My entry for the HarryRonFest 2021 on Tumblr and AO3. I chose the prompt Godric's Hollow.
Warnings: MCD (at a very old age though), mentions of Alzheimer's disease, smut (from a memory).
When Harry opened the gate to the graveyard of Godric's Hollow, he felt something wet land on his forehead. He looked up into the grey sky as it started to rain, the light drizzle obscuring his vision. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the hood of his raincoat up and cleaned his glasses with a quick swish of his wand.
Slowly, he walked down the pebbled path leading to his parents' grave. Harry's knees and hips ached more than usual due to the changing weather, and even though he was dressed accordingly, the cold breeze chilled him to the bone.
Reaching Lily and James Potter's grave, Harry immediately noticed the fresh bouquet of flowers sitting propped up against the gravestone. Hermione always stopped by when she came here, conjuring the same flowers, as she had done so many decades ago when she had come here with Harry for the first time.
There were still countless notes scribbled on the stone, though the fresh-looking messages got outnumbered by the faded, barely readable ones. This Halloween, it had been 90 years since his parents died. Many of those who lived through the first war were long gone or had been too young to really remember. The messages of gratitude lessened years ago, but they still kept coming.
After lying down the lilies he brought himself, he walked further down towards the outskirts of the graveyard where the stones got smaller and looked less weathered than the older graves. As he reached his destination he stopped in his tracks.
Hermione stood just a few feet away from him, her posture stiff and the snow-white locks blowing in the wind. Unsurprisingly, she didn't notice him walking up behind her, too consumed in her grief, Harry knew.
As he touched her shoulder though, she didn't jump or flinch away, startled. Hermione knew that Harry would come. He came here every day, after all.
Silent tears were running down her deeply wrinkled cheeks when she turned towards him, a thick, cream-coloured envelope clutched in her hand.
"Oh, Harry," she whimpered into his chest as she flung her arms around him.
He just held her, seeking comfort in the embrace and their shared grief. It had been only a month, so Harry didn't expect the crippling jolt of pain which seared through his heart every time he looked at the name written on the gravestone to have already faded.
Ron Potter-Weasley
Husband, Father, Brother, Godfather, Uncle, Friend, Hero
1980 - 2072
It wasn't unexpected by any means. Diagnosed with Alzheimer's almost eight years ago, Ron's memory had started to fail him. Before his healer told them about the incurable disease, it had shown through supposedly harmless cases of forgetfulness. Ron had tried to fight it as long as possible but over the years, Alzheimer claimed first his mind, and in the end, his body.
"You see the sun go down, very slowly, and yet one is still surprised when it's suddenly dark", he remembered Andromeda quoting a Muggle author after Neville's grandmother died.
Despite the hardship and misery Ron's condition had caused them, especially over the last two years, the death of his husband snuffed out every fraction of light Harry had carried inside him. He didn't know how to function, how to be without Ron.
The thing Harry Potter would miss the most.
It remained the truth, after all those years. It was now a heartbreaking reality.
Harry conjured up a handkerchief for Hermione when she let go of him to place the letter she was still holding beside the envelopes already lying there. He counted ten.
It was how Hermione tried to cope with it; writing him letters. Harry didn't know what was written in them or how it could possibly help Hermione feel better, but if it brought her comfort he wanted her to write them for Ron.
"I feel like I'm drowning, Hermione," he said, his voice hoarse and creaky. He had barely used it in the last weeks.
Hermione wrapped an arm around his waist as they both stared at their best friend's grave.
"He loved you so much, Harry," Hermione said, tightening her hold on him, "He would want you to still enjoy life, to cheer and laugh and be happy."
He said nothing. Every word was true, of course. Ron made this clear years ago when his condition still had been in its early stages.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron whispered as he stroked Harry's wrinkled, tear-streaked cheek with his large and equally wrinkled hand.
They were lying in bed together, facing each other, and when Harry stared into his husband's eyes, still so brilliantly blue and beautiful and so unmistakably Ron, he finally broke down.
He cried for the first time in...Harry didn't remember when the last time had been. But this diagnosis had pulled the rug out from under his feet and he felt himself spiral down into a pit of darkness.
