The Burrow it was Harry Potter's solice away from Privet Drive, away from all the world's flaws, and Harry was always thankful for that. Thankful for this place and everyone inhabiting it. After Sirius' and Dumbledore's death Harry thought his perspective of everything would change. But Harry felt the warm nature of the Burrow as he always had. He stared up at the ceiling from his small cot Mrs. Weasley always made for him when he came to stay.

He sat up and stared at the shadows the moon was making across the jungle lawn. Tears streamed down his face without his knowledge of why. But he was startled when a callused hand brushed them away. "You okay mate?" Harry stared up into the azure eyes he had come to know for over the last six years.

"Yeah, yeah I'm alright."

The red-head squinted at him through shielded eyes. "No, you're not. Is it about Dumbledore?" Harry shook his head.

"Is it Ginny?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

Harry kept shaking his head hoping to get Ron off his back. How was Harry supposed to tell him it was his fault for making him this way? Ron pulled Harry into a brotherly embrace, but inside it made Harry shiver in delight. The tears came more freely now, and he pressed his bravery forward as he leaned his head on Ron's shoulder.

Ron stroked Harry's raven hair out of his eyes. "Whatever it is you can tell me you know?" He nodded, but knew he was lying. Ron held him closer, stroking his back in small circles. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it was much more to Harry. It became apparent when the evidence began to tent up in his pyjama bottoms. Here Ron was trying to comfort him and Harry was turning the gesture into something obscene.

He twisted from Ron's grasp so that he didn't have to face him. It made Harry ache; he loved his best friend emotionally, intellectually, and at the moment physically. Harry knew now that Cho and Ginny were just some metaphoric way of trying to be close to Ron. Cho was distant, and it seemed impossible to get to her though the prize could be sweet as rain, just like Ron. And Ginny, oh, Ginny was tall and lanky, with fiery hair that matched her temple, and at times she blushed to the roots that made her freckles disappear, just like Ron.

He felt someone reach for him, and he jerked away. "What is wrong with you Harry? I'm trying to help you, just reach out to me." Reach out to him? Was it that simple? Harry's common sense went right out the window. For once he was able to close his mind down to everything except for what he was willing to do. He stepped towards Ron who seemed to welcome the trust. Harry put his hand on the nape of Ron's neck fingering the locks that curled slightly inward at the end.

There was a bit of nervousness and confusion on his face, but Harry had went way too far to quit. He then leaned forward and pressed his lips awkwardly on Ron's. At first it seemed Ron was going to push him away and pretend that it had not happened. But when Ron almost had his hands on Harry's shoulders, they went down to twist around his waist instead. Harry pressed his pelvis to his, and was glad to see he responded as he was to him.

Harry teased his tongue on Ron's lips, which opened eagerly. Ron was the one who unbuttoned Harry's shirt needing to feel skin, and Harry unable to believe it had his fingers stumble to open Ron's night shirt. Harry was trying to commit this all to memory, even if it were a dream he needed to remember this piece of paradise.

Ron's mouth tasted of chocolate cauldrons and butterbeer. His arms were dotted with the same amount of freckles but in different zig zag patterns. His pale skin heated his slightly bronzen one. It slid softly against each other. Harry was nudging Ron's neck with his nose as he whispered into the red-head's ear, "I love you."