A/N: The title of this chapter is once again inspired by Oscar Wilde. "I am the love that dare not speak its name" is a quote from a poem written to him by his lover, Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas.

Chapter 1: Dare Not Speak Its Name

If only Ron had been aware of his feelings for Harry sooner...such as, before the summer holiday, when he'd begun dating Hermione.

What confused him most of all was that he was still genuinely attracted to Hermione. No one needed to tell him that she was a good catch. She was brilliant, as everyone knew; a great friend; and as cute as all get-out. But at the same time, he'd realized that he liked the professional Quidditch player Finn O'Flahertie for more than just his athletic skills.

He still winced in memory of the incident that happened to him at the Chuddley Cannons versus the Ballycastle Bats game. The summer before his sixth year, he'd attended the Quidditch event with Hermione and his family. It was, in fact, his and Hermione's first public outing as a couple. With all the stress and trauma he and his friends had experienced the previous school year, he could finally be carefree and happy as he sat hand-in-hand with his girlfriend, watching an exciting game of his favorite sport in all the world. Ludo Bagman's voice thundered over the noise made by several hundred enthusiastic witches and wizards:

"...and now we're getting a glimpse of Finn O'Flahertie, the new Seeker for the Bats. Some say his speed and reflexes even rival those of Viktor Krum ..."

Ron scowled at the mention of the young Bulgarian seeker who had been the cause of so much of his jealousy in his fourth year. Hermione laughed at the expression on Ron's face, and said teasingly,

"Don't worry, Ron. I'm not planning on taking Finn as my date to any Yule Balls."

"Okay, I believe you. But Merlin help me, if you start calling him 'Finny'..."

Hermione punched him good-humoredly in the arm and protested, "I never called Viktor 'Vicky'! Take it back!" Ron grinned at her, admiring how adorable she was when she pretended to be mad at him.

When the game started, he took out his omnioculars and watched a close-up of O'Flahertie flying on his broomstick. He noticed the seeker's toned and defined body, still visible through all the Quidditch gear he had on...he noticed his rugged and boyishly handsome face, and how his jaw- length blond hair blew behind him as he sped through the air...

And then.

Ron stood up out of seat, so quickly he forget to let go of Hermione's hand and twisted her wrist in a way that made her exclaim, "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he muttered, climbing over the legs of his family so that he could get to the aisle stairs. He pulled the bottom of his shirt even further down his front, as if he was trying to conceal something. "I just realized...uh...need to use the loo..." He dashed off in the direction of the public toilets, leaving his companions looking bewildered.

Once inside the bathroom, he locked himself inside a stall and covered his face with his hands in mortification. No, this couldn't be happening. It must be a delayed reaction to sitting so close to Hermione, or maybe it was one of those completely random hormonal things...

He couldn't be getting a hard-on looking at Finn O'Flahertie – a man.

After a few minutes, when his arousal had been completely killed by his horror, he decided to return to his seat. It would be embarrassing as all hell to go back after sprinting to the toilets, looking as if he'd been hit with a sudden and severe case of diarrhea. But it was still less embarrassing than the truth.

Hermione gave him a worried glance as he settled back into his seat. "You okay, Ron?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he responded too quickly, giving her a squeeze of the hand and a fake smile. "It must have been, uh...the corned beef sandwich Mum packed for me. Doesn't agree with me. That's why I hate them so much. What did I miss?" He turned his head back to the Quidditch pitch, trying to keep his gaze off both O'Flahertie and the raised eyebrows of his companions.

And there was – even more significant in Ron's mind – what occurred a few weeks later. It was the night before they would go to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express, and Ron and Harry were packing their suitcases in Ron's bedroom of the Burrow. His eyes fell upon something small and shiny lying in Harry's open trunk, and instinctively bent down to look at it.

"Hey Harry, what's this?" he asked casually, holding it up. The piece of soft brown cloth that was partially wrapped around the object fell away to reveal several shards of a broken mirror. When Harry caught sight of what Ron was looking at, the reaction on his face was as if Ron were ogling a photograph of his deceased mother.

"Don't touch that!" Harry exclaimed, snatching it out of Ron's hand and staring at him with a look of absolute fury. "What the hell are you thinking, just grabbing my stuff like that?!" He wrapped the mirror back in the cloth, put it into his trunk, and slammed the lid shut, even though he was far from being finished packing.