Pathetic and guilty. That's how he felt aside from the crippling anxiety and sadness. Ron was the one being sick, the one suffering. And there he was, falling apart in front of his partner instead of trying to be strong for him.
He leaned into Ron's touch, desperately trying to seek comfort in the warmth of it. The cold metal of Ron's wedding band sent another wave of pain through Harry.
Ron pulled Harry closer until their foreheads touched, his trembling hand caressing over Harry's hair. Harry closed his eyes when Ron kissed him on the lips.
"Harry?" He kept his eyes closed, bracing himself for Ron's words.
Harry felt Ron's fingertips brushing over his chin. "Look at me, please."
Opening his eyes he saw Ron pulling away a little to properly look at his husband.
"You have to promise, Harry. You have to promise to me that you won't give up your life and happiness for me. Madam McKinnon said there are special caring units in St. Mungo's for when it gets worse. I want to go there when it comes to it. I don't want you to have to deal with me setting the house on fire and peeing myself because I forget how to use the loo."
Harry wanted to protest but Ron saw it coming and shut him up with a kiss before continuing his speech.
"Keep your fucking beautiful smile, Harry. Keep being happy about our children and grandchildren. Keep living a happy life. Don't let it be stolen alongside mine."
Harry didn't say anything. He just kept staring and wondered why Ron couldn't realize that he was Harry's life.
But Harry felt unable to drag himself out of this well of grief and hopelessness. He had lost his Ron, his most prized possession, his best friend, his very own source of happiness.
"I told him I loved him when he died." Harry didn't know why he told her this now. Here, a month later in a graveyard, he was desperate to tell Hermione.
"He just stared right through me and mumbled 'book' over and over again. I know it's not his fault, Hermione. But I hoped in his last moments he would still find me somewhere inside him."
"I'm sure you were, Harry," Hermione said as she took his hand and squeezed it, "You meant everything to him. Now let's go home, okay?"
Harry nodded but secretly he dreaded coming back to his and Ron's house.
It didn't feel like home anymore.
Harry didn't know for how long he stood in front of Ron's wardrobe, just staring at it.
It was empty now, only the hangers left. Harry donated all of Ron's clothes, save for his Chudley Cannon jerseys, his wedding dress robes and Harry's favourite blue button-down shirt that always highlighted Ron's eyes like no other piece of clothing he had owned.
And a box with 'Harry' written on it, found at the very back of the top shelf. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, clearly sitting there for many years, untouched.
Harry knew he would find countless memories of their time together when he would look inside. Something he should look forward to discovering instead of dreading it as he did right now.
Was he able to handle seeing what Ron had considered so valuable that he kept it? Was he ready for this blatant reminder of what he had lost? What he would never get back?
Get a grip, Potter! Harry's patience with himself was running thin by now. With a huff he grabbed the box, hating the way his hands were shaking as he set it down on their bed. Harry performed a quick cleaning spell on it before he sank down on the mattress as well, lifting the top of Ron's secret box of keepsakes.
The first thing he noticed was a snitch, its wings fluttering weakly as Harry touched it. Harry had caught so many of the tiny golden balls in his life, that he wouldn't have known in which match he had caught this particular one if it weren't for the photograph underneath. It was a picture of Harry, taken by Hermione at his first Quidditch match as the Seeker for England. He had finally ended the game after five hours, flying straight over to the stands where Hermione had stood with the Weasleys. His best friend had immediately grabbed her camera, successfully catching Harry kissing the Snitch while winking at her, or rather, at the person to who he had intended to send this photo.
Ron hadn't been able to watch Harry's match because Robards had sent him on a week-long mission, making him miss not just one but two of the England matches at the World Cup. The redhead had been in a sour mood for weeks when he had gotten the assignment, positive that the whole Auror department was plotting against him, and his wish to watch the World Cup from one of the VIP lounges and see his boyfriend play international for the first fucking time.
With a smile, Harry turned the photo around to read the note he scribbled on the back. He remembered sending it to Ron right after the match had ended.
Can't wait to catch your lips instead.
Miss you,
Harry
A laugh bubbled out of his chest and he startled at the foreign sound. Laughing wasn't something he did all that frequently lately, but his own sappiness was so hilarious that he couldn't help it.
