AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my entry for the 2014 HRHolidays (Harry-Ron) Fest entry (hrholidays . livejournal . com). The fest is long over and reveals are out, so I can post this for you here. This fanfic is multi-chaptered, but complete. I will post a chapter up every couple of days until it is finished.

This fic was a gift for "gracerene".

Here was the prompt I worked from:

Prompt: Post-Hogwarts, Harry and Ron are investigating a criminal hide-out in a cave, when a snowstorm hits, trapping them in. While waiting to be rescued they find a creative way to pass the time. Could be established relationship or not. Feel free to get more creative with where they are trapped and why they can't just magic out (lost/broken wands, anti-apparation wards?) No infidelity, no Hermione/Ginny bashing, no rape/non-con.

Thank you so very much to my wonderful betas, Ladysashi and gjeangirl, who both offered such helpful, wonderful advice!

gracerene: I hope you enjoy your fic! Happy Holidays to you!

Thank you so much to the Mod of this fest for hosting it and for generously giving me an extension! I truly enjoyed trying out this ship for the first time here, and look forward to next time!

Please review!


DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

TIMELINE: Post-Hogwarts, EWE.

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED: Harry Potter x Ron Weasley

SUMMARY: Harry thought he was saving Ron, when in fact, it was quite the opposite.

RATING: NC-17 (MA)

WARNINGS: Explicit slash sex (explicit oral sex, explicit mutual masturbation, explicit anal), Explicit profanity, Angst-Angst-Angst

Author's Additional Notes: Black Annis and the Witch of Wookey Hole are real British legends I co-opted for this fic. British spelling used for this fic.


CAMOUFLAGE

By: RZZMG


The pale, December sun was fast lowering into its cradle for the evening, chased by encroaching shadows and bitter winds. An unnatural hush fell over the hills all around as small mammals scurried to their burrows and wild owls into their tree hollows to escape the winter's growing chill.

A storm was coming on this, the longest night of the year, and from the looming black clouds overhead, it looked to be a rather nasty one.

From the cave entrance, for the first time in his life, Harry noted the world's subtle changes with eyes unobstructed. The corrective LASIK surgery had been a brilliant success, and now he could see without the aid of his spectacles. It was an adjustment, though, letting them go; he'd grown familiar and comfortable with those thin, wiry frames and those two shards of glass standing between him and the world, but in the end, they were just camouflage against the world, like the creeping darkness outside. It was time to shed their influence and become something new, like the dawn breaking over a horizon.

He let his gaze sweep over the substantial briar patch lining the path outside the cave. Illuminated by the rising moon, its twisting, snow-covered branches and oversized, razor-sharp thorns were made somehow even more sinister by the semi-darkness.

'How very 'Grimm's fairy tales', Harry thought with some amusement. Now all they needed was a cannibalistic wicked witch to show up…

"It's a clever trap," he noted aloud to his pacing companion, feeling his way around the wall of magic that had effectively imprisoned him and Ron inside the wind-swept sandstone cave hidden deep within the Dane Hills of Leicestershire. "I think it's the same spell as they use on Azkaban. If so, we're not getting out without the original caster unraveling them or someone from the outside taking the wards down."

Ron cast a Blasting Spell at the opposite wall, with the same negated effect as all his earlier attempts. His magic skipped off target, dispersing in crackling, forking tendrils that lit up the room briefly. "You think?" he asked, a tad sarcastic. "I reckon we're stuck here until someone comes for us, so we might as well get comfy."

Harry was inclined to agree. The wards nullified all but the most benign of spells. Clearly, it had been designed to keep trespassers from escaping until the cave's resident witch returned to confront the intruders on her terms—which could be hours, day, weeks, even months, given their host's eccentricity.

