Disclaimer: I don't own 'em!
Summary: Harry discovers that there's a silver lining in every cloud, but why does he keep getting sick?
Growing Pains, by Shedoc
It took Harry until the end of term to restore harmony between himself and his wand. It had been a hard fought victory, and Ron had often been on the receiving end of his mistakes, as the redhead wouldn't allow anyone else to partner Harry in duels or trials. That the redhead knew Harry well enough to know that he wouldn't risk an innocent was both a comfort and curse. A comfort because no one would be taken off guard by the unpredictable surges of magic, and a curse because Ron sometimes couldn't duck quickly enough. He sprained his wrist once and was covered in bruises several times, not to mention an unfortunate incident with boils that required the school Matron's undivided attention to an area that Ron would have preferred not to put on display.
Things slowly improved, as Harry began to be able to feel the surge as it started and either control it safely when he was casting, or abort the casting and point the business end of his wand into a neutral corner. Eventually he had complete control once more, and was even able to use the surges to his benefit, especially in duels.
Quidditch practice resumed of course, and Harry stayed away from the stadiums. He didn't want to be reminded of his ban, though Malfoy worked out that he was still under restriction and did his best to make Harry's life a living misery until Professor Sprout caught the prefect at it and assigned so many detentions the blonde didn't have time to do anything else. Ron had already told Harry that he'd understand if Harry didn't come to the matches, but Harry wasn't such a bad friend that he'd fail to support his friends when they played. He'd go to the matches and cheer loudly for his team if it killed him.
Mrs Weasley had sent a note saying that Ron and Ginny were to remain at Hogwarts for Christmas. Reading between the lines, Harry and Ron guessed that there was something going on for the Order at Christmas, and Ron had written a deliberately cheerful letter telling his parents that they didn't mind staying and that they looked forward to seeing them in the summer. Ginny had gone about with a worried look on her face that Harry wished he could relieve. Hermione had evidently deduced the problem, because Harry saw her huddled in a corner of the common room one night with Ginny, who appeared a lot more cheerful the next day at breakfast as a result.
Hermione was going home for Christmas, along with everyone else in Gryffindor with the exception of the Weasley's and Harry. Ron had made some crack about it being their house and that they would be able to wander around in their pyjamas all holiday if they wanted to. Harry had laughed. Ron continued to sleep with Harry every other night or so, leaving the green eyed Wizard confused about what was going on. He enjoyed Ron's company, though he was careful to conceal any physical reaction he had to the red head's closeness and warmth. Ron smelt fantastic and felt solid to Harry, like something that he could cling to. There was no sign that Ron wanted more than a living teddy bear, though, and Harry was resigned to letting the redhead have whatever he wanted. It was more than Harry had ever dreamed he'd have, and he wasn't about to ruin their friendship by pushing Ron for more, or for an explanation. It wasn't normal for friends to crawl into each other's beds as far as Harry could tell, but he'd never considered himself or his life normal and was used to making the best of whatever he had.
He woke on the morning that the holiday train left with a general sense of feeling unwell, and lunchtime found him slumped in an armchair with a raging thirst and thumping headache. Kind hands offered him water, which he drank of deeply, and then strong arms were helping him up with a gentle voice urged him to walk. Ron's scent washed over him, and to please his friend, Harry walked along obligingly, not complaining about the pain in his head that had spread to his arms and legs. He was unreasonably hot and cold at the same time and the world was rapidly slipping away from him, no matter how hard he clung to Ron's scent and support.
When he emerged from the long dark tunnel he'd fallen into, Harry found himself lying between crisp sheets in the hospital wing, with Ron's head next to his right hand. The redhead was snuffling in his sleep a little, and Harry amused himself by idly teasing the slightly long red locks into arrant spikes that poked wildly in every direction. Ron seemed to enjoy the contact because he hummed in his sleep and pushed his head into Harry's idle fingers, subtly demanding more caresses. Harry grinned and obliged, taking this liberty with his sleeping friend, mostly unconcerned that Ron would hate him because of it.
"Mr Potter? You're awake!" Madam Pomfrey's voice woke Ron, and Harry pulled his fingers back, unable to swallow a grin at the spiked hair.