And who was to blame for it? Ron Weasley, of course. He had often teased Harry about it, brushing Harry's compliments off and calling him a sap. But his cheeks and ears had betrayed him, as always, and Harry had known that he'd never stop telling Ron how much he meant to him. It took him long enough to voice his feelings instead of only showing them, after all.
Harry went through a journey of memories as he continued looking through the box. Countless photographs of them together, the tickets of the first movie Harry had taken him to, childish notes they had exchanged during classes. With a smirk, Harry noticed how the notes from their graduation class were of a much less innocent quality than the ones before the war.
Ron and Luna had started some kind of art club in their 8th year at Hogwarts, for reasons exclusively known to these two. It turned out that Ron was quite talented, so after practising some drawing techniques, he had created some truly impressive artworks, including very pornographic drawings on their exchanged notes. Harry could only imagine what would've happened if McGonagall had caught them back then. Ron probably would've burst into flames from embarrassment. In hindsight, letting them sit in such close proximity when they could finally enjoy their time as a couple was nothing but careless on the Professor's part.
The joy of discovering this secret box of Ron's, unfortunately, failed to repress the heavy weight resting on his chest, and he choked back a sob. Again, he berated himself for his incapability to remind himself how lucky he and Ron had been.
Harry and Ron had known each other for over 80 years and had been a couple since they were 16. That they had found their significant other so soon in life, managing to stay together through all kinds of ups and downs this life had to offer along the way, was nothing short of a miracle. Harry knew how special this was, how incredibly rare.
Hermione found her soulmate at the age of 42 after numerous failed relationships and a more than ugly divorce. It had been Harry and Ron staying with Hermione when she gave birth to her daughter, the result of a relationship with a man who had forgotten to mention his wife and two kids when he introduced himself to her. And then, one day, at a Muggle rock concert Harry had dragged Ron and Hermione to, Hermione met the love of her life. Harry smiled at the memory of him coming back with fresh beers for the three of them, seeing Hermione and a tall guy with a band shirt making out like there was no tomorrow. And Ron had stood beside them with wide eyes, simply shrugging as Harry approached.
Charlie never got into a serious relationship at all, living the bachelor life and loving it. He had been well into his 50s when Molly finally gave up to nag him about it.
Ron and Harry had almost been an oddity in that regard. And he really was grateful for all the time they had together, but this knowledge wasn't enough to ease the waves of pain crashing down on him ever since Ron had forgotten his name for the first time all these years ago.
With a deep sigh, Harry emptied the box on top of the bed, trying to sort through everything.
And then he saw it.
Right at the bottom of the box had been a quite old looking book, now sitting on top of the pile of memories. It's dark-brown leather cover made it look like it could be found in the pricier sections of Flourish & Blotts. The deep lines in the spine indicated that it had been opened very often.
Harry hesitated. Without having opened it yet, he already knew that this wasn't a normal book. It was a diary. He didn't know that Ron apparently had kept a diary at some point, and he felt like he invaded Ron's most private thoughts if he'd read the words he had never shown to Harry in all their years together.
But then he remembered where he found it, and that Ron must have kept it there with the knowledge that Harry would find it one day. Wanted him to find it. So, he let his shaking hand glide over the smooth surface of the diary, before opening it to the first page, immediately recognizing Ron's terrible handwriting.
17 Jan 1997
Dear diary,
Hello,
My name is
Oh, fuck it.
Dear future (and hopefully too cool to write into a diary) me,
I can't believe I'm writing in this thing. Guess who gave it to me for Christmas? Exactly! Hermione. One would think she would've learned something from the homework planners, but no such luck.
'You need an outlet, Ron' she said.
'If you don't want to talk about your feelings with me, then you have to write them down at least.' she said.
Can't see how this is supposed to help me, but here I am, writing into a diary like a twit. At least, future me doesn't mind me using swear words, so that's a plus.
And the truth is, Hermione is right. Yeah yeah, when isn't she, right? For reasons that are still beyond me, she figured it out by just looking at me. I tried to deny it, of course. But you know how she gets when she's onto something. And I'm still terrified about him having noticed too. Maybe that's why he always wears this mask of indifference since the start of term. Maybe he's confused and thoroughly grossed out about the possibility of his best mate lusting after him.
Oh yeah, that's the point, by the way. I fancy my best friend.
