Part Seven

The anger at Seamus fell away when Ron entered. He bit his lip hard as he tracked his best friend's journey across the room to his bed. The boot in Harry's hand was systematically being squeezed to death in the process. He felt helpless knowing Ron probably thought him disgusting, possibly even hated him for showing him that part of himself, especially since he hadn't exactly eased Ron into the fact he was gay. Oh no, he had to practically rub it in his face. What in the hell had he been thinking?

Ron wiped his hands against the sheets distractedly, while his mind ticked over the many things he might possibly say to lighten the increasingly disturbing silence that was penetrating the room.

It was Seamus that broke the spell (so to speak) by throwing up his hands and groaning loudly "Well that's it, I've had enough." Both Ron and Harry turned their heads to stare at him. This was his cue to leave, so why wasn't he doing just that? He was waiting just in case he was needed, perhaps as a shoulder to cry on or possibly a punching bag between the two. Okay yes, that had been just the right image to get him out of there fast. "Right, well I'll be going then?" He still wasn't moving anywhere.

Harry gave him a forced smile, as if to say 'Get the hell out of here already.' Seamus got the message. He turned tail, snatching his robe off the end of his bed as he headed for the door without a backward glance at the other two. "Sort this out yourselves," he muttered as he wrenched the handle. In all honesty Seamus tried not to slam the door behind him but, he was still so furious with 'Bloody Potter' it couldn't be helped.

Harry flinched. The door practically vibrated with the fury it had just been assaulted with. He felt a massive twinge of guilt for brushing Seamus aside like that. It wasn't fair of him to treat what had happened between them as nothing, because that was far from the truth. It was just that he loved Ron and he was Harry's priority above all others. Their friendship meant everything to him and if he lost it…well he didn't know what he'd do.

Ron finally turned his attention on his best friend, studying him for a moment while he was preoccupied. When he'd left the relative safety of the bathroom for the dorm rooms, he'd been petrified of what Harry might say, of what he might declare in return. Now as he gazed at his best friend, his earlier fears vanished. Harry was like a brother to him and if he liked other guys then that was okay with him. As long as they remained best buds then what did it matter who Harry snogged…uhh…as long as it wasn't him.

"Okay, well I'm going down to the hall to nab some breakfast off Dean then…I'm really going this time…"

Ron laughed. It was just like Seamus to push the envelope. Ever since summer vacation when one of his muggle aunts had been killed by a group of roving Death eaters, he'd been overly protective of every one of his friends, especially Harry, shadowing him wherever he went.

Harry swung around to stare at Ron, he grinned at the redhead, taking in his flushed skin and partially naked body.

Ron gulped at the heated look his friend was giving him. Leaping off the bed, he began to rummage through his wardrobe for something half decent to wear. He was hyper aware of where Harry was at all times. Fumbling through dozens of lovingly knitted, yet haphazardly designed jumpers, he grabbed the first one as he felt Harry's presence close in on him. Dragging the fluffy monster over his head, Ron hoped like hell he wasn't going to come any closer.

"Ron…?"

Oh shite, here it comes, the talk. He's not ready for 'the Talk'. He can't have the talk; he has no words, nothing to say. Ron's mouth went shockingly dry and he felt a coughing fit approaching.

"Ron. Are you okay?"

Oh no, he's touching me. Get your hands off me; get them off, now! Ron squeezed his eyes closed and breathed deep. He didn't covet the warmth of that hand lying gently across his shoulder. He was panicking and he knew it. This was Harry. He had nothing to fear from him, yet still he was flustered and he twisted around a little too sharply at the intrusion on his personal space.

Harry reeled backwards, his hand slipping from Ron's shoulder. That was a good thing, right? He was free of those fingers imprinting their ownership on his skin, but then he reached out and snatched that hand back, only because Harry would have fallen. It would have been all his doing, because of this pitiful obsession and he really had to learn how to breathe again.

So now Harry was upright and in no fear of plummeting to the floor, yet in spite of all that, he was still managing to hold his hand. Correction, his fingers were now threaded with Harry's and his thumb was rubbing delicate circles on the back of Ron's hand. How did that happen? A slight tremor ran down his spine at the pleasant tingle zeroing in on places he didn't wish to think about.

Ron, eyes wide, began to cough violently, twisting his head to the side and wrenching his hand out of Harry's custody. Placing the hand over his mouth, he continued to splutter noisily while his best friend took a step back and waited for him to recover.

Ceasing his coughing fit, Ron returned to his earlier location, perched on the edge of his messy bed. Slowly he tilted his head back, peeking warily at Harry through a curtain of damp hair that hung provocatively over his eyes.

Harry was grinning at him, sliding a fraction closer as Ron wiped both hands on the towel still wrapped around his hips. He combed a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face as each luscious strand slipped through his fingers. He glanced nervously up at his best friend. If Harry wasn't certain Ron was one hundred percent straight, he'd swear that Ron was flirting with him. The vibrant red hue of his hair had drawn Harry like a beacon to the boy's side that first day at Hogwarts. For him the lure of those wicked flames had never ceased, each dazzling lock haunted his dreams and blinded him from pursuing another.

Ron caught himself mid-flick as he spotted Harry watching him, a distinctly wistful smile on his face. Instantly, his hands fell to his lap. Ron gaped in ever-increasing fascination, part horror, as Harry's eyes followed the movement. He blushed to the tips of his ears at the part of his anatomy Harry had chosen to settle upon. Just the thought lead to those enticing images replaying in his head; as a result, he glanced down merely to be certain he wasn't embarrassing himself unbearably.

Ron practically screamed at what he caught sight of… not an erection, although that would have been really bad. No, he was wearing the one jumper he loathed the most, the canary yellow one, the hideous fluffy monstrosity, a jumper so odious that he began to scratch in earnest, at even a glance of its vileness hanging innocently in his wardrobe.

