Well... that's not fair! If you know what you're getting, why can't I know what I'm getting?"

Dean rolled over onto his other side to face Ron. "You really want to know?"

"Yes," Ron said excitedly.

"Even though it'll ruin the surprise?"

"Yes, I don't care."

Dean bit back a smile. "All right. I finished your painting."

Ron's eyes widened. "No! You said you'd given up on it."

"I had done, until last week when you fingered me for the first time. You did the whole thing with your face two inches from mine and your eyes... well, they inspired me."

Ron could feel himself blushing and was grateful for the dark room. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Your present is completely lame in comparison, but I can't wait to see it."

Dean brushed his lips lightly across Ron's. "If I didn't want the charcoal set, I wouldn't have asked for it. I'm sure it's perfect. Maybe I'll even draw you naked with them."

Ron grinned. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

Dean snorted and kissed Ron again. "I'm turning back over now," he warned before doing so.

Ron wrapped his arm back around Dean's waist and snuggled up closely, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder.

"Goodnight," he whispered. "And thanks for the sex."

Dean laughed loudly. "You're ridiculous. Go to sleep."

Ron pressed a kiss to the side of Dean's neck and then closed his eyes, sleep falling upon him quickly.






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