A/N; Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this or any stories posted hereafter.

One: Tangled

The sun shone down brilliantly, glinting brightly off the drifted snow on either side of the path. It was slightly blinding, yet no less beautiful for it. Harry Potter had to squint his emerald eyes behind his glasses as he went, scuffing the toes of his dragon-hide boots against the packed snow and dirt noiselessly, as he'd cast a silencing charm on himself to avoid disturbing the peace and serenity of the woods in which he walked. He was alone, and more than slightly disappointed by the fact. Everyday this week, he'd Apparated on his lunch break to this wood a few miles from his job at the Ministry, and every time until now he'd been accompanied by his partner and friend, Ronald Weasly. That day it didn't seem likely.

The two hadn't spoken much at work in the last few weeks, since Harry had broken Ginny's heart and their engagement in one fell swoop... So Ron and Harry eating lunch together was a big deal. Harry sank onto a cold wooden bench with his brown paper sack in hand, staring out across the frozen lake before him. The last three years, since the fall of the Dark Lord, fluttered by in his mind. It caught that time really flies, but to Harry all of that, the struggle with Voldermort and school, and everything else.. Well, almost everything else... Was a different lifetime. Something he was no longer a part of. He shook his head and closed his eyes to clear his mind while he bit into his roast-beef sandwich.

With a wet SPLAT, a snowball exploded in his face.

Harry yelped and leaped to his feet, laughing and sweeping the snow from his glasses with a whispered word and a flick of his wand. Ron stood a few yards away, one arm filled with snowballs and the other slapping his thigh as he laughed. Harry dove behind the bench and started building his own pile of snowballs. The battle began, effectively wiping all bad thoughts from Harry's mind. As their lunch hour dwindled, The two friends sank wearily into the snow, laughing huskily and rehashing their favorite moves and arguing over the victory. They hadn't changed a bit.

With a POP! Ron and Harry appeared at the door to the Burrow after work. Ron's father had finally retired from the ministry, only to be replaced by none other than his son and The-boy-who-lived himself. The door swung open and Molly Weasly called a hullo from the kitchen, where the two men could smell dinner cooking. While Harry owned 12 Grimmauld Place, he still very regularly stayed over with his surrogate family. Hermione Had gone on to becaome a very talented Medi-witch and worked as a head of department at St. Mungo's. She was probably on call that night, Harry thought to himself, or else she would have been there at the door to greet them. As it was, Harry's new owl, a tawny Barn Owl by the name of Drew, flew down from his perch next to Pig and presented Harry with his mail. Nothing important. He followed Ron into the dining room, buried in his thoughts. He couldn't wait for later.

Dinner was always a big even at the Burrow. Everyone canme downstairs and sat around the table and ate and talked and laughed.. Though there was some awkwardness between Harry and Ginny. Not much, but enough for others to notice. Conversation was light, but as the meal came to a close... Harry couldn't keep his eyes-or his thoughts-away from Ron. All that shaggy red hair and his leanly muscled, tall-bodied frame.. The dusting of freckles across his nose and way his ears burned red when he was embarrased. Tonight woud be the night. It had to be. If it wasn't, he'd make it so.

Ron looked up at Harry from across the table and was almost surprised at the look of utter need that flashed behind his companion's eyes. He was more surprised, however, by the sudden surge of his heartbeat and the growing insistance that he could now feel straining against his pants. He blushed and his ears were on fire, but not so nearly as much as the rest of him. Harry looked away quickly, but a slight flush rose in his face and Ron knew his friend suspected what had just occurred.

What he didn't know was that what happened to him happened at nearly the same moment to Harry. Finally dinner was over. 'None too soon' thought Harry and Ron, as they both as inconspicously as possible made their way upstairs under the guise of having had a long day at work.

They were almost to Ron's violently orange (still) bedroom but Harry couldn't take the distance between them anymore. He grabbed Ron's hand and turned him around, bringing their bodies together in one swift tug. In a secoond their lips were tantalizingly rough and yet smooth as silk against each other. Their pounding bodies strained and pressed together as Ron pushed Harry up against the door of the room, fumbling with the doorknob with a free hand as his other yanked up Harry's shirt to touch feverish, tanned flesh. Ron's shirt followed Harry's to the floor as their hands grazed each other, demanding something of each other that neither of them could define, even if their minds had been clear.

Harry's fingers fought to remove Ron's belt as Ron's teeth captured Harry's lip between them, and then his own hands followed suit. kicking off their shoes and ignoring their socks, the pair fell on the bed, ravishing each other's mouths and bodies with frantic movements. They seperated once, to yank off each other's pants before they were pressed together again, need touching fiery need. At one their tongues delved deep into each other's and each man's right hand found the other man's throbbing body. Hearts raced and bodies thrummed with passion and desire, each racing the other to an unknown goal. It was too much, yet not enough.

In a sharp movement, Ron flipped Harry onto his side and with a tenderness that was surprising laid a trail of kisses down his chest and belly, following his happy trail until he could close his mouth around his partner. Harry shuddered and shook, completely at the mercy of his lover. He always had been. He always was. But not this time. He fought to regain control of himself, and put his hands on Ron's shoulders, pushing him gently onto his back. Harry brusquely pressed Ron's knees to his chest and waited, one beat, then two. When Ron's only response was rough breathing and tossing his head back and forth on the sheets, Harry finally moved.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid into Ron. He checked himself and had to stop repeatedly to make sure he didn't lose control, not yet. At last, at such long last, he was fully sheathed. He slid slowly in and out at first, the tightness excruciating yet blissful, but all too soon he felt his control slip. Then it was gone, and he was pounding himself again and again into his lover, hard and fast, until they both reached the finishline, exhausted, at the exact same time.

'Some things do change', Harry reflected as they drifted to sleep in each other's arms, 'But others never do.'