The shield had been created using powerful, old magic, Harry knew, for he could feel its seductive pull upon him, calling to the tiny, remaining piece of his mother's sacrificial magic still lingering within his heart. Reverently, he placed his palms flat against the ward, closed his eyes, and stretched out his magical senses, seeking the edges of the spell. He was awed by the returning echo of power that thrummed through him, and by the feel of the seamless enclosure all around, extending far above their heads and deep beneath their feet. There would be no escape by bringing down the roof or by digging into the earth.

"Her magic's sort-of familiar, like it's a resonance I almost recognise, but at the same time, it's like nothing I've ever felt," he whispered, impressed. "It almost feels… masculine, but layered with the feminine."

Ron snorted. "She's Black Annis—the oldest surviving hag in history. Probably gets her strength from all those children she eats." His big frame shuddered. "We're lucky we're not already skinned and roasting over an open flame."

Harry turned away from the inviting pull of the magic around him, and decided to take a seat on the floor, leaning against a flat-topped rock in the centre of the room instead. His feet were tired from all the walking it had taken to get to this unlucky location, and he'd been exhausting himself for too many months between taking on extra assignments at work and moving into a new flat and… other pursuits involving Dennis Creevey, on occasion. He wasn't a teenager anymore—hadn't been for almost a decade. Burning his candle at both ends was beginning to wear on him. He needed a break.

He glanced around quickly, assuring before he shut his eyes that there were no lurking dangers in the shadows. There weren't, of course. It might be a dry, cold cave, but at least the hag who supposedly lived here on occasion kept it neat, he thought as he lowered himself to the ground. There were no gnawed or blackened bones lining the floor, no natty cobwebs hanging in the rounded corners. It was empty, without even a single signature of homesteading to it, but the floor was as meticulously clean as he kept his flat's hardwood floor back in London.

…Which wasn't saying much, since his top-floor, des res apartment overlooking the Thames was cared for once a day by a Squib maid and resembled one of those perfectly respectable, spotless Scandinavian home showrooms, filled with black, white, and grey occasional furniture that was embellished with burnished silver trim. It was a very modern apartment with minimal decoration, giving the impression that its owner was stylish, sophisticated, upwardly-mobile…and as frigid as the wind howling just then through the cave.

"You live in a posh version of Azkaban, Harry," Hermione had once remarked to him. "It's very high off the ground and… rather grey… and somewhat bleak, don't you think? Why don't you move back to Grimmauld? You seemed much happier there."

She'd been right, as usual. Once upon a time, Harry had been happy to reside at Sirius' former home. But then he'd hit twenty-six and he'd seen the gleaming hope of marriage in Ginny's eye, and he'd come face-to-face with the fact that he wasn't the man he'd been pretending to be for so long. Admitting he'd liked men more than women had been a difficult thing for him to do, but that summer, he'd come out at long last, before things became even more complicated… and everything had changed as a result.

He'd lost Ginny, but in trade he'd finally been able to admit the greatest secret of his heart, which had lain camouflaged under the veneer of friendship for years. And for a while, in the right person's arms, he'd finally felt as if he was wearing the right skin, as if he'd found a proper home.

But then, nothing good had ever lasted for Harry. He'd learned way back in his childhood that some people simply weren't meant to have what they most wanted, and he least of all.

After that, he couldn't stomach sitting on that antique couch in the Living Room of Grimmauld, where he'd lost a different kind of virginity, or lying in that soft, queen-sized bed upstairs, with its silky green sheets and its fluffy pillows, or eating at that long, kitchen table where he'd once experienced the ultimate pleasure bent over its sturdy, wooden frame. It was the bittersweet memories the place conjured that had proved too painful to continually confront as he walked through Number Twelve's silent hallways in the aftermath. That's really why he'd closed up the townhouse and had moved without taking a scrap of its furniture with him. He'd wanted no remembrances of those life-altering days and nights.

So, now he lived in Muggle London, in a sterile flat that had been given special dispensation for Apparition and an open Floo—as far away from Grimmauld Place as he could reasonably suffer. He lived in a black and white space that had no deeper feelings or ghosts attached to it, as cold inside as it was out.

