Harry stepped through the tent flaps into the crisp morning air and walked up the short garden path towards the Burrow. The building was in pretty bad shape with large chunks crumbled or scorched and anything above the third floor in complete ruins. But every day now it was being mended piece by piece, here and there. Just like the Weasley family. That's what Harry was here for, after all – to be here for Ron and the rest of them. It had only been three weeks since Fred's funeral.

The kitchen was deserted, but the smell of bacon, French toast, and scrambled eggs filled the air, and Harry's stomach growled in response. As he helped himself, he glanced at the morning edition of the Prophet at Mr. Weasley's place. "Volunteers Still Needed for Hogwarts Repairs" the headline read, and below it a picture of Ginny and Neville levitating chunks of a stonewall that might have belonged to the Astronomy Tower. In the background Filch was violently mopping his forehead wearing what Harry assumed was his heavy-duty work gear. He smiled in spite of himself. Some things never changed.

A small sniffling noise came from the living room, and Harry froze, unsure whether he should make himself heard or leave again. He glanced at the grandfather clock. Mr. Weasley and Percy had already arrived at work, and Ron was still asleep in the tent, so it had to be either Mrs. Weasley or George (Bill and Charlie were at "work" and Ginny was at "school").

He knocked over his cup of pumpkin juice with a loud crash, cursing under his breath.

"RON!" Mrs. Weasley's voice bellowed, switching effortlessly from a sniffle to a sharp reprimand. "It's almost ten o'clock! Am I the only one in this house who—oh it's you, Harry!"

"Morning, Mrs. Weasley. Sorry!" Harry stammered, mopping up the juice with his napkin.

"Did you sleep well?" she inquired, repairing his glass and vanishing the spilled juice with a wave of her wand. Her cheerfulness was a little more forced these days, and her eyes were puffy.

"Yes," Harry lied.

"I'll get George to help me fix Ron's old room today. We can't have you camping in the front yard forever. And he can't stay in his room forever – there you are! I thought you'd be up hours ago!" Mrs. Weasley's tone took on a sharp edge when Ron entered the kitchen and slumped down next to Harry.

Instead of a greeting, he patted Harry on the shoulder while stifling a yawn and began shoveling ambitious amounts of scrambled eggs and bacon onto his plate.

"You and Harry can start de-gnoming the lower garden after breakfast," Mrs. Weasley announced, cleaning up around them.

Ron groaned mid-yawn, which turned into a sound that earned him a dismayed look from Mrs. Weasley. Harry could tell that Ron was about to protest the mindless chore, but then reconsidered in favor of the French toast.

Harry on the other hand, thought it was a great idea. Since Hermione left for Australia to pick up her parents a couple of days ago, Ron had been even moodier than before. Hurling garden gnomes through the air seemed like exactly the kind of job that might cheer him up.

Harry yanked out a particularly vicious gnome, spun it around until its insults turned into incomprehensible garble and hurled it as far as he could beyond where the Burrow's hedge used to be. Next to him, Ron wrestled with another gnome, mumbling under his breath.

"Bloody gnomes and their bloody teeth…"

Ron's mood had darkened since breakfast, and Harry was starting to think that de-gnoming had in fact been a terrible idea.

"Maybe there's something in the book that can help us…" Harry began, but then trailed off as soon as he saw Lockhart beaming up at him from the unopened copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pets they had brought with them.

"Forget the book. We're not second-years anymore, are we?" Ron muttered. Then suddenly his face brightened and he dropped the gnome he was holding. He drew his wand and pointed it at the hole in which the gnome had disappeared. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he turned to Harry with a broad grin.

"Not a word to Hermione. Wingardium Leviosa!"

The startled gnome flew out of the hole, and with a generous flick of Ron's wand, zoomed off into the distance and out of sight.

"Not a word," Harry agreed, returning Ron's broad grin.

"There's a whole bunch near the garden shed. Follow me!"

They raced each other through the wilder part of the Burrow's garden until they came to an overgrown shed.

"Watch this," Ron announced, panting heavily. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Three gnomes were lifted out of their holes and again zoomed off into the distance. Ron was grinning ear to ear, and Harry whipped out his own wand.

"Acccio Gnome!" he shouted. Unfortunately, the gnome soared straight for his face, and he only barely managed to duck.

A couple of dozen gnomes later, Harry's clothes were mangled, his feet covered in gnome bites, and Ron's hair looked like he just had a close encounter with a blast-ended screwt. They were both pointing their wants at an old peach tree that Ron had accidentally uprooted with an overeager Wingardium Leviosa. Harry had prevented further damage with a hastily cast Incarcerous and together they had stabilized the tree back in its place.

Panting and sweating from exhaustion, they retreated into the shade of the garden shed. Ron's face was white as a sheet.

