Ron was lying on his bed listlessly listening to the radio when they began talking about starting the Tri-Wizard Tournament back up. He sat up.
"After all, Priscilla, what a wonderful way for the international community to prove that those dark days of You-Know-Who are long gone," explained one of the announcers.
Turning the volume up, Ron shook his head. They never learn. Idiots. Ron wasn't the brightest candle in the bunch, but even he'd realized what a terrible idea the Tournament was when he saw Harry going up against a giant ravenous DRAGON. Harry could've died a hundred times in that tournament, and even thinking about it made Ron shiver uncomfortably. Heck, Ron himself had been in danger during the tournament when they decided to stick him at the bottom of the Great Lake without so much as a by-your-leave. Ron shook his head again, but then he smiled a bit. Guess there have to be some downsides to being the thing Harry would 'miss the most.' Remembering that always made Ron feel warm inside.
Actually, it was kind of odd at the time, wasn't it? Krum's hostage had been Hermione, his girlfriend at the time. Same for Cho and Cedric. And Fleur had her little sister. But Harry, well, he's just had his best mate. Hermione had said it was because Harry thought of him as a brother, but that thought never sat well with Ron. Ron knew what having brothers was like, and it wasn't like the relationship he shared with Harry. Of course, that would mean Ron would be more in the category of 'girlfriend,' which was just silly. Ron was a boy.
Abruptly, Ron remembered that Harry's last boyfriend was also, in point of fact, a boy. Oh, well, that's different though, innit? Afterall, Harry's last boyfriend hadn't been a redhead. Except, he sort of had, because auburn is pretty close to red, innit?
Ron stood up and began pacing the room. His mind was whirling, neurons firing and synapses forming at a rate not often seen in the young Weasley's mind.
"No," he said aloud, "surely not." Surely he hadn't missed that his best mate in the entire world, one who he would gladly die for, and in fact, almost had died for on many occasions, his best mate and colleague HARRY POTTER was and had been in unrequited love with him for the past decade. Surely not. He'd have to be a complete idiot to miss something so completely and obviously TRUE. Guh.
"I'm an idiot," Ron said dazedly, sinking to the floor, completely ignoring the bed or chairs in the room. "An actual idiot. Merlin." He lay down on the ground. "Mum always said I wasn't, but Fred and George were right all along."
"Harry Potter is in love with me," he tried aloud. No, no, that didn't sound right at all. Maybe his imagination was running away from him. It's not like Harry bloody Potter was sitting around pining after his totally irrelevant, somewhat incompetent, and basically there-for-comedy-purposes sidekick. That would be ridiculous.
Only Ron had caught Harry staring at him quite a few times, hadn't he? And he remembered once Harry had described his 'perfect man,' and well, the image painted was fairly familiar. And when Percy had tried to come on to Harry, he'd basically run in the other direction… But he'd do that in either case, so that didn't prove anything.
Alright, so. There was possibly the tiniest of possibilities that maybe Harry feels something close to, if not actually,.. love? Towards Ron?
This needed testing. That's what Hermione would say. And if Ron knew anything, he knew that Hermione was literally never wrong. Not even in his imagination.
Okay, so how do you go about testing such an absurdly ludicrous hypothesis? Well, Ron mused, flirting never hurt anyone so far that he knew of. He could simply, y'know, flirt a bit. See if it got any sort of reaction. If Harry didn't respond, then no harm done, Ron would have his answer. And if Harry did respond… well, just the idea made Ron feel dizzy, so best leave that thought untouched a while longer.
Satisfied that he had a plan, Ron immediately succumbed to sleep. His poor brain wasn't used to working that hard.
The following weekend, the Weasley family and their loved ones were enjoying Sunday dinner at the refurbished Burrow. Children were laughing, adults were drinking, and something was definitely burning.
Ron was laughing uproariously at the story Harry was telling Hermione's little ones (the twins were adorable, and luckily didn't take after their father, George), when he suddenly remembered the plan.
Shifting his eyes about to make sure no one was watching, Ron let out the loudest yawn he could, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. Oops. There went a lamp. Ignoring the sound of the breaking glass, Ron resolutely followed through on his action, casually placing one of his arms back down behind Harry's shoulders on the couch.