Just like this cave.

He drew his knees to his chest, and leaned his head back against the rock, closing his eyes.

"You're napping—now?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"I'm tired," Harry mumbled, feeling his brain trying to shut down. Just fifteen minutes, that's all he'd need.

His companion's bitter laugh was laced with an accusatory sneer. "Yeah, I'll just bet you are."

Harry peeked through the fringe of his lashes and stared over at Ron. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Ron had retreated, doing that thing he'd regularly done since they were boys whenever they had a fight: look away and clench his jaw, sulking until pushed to his limits. Normally, Harry would shake his head and walk away, either that or confront Ron until they were both shouting their hurt feelings to the sky. Now, though, his heart just wasn't up to the game any longer. The weight of his hidden sorrow suddenly seemed too much to bear alone.

"I miss you."

Ron's head turned in his direction, but he still wouldn't look at him.

"I think about you all the time, about the summer before last—how you were the only good thing in all that mess." He took a shuddering breath. "I ruined our friendship and what we had, and I'm sorry for it."

His former best friend's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?" He bitterly smirked. "Good."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, leaning his forehead against his palms. "Why can't you forgive me?"

"You turned you back on me and you walked away, like a gutless coward," Ron cruelly reminded him.

Harry's heart gave a violent squeeze. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! But it's been a year and a half since then, Ron!" He slammed his hands down on either side of him, and his palms made a fleshy smacking noise as they hit solid rock. "You and Hermione… I know you weren't dating anymore when we… I know it, but she still had feelings for you, and I thought about what she would say if she found out about us, and how hurt she'd be. It felt wrong to do that to her, especially over a… a summer fling."

Ron growled, unwinding and smoothly rising to his feet. For a man that powerfully built and that tall, he managed a kind of grace that left Harry breathless—and once again reminded him that they were no longer clumsy, awkward teenagers, but fully grown men who had both come into their own. Ron's temper was still as volatile as it had been back then, however. His clenched fists and trembling wand bespoke of a need to unleash a torrential anger, but he stayed on his side of the cavern, restrained in taking action, if barely.

"A summer fling? You spineless–" He seemed to wrestle with himself to keep from screaming. "It was more than that and you know it! It was everything!"

Now it was Harry's turn to rise and confront this long-simmering hurt between them. He shook from head to toe, this confrontation long overdue, but painful nonetheless. "Then why did you act as if it was just something to do? As if you were just experimenting while waiting for Hermione to take you back?"

"That is so bullshit!" Ron pointed an angry finger at him. "You knew how I felt about you! Yes, I loved 'Mione and I wouldn't have wanted to hurt her either, but the truth is I would have given anything to stay with you. You knew that!"

No, honestly, he hadn't.

"How could I have? You never said a word!" Harry defended himself. "You were so casual about the whole thing!"

"We were best friends, Harry! You knew my heart better than I knew it myself! You knew."

Harry holstered his wand and firmly shook his head at that nonsensical argument. He was no mind-reader. The truth was he'd always been shite at Legilimency, both then and now. Ron should have said something, if that's how he'd really felt. If he had, things would have turned out much different, perhaps. "What I knew, Ron, was you and Hermione had dated for eight years, and even though you'd broken it off with her the month before my birthday, those kinds of feelings don't just drift away. Face it, I was a rebound for you while on the rebound myself, something completely different for us both, but safe. We were… curious."

It wasn't true, but it was giving Ron an 'out', just in case.

Ron, of course, didn't take it. "Curious. Is that what you've decided to label it? We shared a rash of curiosity for cock one summer, that it?" He ran a hand through his thick, red hair. "Christ, Harry, you make it sound like it was a disease."