"That's Mum's favorite peach tree. She's going to murder me."

"It'll be fine, Ron. We'll owl Neville tonight and ask him what to do."

Ron's face regained its color and he looked hopeful again.

"Yeah," he panted. "We'll do that."

They were leaning against the wooden planks of the shed, and for a while there was no sound but the buzz of insects and their heavy breathing. Ron's eyes were shut and Harry noticed the pulse of his pale neck.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" Harry said it the minute the memory had popped into his head, and he immediately regretted bringing it up. They had never spoken about it.

"Huh? No."

"Never mind," Harry quickly brushed it off. They stood in silence for a while, and Harry glanced at Ron again. He still had his eyes shut, enjoying the shade and calming down. So he had forgotten. What did it matter?

"It was the summer before second year when I first came here." Again, the words just slipped out.

"When we rescued you from your mental aunt and uncle! That was bloody brilliant," Ron grinned.

"Right."

Another moment of silence.

"What abut it?" Ron asked. So he'd really forgotten about it. For some reason it bothered Harry more than he expected.

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what? Harry, this was years ago. I'm not Hermione, am I?"

Harry couldn't help himself, he started laughing, and Ron joined him.

"You told me this was your secret spot. That you'd come here whenever your brothers teased you."

Ron's face lit up.

"Oh yeah. Blimey, I didn't realize I told you that. I was really trying to impress you at the time."

Harry laughed at the thought of Ron trying to impress him. He had never quite stopped being awed by magic, and the Burrow was the first wizarding house he had ever seen.

"I was definitely impressed."

"You thought I was impressive?" Ron asked incredulously. Harry smiled on the inside, but made sure not to let it show. He had given Ron the compliment-heavy pep talk dozens of times before Quidditch matches. It was one of the most reliable ways to put his best mate in a good mood, and this time he didn't need to embellish.

"Course I was. You were taller than me – still are. You knew all about how to live in the wizard world, you had a family and all. I dunno, you just seemed so natural at everything. I was always the awkward one, standing out, being stared at…"

Ron looked very pleased with himself.

"Yeah, I'm kinda natural, I guess."

"…and you knew about, you know… guy stuff."

There it was again. Harry couldn't help but press the matter until Ron remembered what happened. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, though. Neither he nor Ron were particularly articulate about expressing themselves, and this topic was no exception.

"Guy stuff?" Ron gave him his trademark puzzled look.

"Well, the Dursley's never told me about any of that, and to be honest, I'm glad they didn't. I'm glad it was you who taught me."

There it was. The moment of realization in Ron's eyes. He actually opened his mouth in a silent 'oh'.

"Before then, you'd never…?"

Harry felt relieved that Ron had finally caught on.

"I mean, sometimes after a dream, I'd wake up and… but yeah, that was my first time actually doing it. I thought it was obvious. I had no idea what I was doing, it wasn't until you finally reached over and… showed me yourself." Harry bit his lip. Had he gone too far? Had he made the mistake of saying out loud what should have remained a silent mutual understanding?

"Blimey, Harry, that explains," Ron said with a sheepish grin. Harry was relieved to see that he hadn't ruined everything by bringing it up.

"Explains what?"

"Well, when you… I just remember it was a lot. More than me for sure. But I guess if it was your first, then that explains why."

Harry didn't quite manage to suppress his grin. So Ron did remember all of it.

"It's different when someone else does it," Harry said, trying to meet Ron's gaze without looking away in embarrassment.

"You mean it's better?" Ron asked, a kind of curious eagerness playing in his eyes.

"Yeah. Much better," Harry said, looking at his feet.

"Makes sense, I suppose. Have you ever, since then…? I mean with Cho, or with…?" he didn't need to say 'Ginny'.

"No. Girls are… difficult. I want to more than anything with Ginny, but I don't know how to, you know…"

"Yeah. Me neither. 'Mione can be – I mean, how am I supposed to… well anyway. Snogging is nice."

"I thought you and Lavender…"

"Nah. I would have told you if we had, wouldn't I? You're my best mate. Actually, there was one time when we almost did something. But then I said she had a nice arse. I like nice arses, and I was learning to give compliments. But then suddenly she was going on about how I should train more, that mine was too flat, and why I didn't have a nice arse like all the other Quidditch players on the team."

"Oh," Harry commented, not quite knowing what to say.

"Yeah, that pretty much ruined the mood. I was jealous of you for a bit after that, to be honest. But I got over it."

Harry couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"You were jealous of me? Why?"

"Well, yeah. I started comparing myself to other guys, and she was right. Mine is kind of flat, and yours is round, and, I dunno… perky."

Perky? Harry was stunned.