Hermione quickly repaired the broken piece of equipment, admonishing her bewildered children for their clumsiness.
There! Yes! Harry was definitely hiding a smile. Ron's heart skipped a beat.
Feeling bold, Ron inched his arm closer to Harry's shoulders. Slowly, slowly, annnd, we're there. Skin to shirt contact had been successfully made.
Harry twitched. He glanced at Ron out of the corner of his eyes. Ron pretended to find the Weasley clock inordinately fascinating. Harry twitched again. Ron squinted his eyes. What a clock! Finally, Harry leaned forward a bit, and Ron's arm awkwardly fell with him.
"Oh!" said Ron, startled, "Er, sorry mate."
Harry let out an awkward chuckle. "No worries, I think your arm fell asleep on the couch."
Ron chuckled back nervously, retrieving his arm. "Right, 'course." The two of them nodded at each other in the way that mates do.
Well, perhaps Ron's flirting could use some work. It had been a while, after all. Actually, it'd been years if he were honest. Still, it had always worked before, so maybe Harry was the one out of practice. Yeah, maybe he just didn't recognize when someone was flirting with him. Or he was so surprised by Ron, the object of his affection, reciprocating his feelings, that he misinterpreted Ron's actions. Yeah, totally possible.
Try, try again, and all that rubbish, eh?
So, when dinner was finally called, Ron rushed ahead of Harry to the table and pulled out a chair. He smiled charmingly at his friend.
Hermione smiled back and took the seat.
"What? No-" he began to protest.
"Sorry, what was that, Ron?" asked Hermione.
"Er. No- er, no problem, Hermione," Ron finished, resignedly.
As they all served themselves, Ron was not to be deterred from his plan for long. While nothing could beat Mum's cooking, Ron Weasley with a Plan was not to be trifled with.
Carefully, Ron nudged his foot forward across the table to where Harry was unsuspectingly enjoying his mashed potatoes. A little game of footsie was usually a good way to show interest, right?
At first Harry didn't react, but as Ron's foot-caressing grew more urgent, Harry looked up and blushed. "Er, Hermione?" he said, "that's not George's foot."
"What's that about my foot?" exclaimed George from next to Harry, immediately throwing a wink at his confused wife.
"Ewwww," chorused the twins, as they so frequently did when they recognized that their parents were flirting.
Not one to be matured by parenthood, George responded by flicking potatoes at both of them, and an intervention was required by Grandmum Weasley.
Luckily, no one seemed to realize what had happened, and the subject quickly moved on to other matters. Ron did his best to avoid Hermione's frankly speculative stare.
As dessert was served, Ron realized he needed to pull out the big guns. Schoolyard flirting wasn't getting him anywhere. It was time. Time for a romantic gesture.
Nonchalantly, Ron stated, "You know, I think I might not be as hungry as usual tonight. Would you like my piece of treacle tart, Harry?"
There. It was done. There was no way Harry could misinterpret a gesture like that. It was practically a proposal, and sure enough, everyone who'd heard Ron was gaping at him in astonishment, including Harry.
Ron puffed out his chest, bravely pushing past his embarrassment. "Here you go, mate," he said. He slid the pudding across.
"Well, thank you Ron," said Harry, eyes still agog. "Are you feeling alright? You've not been yourself tonight."
Ron nodded at him, making meaningful eye-contact, "Feeling better than ever," he said as seriously and sexily as he could.
Next to him, Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God," she breathed.
Ron threw her a sharp glance. "Not now," he hissed. Her mouth fell even further open.
"If you say so," said Harry doubtfully. "I've not actually got room for a second slice though. Anybody else want this?" he asked, holding the plate aloft.
Aghast, Ron watched his heart be handed off to one of the children. How could he have erred so badly? How could Harry fail to understand what that piece of treacle tart represented? Everything he was or ever would be was currently being devoured by a greedy nephew, uncaring of the pain his tiny teeth were inflicting on his Uncle with every bite.
Turning to Harry, Ron watched his best friend happily polish off the last of his own dessert. His green eyes closed, content, and Ron detachedly noticed how long his thick curly lashes were, resting on his perfectly serene face. Ron's heart stopped.
