Chapter 12

What Luck

"Hey, it's time to get up. Ron, wake up. Helloooo," he whispered.

Harry shook Ron's shoulder. It was early, still dark, and he was due to Tang's extra-curricular in an hour. They had taken to waking early, even on the days he wasn't doing his extra classes, so Ron could slip back into his bed before the others woke.

Neither of them wanted to explain why he'd been sleeping in Harry's bed every night for over a week. They hadn't articulated it out loud themselves. During the day, they never mentioned it, or acted any different around one another. But every night, once the others had fallen asleep, even if Harry wasn't yet dreaming of demons and Dark Lords, Ron had taken to padding over to his bed, clambering in, and falling asleep beside him. And Harry never slept so well as when his friend's body weight dipped the mattress on one side, even if he did take up half the bed. Even if he did snore. Even if he did complain that Harry hogged the covers. His own covers.

Ron mumbled something sleepily. Harry leaned closer.

"'Hmm... yeah keep doin' tha..." he was muttering.

Huh?

He was still asleep, Harry realised. Dreaming. He went to shake his shoulder, but stopped as Ron started talking again.

"Thas nice... yeah..."

Harry froze. Uh-oh. So it was still pretty dark and he couldn't say for sure, but he was a teenage boy who'd slept in a room full of teenage boys for years. And he'd shared a considerable amount of time in a tent with Ron - admittedly, Perkins' bigger-on-the-inside magic tent, but canvas walls were canvas walls.

Speaking of things that were bigger than expected...

Ron was lying on his back, and Harry was fairly certain the bulge in the duvet by his crotch was more than just bunched fabric. In retrospect, it was bound to have happened sooner or later. Not all of Harry's own dreams had been unpleasant in the last few months, but he was pretty sure he'd had no dreams at all - that he could remember, anyway - in the past week or so. And Ron, too, had slept like a log. As far as Harry was aware. Until now.

Harry lay back on his pillow, unsure of what to do. If he woke Ron now, it would be... bad. Embarrassing. Maybe so embarrassing that this strange little routine they had going would end, and Ron would go back to sleeping in his own bed and Harry would... Harry would go back to bad sleep and the shadowy monsters that lurked in the corners of his subconscious. If he considered it at all, he didn't see a good way their arrangement would end in any case, but he'd firmly put that thought out his mind in favour of... well, not thinking at all. What he did know was that he really... liked... sleeping with Ron.

Sleeping next to Ron, he corrected himself.

Ron moaned, stretching. His leg slowly moved up and down in an unconscious rhythm. Harry felt his own interest pique as his imagination began to conjure up ideas about whatever Ron must be thinking of to get him so... excited. He rather hoped it wasn't Hermione he was picturing or anything gross like that. He shifted his hips experimentally and felt a spark of pleasure travel up his own body. Hmmm... it had been a while...

Ron moaned again. He rolled over so he was lying half on his front, and threw his arm over Harry's chest, lightly pinning him in place. And just when he'd been about to reach down and... reach down and what exactly?

"You're so fuckin' hot..." Ron mumbled.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm the roaring in his ears. Nope. He had not been about to touch himself with Ron in the same bed, even Ron was the one who started it. Sort of. Not really. Harry sighed. This was getting out of hand.

It was ages yet before the others would wake up. Deciding, he sidled out from under Ron's arm - going slowly so hopefully the movement wouldn't wake him - and headed off to the washroom to have a nice, warm shower. And a quick wank. Just to get it out his system.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later, his bed was empty and Ron's curtains were closed. Is he awake behind there? Awake and... let's not go there. He tried not to think of what Ron might have thought, waking up alone in Harry's bed, aroused, Harry in the shower... yeah there was no getting around it, he must've clocked something had... occurred. Harry just hoped he'd put it in the 'let's not talk about this' column and carry on as normal. Which was also his plan.