"How do you feel Harry?" Ron had a crease in one cheek and was flushed from sleep in a manner that made Harry want to hold him close. He couldn't however, and settled for answering the question.
"Much better now that headache's gone," he looked at the school Matron who was waving her wand over him, "Was I sick again? I don't have pneumonia."
"That's because you weren't left to aspirate your own emesis," Pomfrey snapped, her face showing all too clearly what she thought of people who left a sick teenager in such a state. Ron ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably and then raised both hands to pat at it in consternation.
"What?" he spluttered and Harry laughed softly at the expression on his friends face. He ducked against the pillows as Ron accurately deduced what had happened, who had done it and moved to extract his revenge.
"I'm sick!" he protested and Ron snorted, but the hand ruffling through Harry's hair was tender and Harry shot his friend a look of such devotion and love that Ron couldn't miss it. The red head's face changed and Harry pulled away, preferring not to see the hatred or disgust that was sure to follow. Madam Pomfrey stepped in, sending Ron upstairs for a shower and 'some proper sleep'.
"He'll still be here when you get back, and as the delirium has definitely passed you needn't stay any longer," the matron shooed Ron away and Harry frowned.
"He stayed the whole time I was sick?" he asked the bustling woman, sitting up obediently and taking the first of the three potions she was measuring out.
"Your magic wouldn't let anyone else near you," she patted his knee as he spluttered through the first foul taste, "You would only calm for him, and only accepted the medicines he gave you. The rest of us had to learn how to duck."
"Merlin - that tastes awful!" Harry protested and gulped the second one in an effort to mask the first. That proved to be a mistake and he very nearly coughed them both back up. Madam Pomfrey's words were relegated to the background for later contemplation while he dealt with his rebellious stomach and the taste of the third potion.
He was out of the hospital wing in time for Christmas. Ron had made no reference to the look Harry had given him, though the redhead seemed nervous about something. They'd opened their presents in the common room together and Harry had worn the Weasley jumper to Christmas dinner. The Great Hall was once more empty, and they'd dined with the staff at a round table before retreating to their common rooms. Ginny was once again depressed about something, and as Harry knew that he couldn't front Ron on their mutual problem he decided he'd be better off trying to help Ginny with hers. She was sitting on the hearth, the fire lighting her face in flickering shades of orange, and Harry plonked himself on the couch behind her.
"What's wrong Ginny?" he'd never learnt to be subtle when it came to asking girls about their problems - witness that mess with Cho Chang in his fourth year. Ginny sighed and looked up at him affectionately. She knew he was hopeless with girls - Hermione had in all likelihood bent her ear over his and Ron's inadequacies more than once.
"I broke up with Sean," Ginny sighed, looking back into the flames, and Harry frowned, trying to recall who the hell Sean was.
"In Ravenclaw - your year?" Harry asked and Ginny nodded moodily. Harry bit down on a sigh and wished that he'd never started this discussion. He didn't know what girls wanted in a boyfriend, and he certainly wasn't interested in a girlfriend.
"I'm sorry," the phrase was inadequate, but he couldn't just leave things hanging. Ginny laughed - much to Harry's relief - and turned so she was half facing him.
"It's just that… well, I've had three boyfriends now and they all seem to dump me after a few months. I just can't figure it out," Ginny sighed and Harry shifted. She was a little like her mother in that she knew what she wanted and went for it. That would be disconcerting to a bunch of teenage boys who were looking to fool around and figure out the whole dating thing for themselves. That didn't mean Ginny was overbearing or dominating, but she certainly wasn't a push over either. She needed someone that could match her strength for strength, rather like her father matched her mother.
"Maybe I'm not pretty enough to keep," the mumble was only half audible, but Harry couldn't let such a blatantly idiotic idea pass.
"Bollocks," he said strongly, "You're plenty pretty, Ginny, there's nothing wrong with your looks!"
"But there is something wrong with me," she pounced and Harry groaned, dragging a hand over his face and then glaring at her.
"If you're going to put words in my mouth I may as well leave," he told her, and she sighed, patting his ankle in apology, "There's nothing wrong with you at all, Ginny. Maybe the reason you haven't stayed with the same guy is because they're not what you're looking for. You deserve someone special."