"I'm an idiot" he whispered. All this time, he'd been testing his stupid theory, when the truth was right there in front of him. How had he gotten it so mixed up? All this time, and suddenly it was completely, heart-wrenchingly obvious: Harry wasn't in unrequited love with Ron. Oh, no. It was Ron who was was in unrequited love with Harry.
He felt a strong need to get drunk. Blindingly drunk if at possible. Drunk enough to forget what an idiot he was, even if only for a couple of hours.
And that was how it came to be that at three in the morning a very tipsy Ron Weasley was found pounding at Harry Potter's front door. "Mate, mate!" he slurred at the door knocker. "You've gotta let me in!"
The door opened. Harry stood there in his mismatched pajamas, rubbing at his face. "W-what? Ron, what's going on?" Groggy from sleep, Harry was still ready to jump to Ron's aid if necessary, his wand already in his oh-so-tired hand.
"See, that's just the kinda guy *hiccup* Harry is," Ron explained to the door knocker, shaking his head. "That's my best mate." He pushed past Harry, only to whirl around dramatically, arms askew.
"Ron?" said Harry, quickly returning to alertness, and beginning to feel distinctly worried. "Are you… drunk?"
"It's true!" exclaimed Ron, confessing immediately. "Oh, I don't feel so good, Harry," he moaned.
"How much have you drunk?" Harry asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know, Harry, but that's not what's important"
"I think it's pretty important, Ron!"
"No, no, no. Listen to me, Harry. Listen to me!" Ron demanded.
Harry sighed. "I hope you realize we'll be having a long talk about this tomorrow," he said.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Ron changing moods easily, "that's not the only thing we'll be having a long talk about." He wiggled his eyebrows and did a little spin.
"What?" Harry said, trying not to laugh.
"Harry," said Ron simply, in the tone of one who has explained all.
"Ron?"
"Harry, I got it wrong, mate. I thought - I thought - well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I got it all mixed up. And now I'm so unhappy. This is why I don't like realizing things!"
Harry nodded along, pretending to follow Ron's gibberish.
"Sure, Ron, sure. Let's just get you into bed, shall we?"
"I wish!" said Ron, dissolving into childish giggles. He followed Harry up the stairs to the guest room, and sat down on the bed.
"Here," said Harry, conjuring a glass of water, "you've got to drink something, Ron." Kneeling to take off Ron's shoes he mumbled to himself, "Thank Merlin, I've got some hangover potion."
"Harry?" Ron asked plaintively.
"Yes, Ron?" Harry said, smiling slightly at his friend.
"Why don't you love me back?"
"Er, uh, well," Harry responded, slightly flustered, "Of course I love you, mate."
"Noooooo," moaned Ron. "It's unrequited - I know that. I'm not an idiot."
Harry's eyes widened. "What?" he breathed.
"I'm not an idiot, Harry!" Ron scowled. "Don't listen to George."
"I - I won't listen to George," Harry promised, swallowing thickly. "I - I'm just going to go back to bed now, alright?" He nodded to himself. "Yeah, back to bed."
"Okay, goodnight, Harry," Ron said, smiling up happily.
"Goodnight, Ron," said Harry softly, as he closed the door gently behind him.
The next morning, Ron awoke to the rude sound of his wand ringing. "Ugh, stupid alarm charm." He blearily took in his surroundings. "Oh, yeah. I'm at Harry's." He ran his mind over the previous night. "Ugh," he repeated.
Sitting up, Ron seized the hangover potion next to his bed and chugged down the vile liquid. His entire body relaxed. Groaning in relief, he stretched a little and took stock of the situation fully.
Okay, so the situation wasn't ideal, but he hadn't screwed up too badly he didn't think. He hadn't said anything that couldn't be blamed on misspeaking while intoxicated, probably.
Groaning again, he realized Harry was definitely going to want to talk about how bad alcohol was and how we should never ever drink alone, etc., etc. Well, he wasn't wrong. People were often surprised by the fact that Ron wasn't actually much of a drinker. Last night was wildly uncharacteristic of him, and if he weren't so dang tired, Ron recognized that he'd be feeling pretty embarrassed. He'd actually only had four butterbeers last night, but calling Ron a lightweight was practically an understatement. He groaned again, and prepared himself for the upcoming lecture.
