Harry Potter was an attractive man. But when he flew, something seemed to break free and radiate beauty from the dark haired boy of 17. Ron had noticed it every practice since the beginning of their fifth year.

He loved to watch Harry zoom around the pitch, the wind whipping his unruly hair back from his face as he chased after the snitch. He loved the way Harry's eyes lit up as he took off into the air at the start of a match and the silent grace that seemed to come natural to him in flight.

Ron watched in awe as his friend raced against Malfoy for the snitch, and had to steady himself as the quaffle came flying towards the goal post. He dove, catching the ball at the last second and pitching it back into play.

A whistle blew, and cheers went up throughout the crowd. Ron grinned as Harry flew by, his arms raised in triumph and a brilliant glow about him, the snitch held safely in his left hand.

Towards the end of the quidditch season, Ron knew, Harry's glow of happiness would begin to fade, and Ron would have to wait another year until he saw it return. Every year it was the same, but at 17, something changed.

The happy glow Harry had when flying seemed nearly constant, and it didn't fade—not even the week of their final match.

Determined to play a perfect game that Saturday (in hopes that Harry would notice him), Ron headed to the pitch early to get in a few laps and practice catches. He heard voices from the locker room—one he knew to be Harry's, the other he was quite sure belonged to Malfoy.

Moving quickly and quietly, his wand at the ready, Ron entered the locker room. What he saw there froze him in his tracks and made his words catch in his throat.

With his back against the wall and his quidditch robes open as Harry—being quite thoroughly snogged by Draco Malfoy. Harry had been forced, Ron was sure. Malfoy had trapped Harry unwillingly in the kiss. At any moment, Harry would shove the Slytherin away and cast a much deserved hex on the ferret-faced git. But Harry didn't push Malfoy away.

Ron watching in silent horror as Harry's hands tangled themselves in white-blonde hair. Harry let out a groan as Malfoy pushed him harder into the wall. Ron could see Malfoy's hands moving beneath Harry's robes, caressing the smooth, tanned skin of Harry's waist where his shirt rode up. He couldn't watch any longer.

Ron backed out of the locker room, sinking to the ground outside the door. He was numb with shock, and it took him a few moments to realize he was crying.

How could Harry do this to him? Hadn't he noticed the way Ron looked at him? Didn't he realize that Ron wanted more than just friendship?

He'd never voiced his desires, and he supposed that had been his downfall. He'd admired Harry from afar for too long, and he'd lost his chance.

From the start of their fifth year, Ron had noticed how beautiful Harry was when he flew. It seemed Malfoy had noticed as well.