"Harry," Ginny breathed, her face lighting up, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!"
"Well it's true," he shifted in embarrassment, wondering why the hell he hadn't kept his nose out of it, "You do."
"Thanks," Ginny said simply and returned her gaze to the fire. She sighed after a moment and then looked back up at him.
"Sean said that I was a lousy kisser," she confessed, and Harry sat bolt upright, making a mental note to seek this idiot out at some point and explain the facts of life regarding Miss Ginny Weasley. At wand point, preferably, after he'd stuck the idiot to a ceiling.
"… so will you?" Ginny was saying and Harry frowned. He hadn't been listening, too immersed in his visions of vengeance.
"What?" he asked and she hit his shins, "Ow! That hurt!"
"Pay attention!" she waved it aside, "I said, that I could kiss you and you could tell me if Sean was right or not!"
"I can't kiss you!" Harry yelped and Ginny got up on her knees, putting her hands either side of his legs to pin him in place.
"Why not?" Ginny asked, and Harry had to bite down on the words 'because I'm in love with your brother'.
"Because… you're like a little sister to me, and that would be too weird!" he sputtered and her face went all soft on him.
"Oh Harry, that's so sweet," she cooed, and Harry squirmed.
"Look, why don't you kiss Ron?" he asked, "It would be the same thing!"
"Yuk!" Ginny protested, "It would not! I guess… I guess you didn't mean it then…"
The pain in her voice made him wince and he bit his lip. She wasn't going to take a rejection any time soon, but this was the worst idea he'd heard in a long time. Merlin help him if Ron caught him kissing his sister on the common room couch.
"Look, one kiss, ok," Harry said nervously, "Just…"
The rest was cut off as Ginny launched herself at him, knocking him flat onto the sofa and kissing him enthusiastically. Her lips were warm and moist and moved against his nicely, but the kiss itself wasn't doing anything for him because she was the wrong Weasley. She drew back for air and Harry put his hands on her shoulders to stop her leaning in again.
"Erm," he mumbled, but got no further because someone grabbed Ginny with a yell and Harry looked up into the furious, hate filled eyes of Ron Weasley.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Ron roared as Harry struggled up off the couch. Ginny wriggled free, but before either one of them could explain Ron had hauled off and punched Harry on the jaw, knocking him back down before storming up to the dorm and locking himself in.
"Ron!" Ginny shrieked and took a few steps after her brother, leaving Harry a clear path to the portrait hole. He bolted, his whole body in revolt. Ron had seen them, Ron had hit him, Ron hated him! The litany played over and over in his head as his vision blurred with unshed tears. He ran along the corridor, not paying attention to his path, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to be safe and alone to grieve. A familiar door appeared in front of him and Harry yanked it open gratefully, ducking automatically and collapsing onto the too small cot. His shoes went to their accustomed spot, out of the way and yet in reach, his glasses went to the shelf, resting beside the half full tin of beeswax. He rolled onto his side, away from the small amount of light that filtered in from the grill and curled up tight, his grief and pain bubbling out of him in one long, misery riddled howl.
Harry stirred after a while and sat up. He pulled his shoes on and glasses, and then crept out of the Dursley's cupboard under the stairs, emerging into Hogwarts. There was a pale smudge of pink in the window at the end of the corridor and Harry estimated that it was dawn. He rubbed his eyes and trudged back to the common room. He wasn't going to let this go with Ron - he'd rather fight for the remains of their friendship than just let it slip away.
The portrait swung open and Harry climbed into the common room. Ron had turned an armchair around and positioned it so that he was sitting squarely in front of the entrance, clearly waiting for Harry's return. The red head was pale and tired looking, but his eyes were clear and bright, shining with worry and fear. Harry stopped just inside the passage and looked back at the one person who he trusted implicitly in this and any other world, despite the punch to the jaw he'd received twelve hours ago.
"Ginny explained what happened," Ron blurted, his voice sad. There were a few hex marks on his neck and one arm, so it looked like Ginny's explanation had been very… vigorous. She'd definitely inherited the family temper.
"You hit me," Harry said flatly, and Ron nodded glumly.
"I was jealous," the reply didn't make much sense and Harry ignored it for a moment. Why would he be jealous of Harry for kissing his sister?