However, when he left the room, he couldn't find Harry anywhere. Had he already gone to work? It was only eight, but sometimes Harry did like to get in early. Shrugging off the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, Ron headed out the door. He figured he might as well get a head start on his day as well, because he'd almost definitely need to go home early to sleep.
The following day, as Ron lazily fried up some sausage and mushrooms for dinner, he heard a knock at his front door. This was somewhat unusual. There wasn't a decent apparition point close to his apartment, so most of his friends simply floo'd.
Charming his dinner to serve itself, Ron walked over to his front hall. "Harry?" he said, blinking rapidly, as he finished opening the door.
"Hey," Harry said sheepishly, rubbing the back of neck. "Is this a bad time?"
"What? No, 'course not. Come on in. I've got plenty of dinner made, let me just get out another plate." Ron might've been a bit caught off guard by recent events in his own love life, but no one could ever accuse him of being an unwelcoming host. "Sit down, mate," he said, gesturing largely at the table.
"Thanks," said Harry, unexpectedly timidly. "I, uh, I might rather stand for just a minute though."
"... Okay?"
Harry took a deep breath. "I've got something I need to tell you Ron."
Ron's stomach dropped to his feet, and his heart quickly took its place. He let out a nervous chuckle. "Alright, mate?" He was aware that his voice was pitched significantly higher than usual.
"I …" Harry shook his head, and clenched his fists. "I'm in love with you."
Whoa. What? No. No way. Not possible. Harry wasn't in love with Ron. That just didn't make sense. Ron had tested it. The results came back negative. The plan was not a success. Harry wasn't interested in Ron.
Without thinking, Ron immediately responded, "No, you're not."
Harry frowned, looking slightly offended. "I definitely am."
"No," Ron repeated, shaking his head, "You're definitely not."
Harry gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Ron, I've been in love with you for more than ten years. I'm pretty sure I am."
Ron paused. He shook his head again. "No," he said. "I would've known."
"You're an idiot," Harry said, equal parts exasperated and fond.
"Takes one to know one," Ron replied automatically.
"Look," said Harry somewhat helplessly, "I'm sorry mate, but I thought… I thought you should know." He looked down at his feet. "I, uh, I'm going to go now, okay?"
"What? No, we haven't eaten! You've got to stay for dinner," Ron said, aware that this wasn't necessarily relevant, but unable to yet form the sentences that needed to be said. He felt caught off-guard in a way he hadn't experienced since he was a lowly trainee in the Auror program. "I mean, uh, that is to say," he said, stumbling over his words, before finally settling on a simple plea. "Don't go. Please."
"Okay," Harry agreed, his voice cracking. He was still looking at his feet.
"You can't be in love with me," said Ron earnestly. He continued quickly before Harry could protest again, "I'm the one who's in love with you, mate. You've got it mixed up."
"Ron," began Harry, finally looking up, a queer glint in his eye. "Sometimes the way your mind works is a genuine mystery to me, but I swear to Merlin, I am in love with you." With this announcement, a determined look appeared on his face. Taking the two steps towards Ron, Harry gently but firmly placed his hands on Ron's shoulders and placed a quick kiss on his lips.
The fluttery warmth was gone before Ron had finished registering what was happening. He blinked very rapidly.
"We're in love with each other?" he tried, his voice quiet and desperately hopeful. The idea felt too astounding and revolutionary to be said aloud.
Harry laughed, an almost manic grin appearing on his face. "Looks like it," he agreed.
Ron grinned back, his entire body relaxing for the first time in a week. "We're in love!" he exclaimed, finally beginning to understand. "You love me!" Without waiting for further confirmation, he stepped closer and planted a far longer (and messier) kiss on Harry than the one Harry had bestowed on Ron.
Eventually pulling away to breath, the two men made eye-contact and began to giggle. Ron suddenly gasped.
"What is it?" asked Harry.
"I was right the first time," wondered Ron. He grinned. "You have been in unrequited love with me for years after all."
"Oh, have I?" growled Harry playfully.
"Well," amended Ron a few minutes later, "Perhaps not so unrequited."
The End
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this little piece of fluff. Please leave a review!