Hearing the word 'cock' uttered in Ron's husky growl made Harry's throat convulse. "That's not what I meant," he argued. "I… I treasure the memory of us. I do!" He made to push his glasses back up his nose, but realised he wasn't wearing them anymore, and instead quickly changed direction, rubbing the back of his neck instead. "But I'm also a realist, Ron. And I was right, wasn't I? You were back with Hermione by Christmas."

Ron barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And we were good and bloody done by Valentine's this year. Know why? Because I couldn't forget you and what we'd had! I wanted it back." He blew out a frustrated breath and his blue eyes glazed over as he turned inward, seeing things Harry could not. "I never told her about you and me, but you know what? She knew. It was the way she looked at me, like she could read between the lines every time I refused to talk about you. I broke her heart because I wanted you more than her!" He looked away, the pain of regret flashing across his handsome features. "And now look what's happened: she went 'round the bend after we split, and she's never come down." He shook his head and glanced sideways at Harry. "Do you know she recently hooked up with that tosspot, Malfoy?"

Another regret to pile upon all the others, Harry thought, but this time he wouldn't be saddled with the responsibility for it. He had enough guilt over unintentionally leading Ginny on when he'd known in his heart for years that he was a closeted homosexual. He didn't think he could take on the weight of Hermione's unhappiness, too. Besides, it wasn't really fair of Ron to put the blame for things entirely out of his control upon his shoulders. Hermione was a big girl, and she'd made her choices. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry for Hermione being hurt by the fact that people's feelings change over time, but neither of us is responsible for that or for where her life is now. She's an adult, and being with Malfoy is her decision. Her life is what she's made it, same as any of us. And maybe she doesn't think he's as bad as you do. Maybe where she's at is exactly what she wants to be. Who are we to judge?"

Ron's expression was cynical. "She's going to get burned by him, just like you burned me." He slumped against the wall and looked away, obvious hurting.

Harry sighed, suddenly feeling much older than his years. "I'm sorry."

Bristling, Ron shouted, "Stop saying that!"

"Why? It's true," Harry countered. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought I was doing what was right and, yes, okay, I admit that I was protecting myself, too. I thought you and me—that what we were didn't mean as much to you as it did to me, and I didn't want to turn to you one day and hear you say that." He looked back at the warded cave entrance, almost wishing for Black Annis to appear like a sinister shadow haunting the breach. At least then the identity of the real bad guy in the room wouldn't be in question. "I… I was a coward, you're right, and I've been running away ever since. Maybe Hermione and I are exactly alike in this case. Maybe we've both been trying to get over you in our own ways, because you're… you're really hard let go of, Ron."

"Really? Didn't seem to take you long at all, from what I hear." Ron crossed his arms, and the muscles under his tight, hand-knit jumper flexed, drawing Harry's eye and reminding him of what it had felt like to be surrounded by such strength. "What was it, a week before you were fucking Finch-Fletchley?"

Quickly, Harry looked away again, mortified by his past behaviour. He'd gone on a bender for three months after leaving Ron, fucking anything male that had moved, really. He'd also become a heavy drinker and smoker. It had taken him six additional months to purge his pain and get his shite straight. "I regret when I walked away from you, and everything that came after, too." Admitting it was tougher than Harry had thought it would be. His throat nearly closed over the shame. "Please, won't you forgive me for being so stupid?"

Ron slid back down the wall and gathered his long legs up until his knees pressed against his chest in a protective gesture. He wrapped his arms around them in a tight hold, as if that were all that was keeping him together right then. "I… I want to, Harry. I mean, I thought I could if you ever said 'sorry' to me, but now… I'm not so sure. Forgiving you is as painful as hating you."

Turning his back, Harry wiped at the moisture gathered in his eyes. "I get it," he said. "I do."

That wasn't just lip service, either. He did understand Ron's hesitancy. Harry knew he wasn't an easy person to befriend—never had been. There were always dangerous conditions that were attached to caring for him. No one walked away from him unscathed.


TO BE CONTINUED...


Author's Notes:

Please review!