"You won't hit me again," it wasn't a question.
"Never again," it was a vow, "I'm sorry."
"Why did you?" the question slipped out without thought and Ron rolled his eyes, the first sign of his usual gentle sarcasm that Harry had seen in a while - since he'd been sick actually.
"Because I was jealous," he repeated. Harry frowned. That still didn't make sense to him, "You were kissing the wrong Weasley, Harry. I don't want you to kiss my sister, I want you to kiss me."
"Why?" Harry shook his head. His best friend wanted to kiss him - and as much as Harry wanted to he needed to know why. If this was just some experiment or something he didn't want any part of it.
"How thick are you?" Ron scoffed, "I love you, you berk. Do you see me cuddling up with Hermione, or Neville? Do you see me making sure they eat enough and crawling into their beds?"
"You'd better not have," Harry's own jealousy was stirred and Ron laughed. He got up and put out a cautious hand, which Harry took.
"You love me?" Harry couldn't help asking for confirmation and Ron nodded, his face serious.
"I adore you," the phrase was incongruous but warmed Harry clear through. He tugged on the hand he held and Ron stepped in to lean against him, arms around his waist, foreheads pressed together. Something deep inside Harry let go and he sighed softly in relief, wrapping his arms around Ron and closing his eyes.
"I love you," there was no going back now that he'd uttered those three words, and Ron chuckled warmly. The hands on Harry's back flexed idly and Ron nuzzled his cheek before burying his face in Harry's messy hair and moving closer. They stood there for a long time, until Ginny came down the stairs from the girl's dorms and spotted them.
"Are you alright Harry?" she blurted and Harry let go of Ron reluctantly to look at her. He nodded and gave her a little smile. Ron's warmth was clinging to his skin and there was a great sense of peace settling in his heart.
"Fine," he confirmed and Ron slipped an arm around his waist. Harry leaned into the redhead's side, covering the hand on his hip with his own. Ginny flushed at that, and sighed. There was no room for doubt in that gesture. Ron and Harry were together at last, and not even she would come between them.
"I'm sorry about last night," she offered and Harry grinned.
"Actually, since it worked out so well, I should thank you," he told her, "And for the record, Ginny, you kiss very nicely. You were just the wrong Weasley."
Ginny blushed and Ron made a startled wordless protest, his fingers gripping Harry's hip tightly for a moment. Harry turned wide innocent eyes on his best friend and Ron groaned covering his eyes with one hand for falling for it. Ginny laughed, bounced over and kissed Harry's cheek.
"Thank you," she blushed and slipped out of the portrait hole on her way to breakfast.
"Tired?" Ron asked Harry, who nodded. They climbed the stairs to the dorm, and stripped, pulling on pyjamas and crawling into Ron's bed. Ron pulled him close and Harry settled with a sigh.
"I'm sorry," Ron whispered and Harry nodded, snuggling close as he drifted into sleep. They woke at noon, and Ron spoke as if continuing a conversation they'd started earlier.
"I've loved you a long time, but I only figured it out when Mum and Dad took us for that holiday in summer. You were so poorly when they brought you to the Burrow that I thought I'd just bide my time to tell you. And in the meantime, I could … well, touch you and see if you wanted me to stop. You didn't but I never found the right time to tell you that I loved you, and then at school you still wanted me to hug you, and you even reached out a few times. Then you gave me that look in the hospital wing when you woke up, and I was trying all Christmas to figure out how to tell you, but then you kissed Ginny."
Harry silenced the ramble with a finger over Ron's lips, which the red head nipped, kissed, licked and then sucked into his mouth. Harry felt a jolt below the waist as his breath whooshed out in one lust driven gasp. Ron let him pull his finger free, and blushed a little.
"One of the brains that I summoned to me at the Ministry left behind a few memories of life experiences that were only interesting if I imagined doing them to you," he explained and Harry levered himself up.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked, and Ron nodded, his face serious. Harry leaned down and brushed their lips together. Their skin rubbed back and forth, slowly becoming more and amore sensitive, until Ron opened his lips with a sigh and Harry dipped his tongue in for a taste. Ron shifted, pulling Harry to lie on top of him and deepening the kiss. Harry was in heaven, surrounded by Ron's scent and warmth, Ron's strong arms around him, Ron's thighs outside his, Ron's taste in his mouth. The kisses stole all air in the room, all sound and light, taking over their senses until there was nothing else.