Thankfully he had. After a tortuous Healers' Potions session with Padma and Tang, and another three-hour session for his regular Potions class, Harry was relieved when Ron had spent the entire lunchtime excitedly telling him about the latest draft picks for the Chudley Cannons. Harry listened without listening, trying to keep his mind on the food in front of him and out of the gutter.

Which was practically impossible when, as he'd suspected, the post-war vibe had spread through the school. With colder days and the promise of warmth in one another's arms - among other things - there was an awful lot of puppy-dog eyes and canoodling going on, even in the middle of the day. He watched two Hufflepuffs take a bite out of either end of a sandwich that they held between them. Contemplating taking a Healer's extra-powerful scourgify to his brain, he trained his eyes elsewhere only to land on a pair of Gryffindors he vaguely knew. They appeared to be looking for something. Something that was buried deep in the other person's tonsil area. With their tongues.

The eighth years had become just as bad - in fact, they were probably the worst. Oh yes, pack the eighteen year-olds together, that was a clever plan. The Den, these days, was a minefield of snogging couples and heavy petting. Harry rather suspected the beanbags were no longer to be trusted as a safe seating area. They'd seen too much. And during his Potions class he and Neville had born witness to the unpleasantly intense flirtation that was going on right in front of them between Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass. There had been an unreasonable amount of... giggling.

That evening, after they walked back from Care of Magical Creatures, Harry and Ron decided to grab some bits and pieces from the Great Hall and eat in the dorm. It had finally dawned on Ron that he would have to do some of his Herbology homework if he didn't want to find himself set upon by a... swarm?... of giant Venus fly traps with Professor Sprout looking on impassively at his self-imposed demise. So, they had planned to do a bunch of their assignments together, in solidarity. It had been going well for a few hours, until Ron's head hit the desk.

"What is a 'Cheeseweed Mallow' when it's at home?" Ron asked. He banged his forehead lightly up and down.

Harry flicked through the leather-bound textbook. "Says here it's a white flower, used in- oh. Uh, contraceptive tinctures."

Ron straightened.

"Oh. Oooh. Guess I don't have to worry about that, then."

Harry felt his ears get a bit hot. Every time the subject of Hermione came up he'd been valiantly trying to engage Ron in conversation about her. But this... this was probably not the time. Nor the right subject.

Ron eyed him, knowingly.

"Just joking," he said.

"Uh, yeah. Um, it also says it's useful for rebalancing any overbrewed skin ointments..."

"Hey - you and Ginny did use protection, right?"

Harry kept looking at the text as it swam in front of him. Was this a 'I'm her big brother and I'm gonna kick your arse' question or a 'hey Harry the person who's had sex like half a dozen times and is now apparently the fount of all knowledge' question?

"Yeah. Course. We talked about it and she had some stuff come by owl, like a subscription, I guess? She said she'd been getting it for years anyway..."

Shit. To quote Hagrid: 'I shouldn't have said that'.

Ron's jaw flopped open. "Years? Harry, please." He took Harry's hands in two of his own and gave him a pleading look. "Give me names. Who do I have to kill?"

"Uhh, since I'm on that list I think I'd better not."

"Harry, I need this. Those bastards taking advantage - Years, Harry. Years."

Harry desperately trying to change the subject, extracted a hand from Ron's vice-like grip and reached up to ruffle his hair.

"A- Anyway. You need a haircut again."

He stood, one hand still in Ron's grasp, realising how awkward he was being but desperately hoping it would work. Come on, come, come on...

"I do?" Ron touched his own head, letting him go.

"Yeah. Fine. But I'll get that list from you, Harry. When your guard's down - wa-bam - I'll have my revenge on those horndog bastards... err... not you, 'course."

Harry sighed with relief. He headed over to the washroom and started setting up. Ron came in holding his little leather shaving kit. He sat on the stool and Harry began making the foam with the brush and the soap bar.

"Oh, hang on, I got that stuff on my top last time, lemme just..."

Ron bent and began unbuttoning his white shirt from the collar down. He slipped it off and dumped it to the side. Topless, he sat with his hands on his knees, waiting.