It was the one colour that clashed violently with his skin and most horrendously with his copper hair. He had no idea what his mother had been thinking when she knitted it for him as a Christmas present the previous year. He couldn't discreetly throw it away as he didn't want to hurt her, but there was no way after that vacation that he was going to wear that thing ever again.

George and Fred had teased him mercilessly that Christmas, referring to him as 'Ronina' for the entire week and placing wreaths of daisies over his head while he slept. That unfortunately had only been the beginning as they stuffed his sock draw with feminine hygiene products, dyed his underpants hot pink and shaved his pubic hair into a heart. Since then he would freak if he even caught a glimpse of yellow, the shame and humiliation as he imagined pink plastic razors chasing him down the Hogwarts hallways.

"I was trying to tell you," Harry stated. He couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips. Ron was sitting slack jawed and hyperventilating, staring up at him in obvious distress.

Ron blinked, snapping out of the daze that had rendered him mute. Leaping off the bed, Ron's hands flew to the yellow wool, clawing at it desperately before yanking it over his head in disgust. Prior to kicking it under his bed, he fisted it into a tight ball, resisting the urge to tear it too shreds.

Harry bit his tongue sharply as not to laugh out loud at Ron's impromptu striptease. How could he not adore him? How could anyone not fall instantly for his effortless charm?

Ron's back was turned from Harry as he glared murderously at the deep shadows under his bed. In that murkiness laid the jumper from hell. As Ron stood there planning the demise of said jumper, the towel slowly unravelled from around his body and pooled at his feet.

Harry gasped in awe; a 'Cheshire Cat' grin spreading over his face… someone out there truly liked him.

"Oh god!" Ron yelped, snapping it off the floor and trying to cover himself, but failing miserably. Had the towel shrunk? Because no matter which way he arranged it, somehow the material fell short of concealing him from prying eyes. Oh and Harry had seen an eyeful, he was literally cemented to the spot, a glazed expression on his face. He'd just had Ron's naked arse before him, inches and he could have reached out for it, shaped his palm over the sweet curve of pale skin…

Instead Harry held himself in check and tried not to drool on his robes.

Ron clutched the two ends of the towel together the best he could in one hand, while the other grabbed a pair of jeans and a less offensive jumper from his wardrobe. Leaping onto the mattress, he quickly secured the curtains around his bed.

Harry gaped at a flash of thigh, before the whole bed was swallowed up by acres of burgundy velvet. Damn.

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A short time later, Ron tore back the curtains and pushed himself off the mattress. He was more than ready to get out of the Gryffindor common room, as long as he could find his shoes. Crouching on the floor he spotted his sneakers tucked under the foot of his bed. Snatching them up with one hand, he used the other hand to blindly reach for one of the bedposts to pull him upright, but not before he caught a glimpse of yellow and shuddered. Fingers lost their grip as his hands became clammy. He slipped, collapsed on the floor hitting his chin and biting his lip in the process. Ron cursed, groaning at his rotten luck.

Harry rushed forward from his bed, wrapping his arms around Ron's chest from behind and lifting him onto the edge of the bed.

"Thanks…" Ron whispered in pain. His jaw numb from the impact, blood was trickling over his bottom lip as he blushed up at his friend.

Harry nodded. Reluctantly he let the redhead go, stepping back so as not to be tempted to fuss over his injuries and really freak Ron out.

Ron patted his chin awkwardly, making sure it was intact and also to try and stop the awful hollow ringing in his bones. What was with him? He was turning into Neville. Overnight Ron Weasley had turned into a complete klutz and he blamed Malfoy, he wasn't sure how, but he was certain it was his fault.

Draco had the uncanny ability to make him feel that much better about himself. Thinking how he would deliver that nasty git to a cell at Azkaban one day usually did the trick. Maybe this was the year he would at least kick Malfoy's arse.

Finished tying his laces he stood up and addressed Harry with a slightly pleading grin, "I'm starved; let's see if we can wheedle some breakfast from Dobby. Surely they can't have of cleared up all those leftovers this quickly"

Harry grinned back "I could eat something."

Ron groaned, but not at what Harry thought was a really crude joke on his behalf and he should really learn to keep his smutty thoughts to himself only. No, Ron had just remembered he had spoken about Malfoy and arse in the same sentence. He was bloody doomed he was.

"Sorry," Harry fidgeted with his glasses.

Ron twisted around. "Why?" He frowned at the nervous look on his friends face. Ron had been hunting for his missing robes.

Harry pointed to his discarded robes strewn on top of the wardrobe. He wanted to apologise for everything, but was struggling on where to start.

Ron turned back to where Harry had indicated, oblivious to the turmoil his friend was going through. "Yes," he whooped. "Ta mate," flashing Harry a grin before bounding over to where his crumpled robes were laying, shoved into some corner as usual. Giving them a quick shake he shrugged into them.

Harry came closer, holding out a handkerchief to Ron. At the blank expression he received he added, "You're still bleeding."

"Oh… thanks."

"Welcome."

Ron laughed. "Just promise me one thing?"

Harry playfully bumped into his shoulder, which Ron of course returned. They were both giggling now.

"Promise you what exactly?"

Ron threw a glare at his bed before answering Harry.

"Promise me we'll find a way to burn that ruddy jumper without my mother finding out about it."

Harry laughed, nodding his solemn vow. Ron opened the door a crack, just to check Seamus wasn't loitering in the stairwell ready to pounce. Spotting no one, he moved away from the door to let Harry exit first.

From out of the dark stairway stepped a furious Marcus Kelgarr, his right fist clenched ready to strike.