"Uh, thanks," Harry eventually said. He immediately regretted it. He had just made Ron's statement into a compliment, and it was beyond awkward. Nothing he could say now could take that back. The silence lay heavy on them, and Harry wanted nothing more than to leave and yank at some more gnomes.

"Do you want to…" he was going to finish with something like 'keep degnoming' or 'head back to the house'.

Ron grinned.

"Yeah, I'm in the mood too."

Harry was about to ask Ron what exactly he was in the mood for, when Ron leaned back with a relaxed sigh and reached between his legs, slowly stroking himself through the fabric.

Harry gulped. He had not seen that coming. But the memory of the most intense orgasm of his life had put him in the mood too. He hadn't touched himself in ages – during the war there had been neither time, nor personal space for it. But here at the Burrow, with his best mate rubbing himself as if it was the most natural thing to do, he felt at ease. That's what Ron always did: put Harry at ease.

He reached for his own cock and slowly massaged it through his jeans. At first, he tried picturing Ginny, or Cho, and then quickly ran through the typical list of witches he usually jerked off to. But as always, each time he pictured them, his stomach twisted either with guilt, or sadness, or the raw feeling of panic he would forever associate with the war.

He decided to slip off his T-shirt and focus on the here and now instead. The gentle breeze caressed his bare skin, his cock pressed against the fabric of his boxers, throbbing. His best mate was with him, close by, moaning softly. He could smell Ron's scent. Ron always smelled warm and reassuring, and faintly of food – maybe pumpkin spice? He scooted a little closer, hoping Ron wouldn't mind, and tried to breathe in his scent without making it obvious that he was sniffing the air.

"Fleur was the first girl I jerked off to – the first real girl I mean," Ron said, his voice slightly deeper than usual. "Was Cho your first?"

"Angelina Johnson," Harry admitted.

"Nice," Ron replied and made a strange grunting sound. Harry looked over and saw that Ron was biting his lip. His cheeks were flushed, his hears pink, and his entire body was moving as he ground his hand into his groin. Ron met his eyes and grinned.

"You always take your shirt off?"

Harry was stroking his stomach and chest with his left hand. He might have stopped, embarrassed, but he didn't. This was just Ron.

"Yeah, I like to rub myself," he replied. It felt weird saying it out loud. "You want to take yours off?"

"Nah, I'm good," Ron declined.

Harry felt a tinge of disappointment. He realized he would have liked to see Ron shirtless – strange, he never wanted to before. But it was just a thought. Ron was his best friend. It didn't mean anything.

"Oh yeah, Fleur!" Ron muttered, and then shot Harry a panicked look. "Don't tell 'Mione that I still jerk off to Fleur! It's only sometimes anyway, just a fantasy…"

"'Course not, do you think I'm mental? Now stop mentioning Hermione. Go back to imagining Fleur's arse or whatever you were thinking of," Harry replied.

"Right," Ron mumbled and resumed his stroking. Soon his breathing became labored and he started moaning.

"Mmmh yeah, such an amazing arse… firm, so tight…" Ron whimpered and tugged his pants down.

Harry's eyes widened when he saw how big the wet spot in Ron's boxers was. It almost covered Ron's entire dick, and it made Ron's palm slick as he squeezed the soaked fabric.

"Wow, Ron, did you already…?"

"Wha? Oh no, that's just… I just… I know it's kind of a lot, isn't it?"

"Good on you, mate," Harry replied.

Then Ron pulled down his boxers as well and his cock sprang up, covered in precome. Harry couldn't help but stare – there was precome running from the tip and actually dripping from Ron's balls. Ron started stroking slowly, spreading the precome evenly over the length of his shaft.

"I won't last long, Harry…" Ron whimpered.

Harry's mouth went dry.

"Me neither," he croaked.

Harry already had his boxers pulled down and was openly beating off. Maybe he should be closing his eyes, like Ron was. But he couldn't help but stare at his friend, quivering with lust, thrusting into his fist. A small part of Harry hoped that Ron would reach over again like he did the last time, wrap his fingers around Harry's cock and make him cum.

Ron let out a long groan and froze, twisting his face in concentration. A fresh trickle of precum flowed out of his tip and ran across his fingers, but he managed to keep himself from coming.

Harry on the other hand, felt himself pass the point of no return. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was Ron's hand around his cock and not his own. The orgasm struck his body with surprising force and his knees almost gave out. Harry uttered a chocked whimper as he lost control. Then he spilled on his stomach, shooting ropes of white cum all the way up his chest.

Ron looked over to him and flashed a wide grin.

"Nice one Harry. I'm almost…" he panted.

Harry would later tell himself that his hand moved on its own. But in fact, it was a very deliberate choice to reach over and take Ron's hand off his cock. It was curiosity, a little envy of how slick Ron's cock was with precum, and it was a strange desire to repay Ron the favor.