His back was broad, slightly curved. Muscular, pock-marked and - of course - covered in freckles of all shapes and sizes. Harry could see, from the angle of where he was stood by the sink, the soft folds of skin crinkled together as he slouched. Not that he was fat or anything. Just... there was a layer of softness, over the muscles, around his stomach and hips. Where Harry's own black hair - what little he did have - stood stark against his pale skin, Ron's was fine and light. Almost like a warm, golden halo of fuzz around his arms and trailing out from his chest towards two pale pink nipples. And there was more hair - a spattering of it - tracing a path from his belly-button down towards his trousers, disappearing under the fabric.

The fire had been on a while. The dorms were warm. Harry felt a bit over hot in his jumper and shirt, but couldn't quite bring himself to remove a layer. It would be... strange. Somehow. To do so.

Instead, he circled around so he was behind Ron and lathered the foam into his hair. He clipped the guard on the razor and, after having done it once, started to make short work of the task. Ron sighed appreciatively.

"Mmm. Feels kinda nice, actually," he said, quietly. He rolled his shoulders, dropping his shoulder blades as he relaxed more deeply into the sensation.

As he did so, Harry watched the knotted, jagged trench of his splinching scar ripple. It looked like lightning. It looked like it would never be the same again. He could feel a spark of anger well up inside of him.

"I'm sorry, Ron," he blurted.

Ron clearly wanted to turn but the blade on his head stopped him.

"Uhh. OK. What for?"

Harry continued shaving, this time feeling like the one on the spot.

"For not knowing what to do to help you. When you tried to Apparate in the woods and got splinched. If I knew some of the stuff I know now, then, well then you wouldn't have such a terrible scar, and you wouldn't have been in all that pain for so long and all that stuff, with the shit we said to each other, it was all... I could have prevented it all."

Ron shrugged, gently. He raised his arm to his shoulder to touch the old wound.

"You didn't know. And 'Mione... she did her best, right? And I hardly ever feel it these days. Just a bit stiff sometimes, like when it's cold out or something. We were in a tough spot."

"Still. It's so simple, I would have cleaned the wound, used numbing spells, cut here..." He put the razor down and held Ron's hand to guide his fingers over the edges of the scar. "I would have cut here to help make the scar neater, see? And stemmed the bleeding, bound the muscles..." He manoeuvred Ron's hand down towards where the scar met his collar bone. "It would have healed much faster. There would just be a line from here up and around, not... this."

Ron flattened his hand over his shoulder, as if trying to hide it.

"Is it really that ugly?" Ron asked.

"Oh. No I - I didn't mean it like that. I just..." Harry lifted Ron's hand away and replaced it with his own fingertips, running them from one end of the scar to the other. "I just know how I could've helped you now. It sucks to have that in my head and look back at how stupid we were."

"If I spent all my time thinking about all the stupid decisions I've made, I wouldn't have any room in my life to make new ones," Ron chuckled.

Harry laughed.

"Besides. I didn't let it stop me," Ron continued. "Well, I did. But then I found you guys again and we fought and we won. And you didn't let your scar stop you. So I didn't let mine."

"You kept Apparating," Harry said, realising what Ron was saying. "I watched you practice a lot over the summer and I wondered how you were... able to... after what happened. And you've been doing it all term, all the way to Diagon Alley. Mate. That takes..."

"Balls, Harry. The word you're looking for is massive, great big balls."

"Ha! Yeah that," Harry grinned.

"I had this guy in my life who could've let a scar rule his life. He didn't. He took control. I figured, in my own crappy, mundane way, I could do the same."

Just then, the door banged open and Seamus Finnegan walked in.

"Oh! What's crackin', fellas?" He stopped dead.

"Having a wee party in here, are we? Ron, lookin' very spiffy. Sorry to interrupt this intimate couples activity, just gotta take a leak so if you don't mind wrapping things up I'll wait, eh?" He flashed them a thumbs up and strode out of the room.

"Sh- shut your pie hole!" Ron shouted after him, going bright red.