I fancy Harry fucking Potter and this is a disaster.
Last year I figured out that a dick does it for me just as much as tits. Not that I ever came close to experiencing one or the other, except for some over the clothes groping with Lavender. But both Madam Rosmerta wearing these low cut dresses as well as Blaise Zabini's arse in those tight pants do the trick during a wank.
But with Harry, there is another problem altogether. A simple matter of unfulfilled horniness wouldn't be that much of a problem. I get these unwanted and awkward stiffies anyway, with Harry so close all the time it just happens more than usual I guess.
The problem is that it's also Harry's smile. And his laugh. I really love that sound and when he looks at me after I made him laugh, I want to jump him and snog him senseless.
And then there's the fact that Harry made me laugh too and everytime we're together, it's just so easy between us.
I don't just want to snog him. I want to hold his hand. I want to hug him. I want to make him laugh again, like it used to be before things got weird. I want to hold him when his scar hurts him again.
I want us to be together.
But Harry doesn't feel this way about blokes. He had been with Cho Chang and now he's snogging my sister, of all people. And even if he would also swing both ways, he would certainly never want me of all people. For Harry, there are a million options, and there are exactly zero reasons why he would ever settle for me.
Harry shook his head at the lines he just read, but it was hardly surprising to see what a teenage Ron had been thinking about himself. During the Horcrux hunt and in the months following the war, Harry learned that Ron needed to hear how much he meant to others; how wonderful he was. For Harry, actions always spoke so much louder than words, and unconsciously he always assumed that Ron being the thing Harry Potter would miss the most was the most obvious evidence for what he had meant to Harry. But Ron had been different in that regard.
I think I need to get my act together, Harry continued reading Ron's diary entry, and stop obsessing over my best mate. Maybe that cute Hufflepuff with the dark brown locks would be up for a snog or two and it will be enough distraction from Harry to act normal around him again. But the truth is, even if that wouldn't work, I'd rather pine after Harry in secret forever than lose him as a friend.
No, losing Harry isn't an option. So, I better try to find out if that Hufflepuff really would like to snog me or if I just imagined him staring at my lips in Herbology last week. I should also try to find out his name first.
Well, that's it. I fancy my best mate. And only Hermione knows why writing it down is supposed to do any good. Maybe I should just rip out these pages and burn them. Merlin forbids Seamus finds this. Or the twins get their hands on it somehow when I'm home. I better ask Bill about some wards or charms to protect this. For now, it's hopefully enough to stash it under all the useless junk in my trunk.
Finally, an advantage of being poor as dirt. Nothing worth rummaging around here.
Well...bye then.
Obviously, Ron didn't chuck the diary. Harry let out a hearty laugh at Ron's words at the end of this entry and quickly turned the page to read the next one.
6 April 1997
Ginny broke up with Harry today. And both of them refuse to tell me why.
On one hand, I want to do a happy dance about it (no, I obviously didn't get over Harry yet). On the other hand, I want to punch the git for probably having hurt my sister.
See, that's why no one should go after a sibling of their best friend. It should be the law. I mean, can you imagine being equally revolted and jealous seeing your best mate and your sister almost eating each other's faces? Well, unfortunately, I can.
As much as I want to know why they broke up, I should probably listen to Hermione and let it go. She also refuses to tell me anything Ginny might tell her about it.
Who's her best friend again? Fuck this moral crap.
Anyway, that's the news.
Oh, and the Hufflepuff's name is Logan and I never found out if he'd be up for a snog, because Nott was definitely up for it.
Yes, he's a slimy Slytherin who is way too cosy with Malfoy, but the good thing about secretly snogging a Slytherin in the broom closet is, that no Slytherin being friends (or rather ally; I had a hard time not rolling my eyes at that one) with Malfoy would risk telling anyone they get cosy with a blood traitor. Perfect secret keepers these closeted Purebloods.
Well, I am one myself, but if anyone would find out, I'd only get teased about taking it up the arse, not who I'm taking it up the arse with.
Not that I had it up the arse yet, mind you.
Look at what a whiz with words I am, using 'up the arse' thrice.
And once again, I'm asking myself who I am talking to here. Future me, please find a time turner and whack me over the head. It can't get worse with me, after all.