"I adore you," Harry's whisper hung in the air.
"Harry," Hermione put her essay in her bag, "We need to talk."
"That sounds ominous," Ron joked from where he sat, flipping through the pages of Harry's blue leather book. The green eyes teen had asked Ron to look it over and point out any flaws he could find. Ron was learning Arithmancy through Harry and Hermione's discussions, though the red heads understanding was more instinctual than intellectual. He had a gift for making comments that would spark off ideas that led to interesting conclusions. Harry's Arithmancy studies were progressing well, and Ron had let the dark haired teen know how proud he was of his 'boyfriend' in some very creative and pleasurable ways.
"What's up?" Harry asked, looking up from his Potions homework gratefully. Snape was as irascible as ever, finding fault with the smallest things.
"Not here," Hermione gestured to the library and its tables full of working students, "Come on."
She stood up and Ron started packing his things away quickly, urging Harry to do the same. Harry sighed and did as he was told, following the bushy haired girl out of the library with Ron in the rear. She led the way to a particular corridor and walked up and down it, her brow furrowed in concentration. A door appeared and Hermione led the way into a cosy little study.
There was a huge couch and two armchairs, grouped in front of a fireplace and a low coffee table. Ron threw himself into an armchair and Hermione took the other, leaving Harry the large couch. They helped themselves to the tea and scones on the table, munching through the generous plate and talking about the Charms homework. Whatever Hermione had wanted to say evidently took some working towards, because she wasn't waiting impatiently for the boys to finish their chatter.
With the tea and scones gone, Ron curled up in the armchair and rubbed an ear.
"Well, what did you want to say?" he prompted the girl opposite him in his usual blunt fashion. Hermione sighed and sat up straight.
"Just… well, I've been watching you Harry," she blushed, and so did Harry, uncertain of where this was heading, "And… well…"
"Spit it out Hermione," Ron growled, and Harry relished the jealous light in his eyes.
"Your magic seems to have been getting stronger and stronger and I've noticed that you do a lot of wandless magic each day mainly little things like summoning or repair or levitation charms and I was wondering why that was," Hermione spat it out in a breathless rush and Harry leaned back to process the sentence. When he'd understood what she'd said his eyes widened and he glanced at Ron for corroboration. Ron grinned and shrugged, nodding an affirmative.
"I didn't know," Harry said weakly, "Ron…"
"It's ok, Harry, there's nothing wrong with wandless magic," Ron chuckled, "It just means that you're a lot more powerful than we thought. When you were sick at Christmas, anything loose in the hospital wing went flying in your delirium. Because you're not off your head now, the magic is more controlled."
"You knew?" Hermione gasped and Ron waved a hand. Harry had the feeling that there were other things that Ron had noticed but was not saying in front of Hermione.
"Only because I was there," he assured her, and she looked at Harry inquiringly. He shrugged a little.
"My wand gave me a bit of trouble at the start of term again, but I got control of it more quickly this time. I thought it might be because I'd been sick at Christmas, that there was something wrong with me," he looked at the teacup in his hand and Ron chuckled.
"There's nothing, wrong, Harry, you're just… well growing I guess. There was a great uncle on mum's side that could do wandless magic. He had a career as a Healer, because he had a much finer control of his magic than normal," Ron revealed, "Most families have at least one Wizard or Witch that is capable of wandless magic."
"Oh," Hermione sighed in relief, "I thought that maybe it was a bad sign."
"Dumbledore does it," Ron reminded her, and Hermione nodded. Harry wondered why it was that he never seemed to do things the normal way. An unconscious ability had one of his best friends thinking that he was starting to turn bad, and the last thing Harry needed was Hermione's enmity.
"Besides, I'm pretty sure that Flitwick has noticed and is keeping an eye on you. I've been watching you too," Ron owned up, and Harry caught a suggestion of a leer on his lover's face. That kind of watching was something that he could enjoy and did on a regular basis. He wondered if he could get Ron to stay back with him later. After all this was a very wide couch.