Drabble #3 - A Place to Call Home

By Kay

Disclaimer: See first drabble. See first drabble rip away any rights I had towards Harry Potter. Rip away, Harry Potter, rip away.

Author's Notes: Second drabble up-- another cute, sweet one. A bit happier. The next one's actually pretty dark, so maybe it'll be nice to have a little more sweetness before I start getting bitter and twisted. ^^;; Anyway, Harry/Ron slash again, along with a fair amount of endless rambling and badly written sap. Happiness!

Thanks for all the reviews. *blushes* If anyone wants to see a scene written out, go ahead and offer ideas if you want... I'm always happy to oblige the reviewers. :)

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Harry had never had a home.

Oh, he'd lived in many places. Stayed in more than one bed, woken up to more than one person making breakfast. There had been houses and hotels, tavern rooms and school dorms, each with a space that could claim part of his heart, or at the very least, part of his identity. But he never called any of them his home; life had ripped away any assumptions about such a delicate matter.

Privet Drive, for reasons apparent enough, had never been anything but a place to stay. There were no strings that attached him emotionally to that house, no sweet memories or fond recollections to label it with. Truth be told, as the years went by and Harry saw the insides of many places, he realized it held nothing except the tattered remnants of a childhood long passed. And even that thought- of childhood- was not enough to make it a home to him.

Hogwarts had been the second location he'd spent time in. This was seen with more affectionate feelings - it was no secret that Harry used to long for the school terms, growing comfortable while enclosed in the thick stone walls of the castle. That was sanctuary. That was happiness. It was the closest he'd ever come to calling a place "home," having a space of his own that he could retreat to when the darker shadows of his life threatened to corrupt. The corridors held the faint memories of laughter on sun-spun days, echoes of footsteps and excited conversations on Quidditch games and homework assignments.

The only problem, Hogwarts wasn't his. And through the years of the war, there had been bad memories as well as good. Tragedies and triumphs mingling together. Safety was no longer ensured, the solid embrace of the walls no longer as constant and gentle as they'd once seemed. Hogwarts would always be the second place he'd turn to, unforgettably his first sense of belonging.

But it wasn't home.

Even the Burrow, as lively and vibrant and everything he could've dreamed of, couldn't be his alone. Sure, staying there was like slipping into a second skin for him. Yet… no matter how many holidays he spent there, no matter how many warm, raisin bun and candy scented hugs Mrs. Weasley bestowed upon him - none of it made it any easier when he looked around the dinner table and saw the group of redheads… and then himself. The different one. Outcast, even. No, even with all that love, he wasn't really a part of them, just a wheel jointed onto the main structure. Perhaps welcomed, but an intruder none the less, in a home that Harry'd never claimed for his own.

The same applied to rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, though he spent many nights there in his life. They were warm and inviting, but not a place to call home. He couldn't come back to them every night, couldn't feel the relief enveloping him as soon as he crossed the threshold. There was no warm bed waiting for him; the sheets had been used by many people from many places. The furnishings had no personal touch - nothing had a story that only he knew, because he'd never chosen any of it.

If home was indeed where the heart is, Harry's heart had been lost for a very long time.

It wasn't a fear he told many people. The idea of explaining the sentimental concept was embarrassing. Mortifying and somewhat painful, though he knew no one would laugh about it. It was a secret longing Harry kept for himself, still, and one other person. Perhaps that was also why he never told. Maybe he wanted this secret to be his own, and this other's own, as well.

The words always stayed inside of him.

You think too hard on it, Ron had said firmly. He said the words without sensitivity, and without harshness, in the manner he said all things, all the things Harry had ever wanted or needed to desperately hear. You've got to concentrate on the important things, mate. You've got Hermione, don't you? And Hogwarts and my family. You've got Sirius and Professor Lupin, don't you? And me? You always have me, Harry.

You don't understand, he had replied quietly. You can't be a home, Ron. You're… y'know, a person.

Who says I can't?! demanded the redhead in outrage. His blue eyes widened across his face, freckles stark against the pale mesh of his skin in the darkened study room. I'm just missin' some walls and a doorstep, amen't I? But I've got other stuff, too. I'm dependable… got a great foundation, too, 'cause I come from a huge family. I can keep secrets hidden. Maybe not the best decorated, but I'm more familiar to you than most parts of the world. And I know things about you that no one else does. I can always be there when you need a place to rest. I'll never leave you in the cold, never lock you out of my life. The doors are always open, always waiting. Not for anyone, just you. You're always welcome, Harry.

Ron… he'd mumbled. Shocked. Something. Something elusive in his choked voice and the way his eyes were blurring.

I'll always have a light on in the window for you, until you get home. I'm just as tough as any house; maybe not as strong as you, but that just means I can always depend on you to come back. Isn't that right, Harry? Isn't that what a home really is? Something to come back to?

And Ron's eyes had never seemed more blue, more bright, more pleading than this moment, not for all the years he would grow to know him. So Harry nodded. He said nothing, and nodded, and took that glance and those words deep inside of himself, letting the warmth spread and grow for every night he felt lonely and cold.

Years later, he comes home late at night after an endless day of work. Kicks off the standard boots worn by all Aurors, tired and too listless to put them in their proper place. He hangs his coat on the rack that Ginny bought him for their homecoming gift. The lights softly glow in the windows, chasing away the bitter cold of the snow that falls gently outside the glass.

He stumbles through the cozy, familiar place, desolate and searching. Reaches the couch they'd bought years ago, but could never part with.

And in this future, Harry stares down at a peaceful, sleeping face that knows no horror or pain. Pale skin, soft fiery lashes framing a pair of eyes that put the Christmas lights to shame every December. The worn sweater is Harry's; he's given up on ever getting the chance to wear it, and to tell the truth, the green color looks much better on his lover anyway.

And here, as the clock in the kitchen strikes an hour that is wrong (it's been broken for a month, but neither of them have managed to fix it yet), Harry leans down and sits on the edge of that sofa.

Tilting his head to breath in the scent of magnolias from thick, coppery hair - He's been using that awful shampoo Hermione insisted was a herbal cleanser - Harry carefully lands a gentle kiss on the upturned nose of Ron Weasley.

Sleepy eyes open, soften, and hands pull him down for a real kiss. Harry's fingers wind around familiar hips, feeling the slow beat of a heart he's listened to for what must be forever, and the flush of safety and belonging that comes with the sound that winds around every crevice in his being; whispering of the presents they still have to wrap, the cold of a lonely bed, the desire and knowledge that this one place is truly their own. It makes him smile, and his lover parts his lips at the feel of it - at the sight, he returns the smile with one of his very own.

Welcome home, Harry, Ron whispers with that smile.

And it's all he's ever dreamt of coming back to.

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More domestic cuteness. I need a life. *chuckles* Anyway, as OOC as that was- honestly, Ron wouldn't spout all that "home" junk for real- I couldn't let it gather dust on my hard drive. So sorry. I'll put something good up next, I promise. Thanks!