Harry groaned as he manoeuvred himself into a more comfortable position against the bed's headboard. A sharp pain surged through his aching shoulders, but by now, nothing could stop him from reading.
5 May 1997
I guess I owe Nott a fruit basket or something.
Why, you ask?
Oh, it's nothing...only that HARRY KISSED ME!
I'm still not sure if it really happened. Maybe I just dreamed it and now my constantly-randy-lovesick-good-for-nothing-brain tricks me into thinking it happened for real.
Harry kissed me. Harry kissed me. Harry kissed me.
Godric's massive lion balls, it really happened.
Now, I really want to write this down, moment for moment, because I'll definitely have to remind myself that it's real.
Okay, then.
Yesterday, I met up with Nott again. We only met up like six or seven times over the last months, but we developed some kind of secret code. Well, the code was 'Weasley, pass me the gillyweed' and 'Nott, I need the dried beetles'. So, not very creative but effective and inconspicuous. I really don't know what I got out of this. Lavender was definitely the better snog, but in the dim light of the broom cupboard, I could pretend to roam my hands through Harry's unruly hair instead of Nott's curls. And no, I don't feel guilty about using him like that. He didn't say it like that, but he as good as admitted that he got a kick out of secretly messing around with a Gryffindor.
Suited me just fine.
We directly met up inside the cupboard, me being five minutes too late, as always. And after 20 minutes, I heard it. Or rather, I heard Hermione. And her discovering them wouldn't have been the end of the world. But to my immense horror, I also heard Harry. I heard the two of them arguing, probably about Harry stalking Malfoy again while Hermione checked every single room in the corridor for...well, for people like me and Nott.
For a short second, we looked at each other in utter panic before I cast a silencing and locking charm on the door to win us some time. A flawed plan, considering the rare number of hiding places in a room where I could barely stand upright.
Nott didn't come up with any suggestions on how to get us out of there but he did have some pretty good swear words to offer. The footsteps and voices of Harry and Hermione kept coming closer and closer until they finally stopped in front of our door.
The doorknob rattled and after a second Hermione knocked against the door and yelled something. It really was only a matter of seconds before she would unlock the door.
I would've even tried to apparate if Hermione's constant ramblings about 'Hogwarts – A History' wouldn't have manifested in my mind. Some things she repeats so often that you just have no choice but to remember them.
And then I remembered the House Elves. The rattling of the door became more insistent and Nott mumbled something about 'just getting it over with' when I summoned Dobby.
Dobby —bless that wonderful elf– accepted my pleas just like that and disapparated with me, just in time, before Hermione got the door unlocked.
Seeing Nott standing in front of them with a mix of shock, outrage, major annoyance and one hell of a bite mark on his neck had been, in retrospect, downright hilarious. Of course, Hermione had wanted to know who had been in there with him, but Nott had ignored her questions completely and demanded of her to just take the House points already and walked away into the direction of the dungeons.
I thanked Dobby a million times and sent him a pair of knitted gloves after I got back to the Gryffindor common room.
I was very pleased with myself for escaping discovery by Harry. So pleased that I didn't remember to check my appearance before Harry and Hermione came back.
Hermione went straight to bed, only giving me a slight wave before she went up to her dormitory. But Harry took the seat right beside me on the sofa even though we were the only ones left in the common room and there were several other places to sit. As I had already mentioned, Harry in close proximity made me more than a little nervous.
And I'm not sure if it was me fidgeting or if Harry just noticed by chance, but suddenly he pulled my hand away from where it was scratching my non-existent beard and demanded to know what was on my neck.
And like a total idiot, I stammered and stuttered and couldn't even come up with a half-arsed lie. I just stopped talking altogether at one point, ready to burst into flames when I saw the wheels turning in Harry's head. And to my immense horror, Harry asked me if I had been with Nott. I couldn't answer. I could only stare at him in shock and from the way the heat rose up my neck and cheeks, I was ready to burst into flames any second.
And then...he kissed me. He kissed me and I kissed him back. And after several hours (or mere minutes, who knows?) Harry asked me if I fancy Nott. I still wasn't fit to form English sentences, so I just shook my head no.
Harry just said 'Good' after what felt like an eternity of silence and continued to snog me senseless.