"Uhh. I'd better finish this up then," Harry said, picking up the razor.

"Bloody Irishman. I've a mind to jinx his sheets wet while he sleeps. He can take a short walk off a tall cliff is what..."

As midnight approached, after the others had fallen asleep and to Harry's relief, he felt the weight of Ron's presence on the side of the bed where he'd rather hopefully left space. Neither of them said anything. But Harry felt a smile play at the corner of his lips as he started to drift off. The only trouble was the final thought that surreptitiously entered his mind like a pink elephant in slippers.

Now, all I have to do is not think of anything sexual for the next eight hours. That won't be... too... hard...

The next morning started on an interesting note as Ron, on his way back to his own bed in the early pre-dawn hours, had indeed spelled a damp patch under Seamus. Hs victim unfortunately noticed the moment the spell was cast and caught Ron red-handed, leading to an impressive swearing match that Harry observed, amused, with Severina's hissed commentary as he added fresh water to her vivarium. Thankfully Seamus assumed Ron had been up and about to cast the spell, and not because he was awake for any other reason.

Ron's bad luck didn't end there, however. At breakfast he tripped on the way to the table and managed to stick his entire hand into a serving bowl of scrambled eggs. Then he had to run back to the dorm to get his History of Magic textbook, which he'd forgotten. During Herbology he discovered the cork on his ink well had come loose and doused the essay he and Harry had worked on the previous night in black ink. Professor Sprout did not take kindly to his excuses and had him add fresh manure to the vegetable patches for the entire class, outside, by himself, in the cold.

At lunch, Ron was already in a bitter mood, but that was before the apple he bit into turned out to have a wriggling worm in it. By the time he and Harry were outside Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures, Ron was seething. He kicked the wall and hopped in place as his toe hit a jagged bit of stone, swearing under his breath while Hagrid explained they would be learning how to fit new shoes on a beautiful Abraxan winged horse that he'd acquired for the lesson. Naturally, he volunteered Ron to give it a go after providing a stumbling, gap-filled, clear-as-mud explanation of the process. The horse snorted, as if preparing for a challenge.

It was on the way to the hospital wing, Ron holding his bleeding, broken nose and moaning to himself, that Harry started to wonder if something weird was going on.

"Uh. Is Friday the thirteenth a... special day in the wizarding world?" he asked.

Ron's reply was muffled. "Huh? No, don't fink so?" He groaned. "Ow, fuck..."

Harry helped Pomfrey clean him up and reset his nose - "An excellent learning experience for you, Mister Potter." - and agreed to grab him some dinner after he suggested that maybe, just maybe, he should call the day bust and just go to bed. He and Ron parted ways and he headed down the stairs.

Once in the Great Hall, he ended up deep in conversation with Neville, Seamus and don't-look-him-in-the-eye Dean. The front page of the Daily Prophet was plastered in bold headlines that read:

"Major Death Eater Secret Camp Discovered: Huge Arrests Made!"

It turned out that a group of Aurors had been tracking the camp for months. Its location moved from place to place almost weekly. With twenty named arrests of high-profile persons of interest and many more besides, it seemed a good chance that by uncovering this camp they had really broken the back of the rebellions. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to send the remaining Death Eaters into hiding - for good.

Grinning ear to ear, Harry headed up to the Den with a plate of stew and mashed potato for Ron, itching to give him the good news. Hopefully, it'd cheer him up. As he entered the Den, however, he stopped short at the sight of Hermione, sat alone at one of the folding tables, holding a piece of parchment between two shaking hands. She looked up.

And burst into tears.

Oh...

Harry came over and sat the plate down. Figuring it was the best option, he pulled Hermione into a hug.

"What's up, 'Mione?"

She wailed into his chest. He waited, and finally she gathered herself enough to reply.

"It's a letter from Kingsley. About the arrests - you know?" she said, sniffing. "Oh Harry, he says that it might just mean I'll be able to see my parents before the end of the year. Not for sure, yet, they're interrogating them now. But this may lead to a whole slew of further arrests and just... it's wonderful, isn't it?"