Ron stared at him with his mouth agape. He didn't know what to say at first. He hadn't seen Harry this mad at him since their fight over Harry's name getting into the Goblet of Fire.

"Merlin's balls, mate," he cried at last, "you don't have to tear me a new one!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I do," Harry snapped, sitting on top of his trunk as if he thought Ron would try to open it and steal the mirror from him in a game of keep-away. "I don't get any privacy as it is."

"What's got you so sore over a broken mirror, anyway?"

"You don't understand!" Harry shouted. "You couldn't understand! Your godfather didn't die!"

"This is about Sirius? Did – did he give you that mirror?"

"Do you honestly think I want to talk about it?" Harry turned his back to Ron. Ron was at a loss at what to do. He always froze up when people got emotional around him, and this was Harry's first mention of Sirius since his death. Ron struggled to think of how Hermione would handle this situation. She was so much better than he was with this stuff, he thought...

"Look, are you sure that you don't want to talk about it?" Ron stammered. "It might help." This statement seemed to upset Harry even more, and he looked at Ron again with an expression that was truly frightening. It didn't frighten Ron because it was angry, but because it was so full of an even greater sense of despair.

"Help? There's nothing I can do to help what happened – what I did! I didn't open the package until Sirius was already dead! I didn't look for him in this mirror when I had that vision of him being tortured by Voldemort – so I didn't know that he was perfectly safe in Grimmauld Place! I killed him by going off to try to save him, just like a good Gryffindor and the famous, courageous Harry Potter! I –"

He would have gone on like this, without a breath or a pause, if Ron hadn't at that moment clobbered into him with a lightening-fast and bear-tight hug. The embrace was so unlike the brief platonic hugs they'd shared before. It put a stop to Harry's hysterical shouting, but that wasn't the only reaction Harry had: his body shook in Ron's arms as he let out a choking sob.

Holding Harry like that, Ron was shocked to feel a tenderness for him that he'd never experienced before during their six years of friendship. Instead of the awkwardness he'd felt previously when faced with someone who was crying, right then he never wanted to let Harry go. He was filled with a sudden desire to curl up with Harry on the bed, to keep his arms comfortingly wrapped around the warm, lean body of his friend as he whispered things like, "Don't worry, I'm here," into his ear. What was happening to him?

After a few moments, Harry pulled away from the embrace – but when his red-rimmed, teary eyes met Ron's again, he appeared to have calmed down considerably.

"Look, I – I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that."

"Well...I was being a nosy prat."

Harry let out a small laugh in response. "And I was being an overly-sensitive git. The other day Hermione got so fed up with me for snapping at her," he added, grimacing, "she said that my PMS is worse than hers."

A chortle escaped Ron. "What, do you get cramps and bloating? I bet we could conjure you a potion for that...or a tampon..." A second later, he was wrapped in one of Harry's playful headlocks.

"Hey, you'll be the one with cramps and bloating if you don't shut your trap!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron grinned, wrestling Harry to the floor. "We'll see about that!"

Although Ron was deeply relieved to have patched things up with Harry so quickly, he knew that there were things that still remained unsaid. In the middle of their wrestling – during which Ron noted that Harry's previously scrawny body had developed some muscle, and it looked and felt great – he stopped and said seriously,

"You know, Harry, I don't think I've had your back lately like I should. You've been dealing with loads of stuff, and I've never told you that I'm here if you need me. I feel like a crap friend."

Harry shook his head. "Nah, Ron, you're not. I haven't exactly been inviting anyone to help or console me. I think even Hermione's been afraid to talk to me about Sirius, 'cos of the way I've been acting. But as far as I know," he continued, that sincerity returning to his eyes, "you're the only friend of mine who would've done what you just did."

Ron looked down at the floor. He didn't want to say or do anything that would let on the fact that he'd wanted to do so much more. So he just said softly,

"Any time, mate."

A:/N: I know it's uncouth, but I couldn't resist writing that joke that Ron made about Harry needing a tampon. That's the way a lot of teenage boys I've known talk to each other...and, okay, I was totally giggling while I wrote it. Sometimes I need to write a little comic relief to break up all the angst.