The entry ended there. Harry's eyes glistened with tears, both from laughing about teenage Ron's hilarious way to tell this story to his diary, and the happiness he felt about discovering this treasure.
With some struggle, he managed to fish a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at the tears before continuing with an eagerness he didn't know he still possessed.
20 May 1997
I shouldn't complain, should I? I'm healthy, I'm fit, Quidditch practise is better than ever, I have two best friends and one of them likes to spend their spare time messing around with me. What else can I ask for, really?
Nothing it seems. And yet…
Snogging Harry is brilliant. It's more than that; it's fucking perfect!
I admit that the secrecy and sneaking away is exciting and I definitely get a kick out of it, but aside from the most awkward 'I fancy you' declarations this world has ever seen (and no, I don't need other preferences to judge this), we really didn't do much talking anymore when it's just the two of us.
I feel so ridiculous complaining about it. I should just be happy that he wants to be with me, right?
But exactly this is the problem...does he want to be with me? Like, in a relationship, and not just us snogging in a broom cupboard in secret? Would Harry even want us to be...boyfriends?
Boyfriend...it sounds so official and yet so silly. Still, it's what I want to call us. It's what I want us to be to each other.
We keep the relationship a secret for obvious reasons. We heard about some gay couples from 7th Year and I remember two girls dating who graduated last year, but right now, there only seem to be straight couples in our year and I can't judge how the others would react to this.
And then there is all this You-Know-Who and H. business, of course…
Maybe it's better to keep things as they are for the moment? To not over complicate things for Harry who's up to his eyebrows in shit with these missions Dumbledore has for him.
Some day, yes? Some day, I might be able to call Harry Potter my boyfriend, right? Some day, after this fucking war is over, he might still want me that much and we can show the world we're together?
Right?
2 July 1997
Dumbledore is dead.
One of the most powerful wizards, the only one You-Know-Who really was afraid of, died. Killed by Severus fucking Snape. The supposedly Ex-Death-Eater and now, Ex-Order member. Trusted by Dumbledore himself. Trusted with Harry's Occlumency training, and therefore, all his secrets.
Harry freaked out on me today because of this. Snape saw us in his mind. He saw us snogging and groping and secretly holding hands under the table. And Harry is determined that You-Know-Who will go after me now. That he'll use me to get to Harry.
It took hours for me and Hermione to talk sense into him. He was determined to leave us behind and wanted to convince us to go into hiding. How could he even think we would let him go alone? It's always so hard to make him see reason when he's an idiot like that.
But the hardest part today was seeing Harry at the funeral. I just wanted to hold him, to brush the tears away, to kiss it all better. But that wasn't possible, of course.
And by now, I'm not sure if it will ever be possible again. We still haven't talked about our relationship status and I'm afraid this summer will snuff out Harry's feelings for me somehow.
I'm pathetic. The world is in fucking shambles and I have nothing better to do than dwell over the question if Harry and I are proper boyfriends.
Harry doesn't need a boyfriend in his upcoming quest. He needs a loyal friend. He needs someone to protect him. And I swear to the Gods that I'll protect him. Whatever it takes.
Even if that kiss Harry gave me before we walked to the train station was our last.
25 June 1998
I completely forgot about this diary.
Hermione asked me about it in our floo call today and that's why I retrieved the book from behind Dad's shed where I had buried it before the Horcrux hunt. I figured it would be safest there. Nobody would've ever found it if I would've been captured.
We just got back from Australia. Harry and me, anyway. Hermione will travel back with her parents the Muggle way sometime next week.
I'm glad Harry wasn't there when I floo called Hermione. He definitely would've wanted to know why I hid it and I'm not quite ready to show him that this diary is all about him and me freaking out about us.
Well, there is a reason for me to write here today. Harry kissed me for the first time since the battle. From the moment Hagrid carried Harry back from the Forest, everything is a blur of pain, relief, happiness and crippling sadness. Right after Harry took down Voldemort, I ran to him, hugged and kissed him. And I would've continued to cry into his shoulder if it wasn't for the countless hands demanding to thank Harry.
When we got back to the Burrow there wasn't much time or opportunity to be alone. Right after Fred's funeral, we took the first Portkey to Australia, taking on the task of finding and bringing back Hermione's parents. I think Harry and I had kind of an unspoken agreement to continue...us when we get back.
