ronbigbang

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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