Ron let Harry move his hand aside, and stared at him, startled and surprised.

But Harry just wrapped his fingers around Ron's cock and started stroking. Ron was about his size, but it felt different. Warm and oddly hard, and he liked the way Ron's tip popped through the ring that his index finger and thumb were forming.

Ron stared at him for another moment, and Harry was sure Ron was going to say something, brush Harry off – anything. But Ron just closed his eyes again, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, letting Harry do all the work. He was biting his lip again, and his panting quickened, flaring his nostrils with each breath. Harry tried not to think too much about what he was doing. After all, Ron had done it to Harry all those years ago – it wasn't a big deal. Except that Harry really wanted to see what would happen when Ron came. He wanted to push his friend to an orgasm. Did he still squeak like he had last time? What would it feel like, holding his cock while he came?

When Ron began whimpering, Harry slowed his strokes.

"Fleur, yeah, fuck yeah…" Ron groaned. Harry felt a warm dribble of precum leaking from Ron's tip and running over his hand. He could feel Ron's orgasm building, felt him writhing in pleasure under his touch – hard and hot and wet. It was a strange feeling to be so in control of Ron's pleasure. It was scary and it felt a little bit wrong, but it was also thrilling and Harry wanted to make the most of it while he could.

He took a step closer to position himself directly in front of Ron, altering his grip on Ron's cock slightly for better access.

"Yeah!" Ron exclaimed, his head jerking back against the shed's wall. "Yeah, Fleur! Please…"

Harry quickened his pace ever so slightly, and Ron squirmed.

"Please! Please… bloody hell, Harry! Harry, I'm gonna…"

Harry stroked Ron quickly and forcefully now, and suddenly Ron opened his eyes for a brief moment, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then his face twisted and his whole body clenched hard. He uttered a high squeak as if he'd just seen a giant spider – just like he had last time. Then his cock began pulsing in Harry's hand, and before Harry could do anything about it, Ron was spraying cum against Harry's bare stomach. It wasn't thick ropes like Harry's, it was hard jets that shot against his skin and sprayed cum everywhere. Ron kept pumping cum onto Harry's exposed stomach – even as high as his chest. His head banged against the wooden planks repeatedly as he rode his orgasm, and with a final shuddering gasp, he shot the last spurt right against Harry's navel.

Harry looked at his best mate with amazement. He'd done it, and Ron looked completely undone. His face was flushed a deep red, sweat running down the sides of his freckled face, his hands still limp and quivering at his side. And now he didn't know what to do next. For now, he held on to Ron's cock.

Ron's gasp turned into a laugh that rolled through him easily and freely and he opened his eyes. When he saw the mess he had made on Harry, he raised his eyebrows.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Sorry 'bout that," he said, his voice still shaky.

Harry gave Ron's cock a gentle squeeze – just out of curiosity. Ron drew a sharp breath and brushed Harry's hand away, laughing.

"Now we're even," Harry said, trying to make his voice sound casual. "Told you it was better if someone else does it."

"Well yeah. But blimey, Harry, you didn't tell me it was going to be bloody brilliant. Just look at it! I didn't think I'd… I mean, this is a lot even for me," he trailed off, gesturing lamely.

The slight feeling of unease from when Ron brushed his hand away dissipated, and Harry suddenly felt rather smug. Apparently he was good at it. Good at what exactly? He didn't finish his thought, because suddenly the palm of Ron's hand rested on his collarbone. It was warm and heavy, and as soon as it moved, Harry shivered with goose bumps. He didn't expect it to feel so good, but it did. Ron's fingers ran over the splotches of cum on Harry's chest, gently tracing them down to his stomach. His hand was warm and slick with come. No one had ever touched Harry this way – so close and gentle, teasing almost to the point of tickling. Another wave of goose bumps ran through Harry's skin and his nipples hardened. Ron must have noticed the goose bumps at this point, but he gave no indication that he did. Instead, his hand travelled lower and lower, until he was following the trail of his cum below where Harry's waistband would have been. When Ron's fingertips brushed against Harry's pubic hair, his breath caught in his throat and a small whimper escaped him.

Ron let out a low chuckle and moved up again. Embarrassed, Harry was trying to think of something to say, when Ron's knuckles grazed against Harry's nipple. One by one, they nudged against his perky nipple, and Harry couldn't help himself. His eyes fluttered shut and he stepped back.

And tripped, and fell into the bushes.

On the way back to the house, they agreed to de-gnome the old-fashioned way from now on. They had cast cleaning charms on each other more or less successfully – in silence. They didn't need to talk about what had happened. In fact, they would never talk about it. It was better that way.

But as they made their way across the garden, all Harry could think of was the feeling of Ron's fingers running over his chest, slippery with Ron's cum. It was the hottest sensation he had ever felt.