And Harry wasted no time to continue it. The second we were alone after coming back to the Burrow he took my head between his hands and pulled me down to his lips.
Of course, I had missed kissing Harry but I didn't realise how much until then.
Harry's lips are...heaven. They're soft and demanding and addicting. Just like his tongue. Or his eyes. Or the way his stubble graces my skin when he kisses and licks his way down my throat.
Harry makes me forget about the pain. He magics away the pressure weighing down on my chest since Fred died.
He makes me happy.
I love him.
I haven't told him yet, but I do. I really do and now I have to get my act together before Harry comes back from his shower and catches me being a bloody sap.
31 October 1998
He loves me.
Harry Potter loves me.
And of course, I knew it already. It's so obvious that even I can't talk myself out of it or misinterpret that look in Harry's eyes.
We just moved into our new flat. It's a five minutes walk away from the ruins of the house the Potters used to live in. We haven't planned to move to Godric's Hollow, but the flat is nice and more importantly, affordable. And it makes Harry happy to live here. He didn't say so, but I can tell.
After we were finally finished unpacking all of our stuff, Harry tossed me a broom and we spent the rest of the afternoon flying over Godric's Hollow.
When my fingers threatened to get completely numb from the cold air, I gestured for Harry to get back home. I quickly went inside to get the bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses. Moving together with your best mate slash lover is a cause of celebration after all, isn't it?
I don't know how long we sat on our small back patio, sipping our drinks and watching the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. But suddenly Harry took his head from where it rested on my shoulder and looked at me. And just as I wanted to ask what's up, he told me.
I love you, Ron.
The words are still ringing inside my head. And at that moment I was so overwhelmed that I just kissed him. I kissed him like I never kissed him before and all of a sudden I had him dragged down to our bedroom.
So, today wasn't just the day Harry told me he loved me. It was also the day he made love to me for the very first time.
We pretty much did everything together until now. Blowjobs, wanking each other off, licking and touching every single inch of skin. I was already addicted to a naked Harry. But a naked Harry whispering 'I love you's' while slowly fucking me senseless, is nothing I'll ever get used to.
Living in Godric's Hollow will be brilliant.
30 December 2004
I never planned to write in this journal again. It would have actually spared me from almost cringing to death re-reading my earlier entries.
Imagine me writing this into Tom Riddle's diary if it would've still been around. Voldemort's soul fraction would've offed itself in a spectacular show of self-destruction after the first entry. How to get rid of Horcruxes: Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, Ron Weasley blabbering about his pathetic love life.
Well, not so pathetic now, mind you. My love life is fucking brilliant. So brilliant that I'm now staring at two silver rings sitting inside a blue velvet box.
I'm still not sure how exactly I should do this without making a complete arse out of myself. Should I get down on one knee? Should I just show him the ring after dinner in this ridiculously expensive restaurant I made a reservation for tonight?
How do you propose to your best friend?
And would Harry even want to? I know he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. He made that clear countless times. Is it even necessary to make it official?
We're perfectly happy after all. My boyfriend is my best friend. My best friend who I get to kiss, shag and wake up to in the mornings. If that isn't the jackpot, right?
We've been together for so many years now. Years of Harry Potter being my best friend. My lover. My boyfriend.
I feel a little stupid about mourning to possibly lose that 'title'. It's what we had been for so long. Boyfriends.
It somehow has that ring to it. This 'forever young' kind of ring that promises awkwardness, excitement and butterflies in your stomach.
But just as much as I had longed to finally call Harry my boyfriend, I now long for calling him my husband. I want everyone to get the memo that Harry Potter is mine and I'm his. I want to tell him in front of our friends and family. I want to make it visible with two golden wedding bands. I want to make it official by changing our last names.
I'll ask him tonight. I'm still not sure how and when exactly, but it will happen today.
I can't wait.
Ron had not proposed to him getting down on his knee or at the fancy restaurant. It hadn't been some grand romantic gesture by any means. But to Harry, it couldn't have been more perfect.
"Fuck, Ron!" Harry breathed, followed by a deep growl when Ron finally, but in a torturously slow move, replaced slick fingers with his cock.