Harry gave her arm a squeeze. Hell yeah. It really was.

"That's brilliant news. I'm happy for you, 'Mione. Super happy. In fact, that's the best news I've heard for ages."

She smiled up at him, her eyes watery. She leaned in and to his surprise pecked him, just once, on the lips.

She pulled away. Frowned. Shook her head. Laughed to herself.

"Oh I have missed you, Harry. And Ron. I've been a bit lonely, I suppose. Sorry about that. Don't think anything of it, honestly, I'm just... I'm a bit all over the place."

Harry recovered enough to nod. Girls and wet kisses...

"How is Ron, is he OK?" she asked, as if nothing had happened.

Harry, feeling that perhaps he'd just been the subject of an experiment that hadn't panned out, nodded again.

"Err... yeah. Sort of. A horse broke his nose today, but that was mostly Hagrid's fault. But before today he's been... yeah... getting better. I think."

"Oh good lord. I do hope you've been trying to keep his spirits up? Spending time with him? I know you've been busy with the Healer classes."

Harry wondered if he should mention the fact that him and Ron had probably been spending more time together than they ever had, night and day. On second thoughts, maybe not...

"Yeah. Definitely," was all he managed.

"Good." She nodded. "I think... I think I've spent a bit too much time feeling sorry for myself and not enough doing something useful. Making progress. Moving on, I guess. Although I would love for things to be back the way they were before... well, before... I think I need to spend a bit more time on myself and not - oh, well not worrying about you two all the time, if I'm honest. So, do you think in a few weeks... do you think we could all talk? The three of us? Sit down and... talk again?"

Harry considered it. Maybe he could start to get Ron used to the idea. There was no way Harry was going to live another term, never mind the rest of his life without his two best friends by his side. So yeah. A few more weeks sounded about right.

"Yes. For sure. I'd love that, 'Mione."

"Great." She sighed. "And I've been meaning to apologise, by the way. I should have been more supportive of you both. I think I'm too invested in your decisions and if they aren't the ones I would make, I get all... tied up in my emotions. I do believe in you, Harry. You'll make an amazing Healer. And Ron can live his life just as he pleases. And me too. Maybe I need to be less hard on myself as well. On all of us. And figure out what I want by myself, too."

"Thanks. For what it's worth, I know you meant well and I think secretly Ron knows it, too."

"Hmm, but I could - as ever - work on my delivery," she said, ruefully.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah."

She looked at the plate beside him.

"That for him?" she asked.

"He figured the day was 'cancelled' so I'm just bringing him some dinner."

"That's sweet of you. You'd better get going then, before it gets cold."

Harry gave her one final hug, grabbed the plate and headed upstairs. The dorm was empty - everyone else was still eating dinner in the Great Hall except for Ron. He was sitting in Harry's bed, waving a feather on a string in front of Severina. She was swaying as if hypnotised. As Harry walked over, she lashed out at the feather with her fangs, but missed wildly. Ron laughed. His nose was red, but looked otherwise normal.

"She's not very good at this," he commented.

Harry relayed the message to the snake, who hissed.

"Thisss prey isss elusssive. Tell him to hold it ssstill, then."

Harry gave Ron his food and took over with the feather. Although he decided not to mention his conversation with Hermione, he did relay the news about the arrests.

"Brill. Wonder what Malfoy's thinking now. Bet some of his fellow scumbags'll talk and spill the details about some of the horrible shit he was up to. Maybe they'll come and arrest him," Ron said, gleefully. "In fact..." He put his plate on the bedside table and reached into the drawer where he knew Harry kept the Marauder's Map. A quick 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good' later and they watched as Malfoy's little dot bounced around the fifth floor corridor.

"He's still up to something," Ron asserted, stabbing the parchment with his finger.

"You think?" Harry asked.

"I know," Ron said, watching as Sev finally caught the feather that was lying still on the bedspread. She seemed displeased at its flavour. "I know, and I'm going to find out what."