A large, freckled hand settled on Harry's stomach, pressing his back flush against Ron's chest as he pushed inside Harry. It didn't take long for the hand to wander down his body, roaming over Harry's tanned, sweaty skin.
Harry loved being fucked this way. The feeling of Ron spooning him from behind, biting into his neck, licking inside his ear, felt so divine, that he even didn't mind not being able to see Ron come. And he loved seeing Ron losing all control over his face and ability to speak as he came.
Ron pressed even further into him, resulting in Harry seeing stars when Ron hit his prostate. "More," Harry demanded as he tried to meet Ron's thrusts to create a faster rhythm.
But apparently, Ron didn't want it fast and rough today. Instead, Ron grabbed Harry's hip to keep them still while continuing with his tender love making.
A feather-light kiss landed on Harry's shoulder, followed by Ron's tongue licking the side of his neck until the redhead's deep breaths graced his ear.
"I love you so much," Ron whispered, but Harry couldn't answer, couldn't say it back as Ron chose this moment to finally touch Harry's cock.
He bit into his lip, hard, knowing he wouldn't last long. And from the frantic breaths and moans coming from behind him, he knew Ron was right there with him.
Harry came with a strangled cry which Ron swallowed with his mouth, not quite kissing, but lips touching as he too reached his orgasm with several breathless moans.
He barely noticed when Ron pulled out of him, too blissed out from his orgasm to concentrate on more than listening to his frantic heartbeat slowly pulsing back into its normal rhythm.
Finally catching his breath, Harry sat up against the headboard, looking over at Ron who just leaned back from his side of the bedside table. He crawled up beside Harry, giving him a soft kiss that made him sigh.
"Harry, I–" Ron pulled back a little to look at Harry, who found himself surprised at the sheer amount of emotions swimming in those blue eyes. For a brief moment, Ron closed his eyes again before lifting his hand to caress Harry's stubbled cheek.
"You know I'm crap with this whole...romance thing. And you probably deserve something better and more special than a proposal after a shag, but–" Ron paused, blushing crimson at his slip, but when Harry just stared at him, he pulled a small, midnight-blue velvet box from under his pillow. He opened it, showing Harry the two silver engagement rings, a hopeful spark in his eyes.
"Marry me."
And the hopeful spark turned into pure happiness when Harry smiled. A smile, Ron knew, only he ever got to see.
Harry took the box from Ron's hands and took out the rings. He slipped one onto Ron's ring finger, pausing for a moment to grace his thumb over it before putting his own ring on. He pulled Ron closer until the redhead straddled his lap, never letting go of the hand with the engagement ring. Harry lifted it up to his mouth, kissing it before pressing it against the side of his face.
"Yes."
This moment had become one of the memories Harry conjured his Patronus with. To this day, it remained one of his happiest, so many decades later.
As Harry flipped to the last page, reading the date on top of the entry, his heart couldn't quite decide if it wanted to do a happy jolt or break just a little bit more.
He skimmed over the words and they quickly blurred as the tears ran freely now. Harry gripped the diary so hard, he feared he would rip it apart while uncontrolled sobs forced their way out of his chest as he read Ron's last words he had written into this diary.
25 July 2062
Dear Harry,
when you read this, I'm either too gone in the head to recognize you or already passed onto the next great adventure as Dumbledore liked to call it.
I want to write this last entry before Alzheimer's takes over completely.
Harry, I don't have much to say. I know that you could use a laugh right now, and I'm sure my earlier entries provided you with that.
But what I really need you to know is how much you mean to me, before I can't tell you anymore. I'm sure my life wouldn't have been as brilliant as it had been without you by my side.
I'm terrified to forget about us, Harry. About what we went through together, our children, grandchildren, friends. About our wedding. About our first time and all the times that followed. About your kisses, your smile, your beautiful eyes. About your touch that made me feel so alive.
I love you so much, Harry. You once told me that I was the first good thing that ever happened to you, and please believe me this: You may not have been the first good thing that ever happened to me, but I can safely say that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.
And no matter where I am when you read this; whether I'm already gone or just staring into space or saying horrible things to you, I want you to know that somewhere inside my heart, I'm flying, Harry.
I'm flying in our backyard in Godric's Hollow with my brave, funny, sassy, noble, incredibly sexy and beautiful boyfriend.
I'm flying with you, forever.
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