Ron collapsed on the bed next to Harry and noticed that a few drops of blood from his injured hand were soaking into the parchment. Realizing that he was holding something that Voldemort himself had touched, he dropped the note as if it had burned him. It drifted to the floor, the red splotches in the margins rendering it even more obscene looking.

"Don't you realize what this means?" Harry seemed to have partially recovered his voice, but he still sounded like he'd swallowed sandpaper.

"Dean's and Seamus' deaths weren't random, I know, Harry, but that still doesn't make it your fault."

Ron met Harry's pained green gaze forcefully, trying to ignore the slump of Harry's shoulders as they sat side by side on the bed. The hideous parchment still lay malevolently on the carpet in front of them and if Ron didn't know it would be needed for evidence, he would have burned it. It amazed him how the cool evaluative Auror's eye within him could still scroll through things like evidence preservation and handwriting samples and magical signature traces when the same evidence screamed that Voldemort was hard on their heels.

"How can it not be my fault?" Harry demanded, clenching his fists. "He's just told me that he killed them because I haven't surrendered to him!"

Ron turned more fully to Harry and gripped Harry's firm biceps with both hands, the black velvet of Harry's mourning robes incongruously soft under his hands. "If you let him manipulate you, convince you that his crimes are your crimes, then you are surrendering to him, Harry. You have to keep your head."

Ron clenched Harry's arms harder as Harry looked at the ceiling and began to blink rapidly.

"It's just that he's winning, Ron, he's winning no matter how hard I fight—" Harry jammed his teeth into his lower lip as his voice began to break. Ron thought his heart would break along with it.

Ron didn't know what was happening, he just knew that he couldn't bear Harry's pain one more second. The green eyes were now swimming in helpless tears and before Ron could stop himself he pulled Harry forward and pressed his lips to Harry's own.

"Mmmph!"

Ron dimly registered Harry's startled but muffled exclamation but couldn't be bothered to heed it as all of the nerve endings in his body seemed to center in his lips. Harry's mouth was soft but firm at the same time, small but full of fascinating textures that begged Ron to taste them more fully. Ron was undone by the temptation and his curious tongue ventured out to lightly quest against Harry's lips.

Harry seemed to melt and he slumped against Ron. Feeling Harry's weight suddenly snapped Ron back to reality and he jerked away from Harry. Closing his eyes as Ron kissed him had caused Harry's tears to spill over, and he hastily swiped them away with his palms, scooting a foot away from Ron on the bed. There were still a few glistening drops caught on his eyelashes, though, and his lips were now fuller and blushing red, his emerald eyes wide with shock.

Ron had never seen anything so beautiful.

Never seen anything so beautiful—wait, he'd just snogged his best mate! His best mate who was most emphatically a bloke! Oh, God. Ohgodohgodohgod. Ron's mind seemed to utterly freeze and he could do nothing but stare blankly back at the still silent Harry.

Harry raised a shaky hand to his mouth and stared at Ron for a moment more. Then he flopped backward to lie flat on the bed with an explosive exhalation of breath. Harry grabbed a pillow and clapped it over his face, seemingly ending the discussion. Or rather, ending the lack of discussion, because neither of them had said a word since Ron had decided to discover for himself the sweet warmth of his best mate's lips. On that alarming note Ron beat a retreat for the kitchen and wondered how in hell they were going to get through dinner.

"So let me get this straight. I'm taking my hard earned lunch hour to shop for my favorite food for my own birthday dinner. What is wrong with this picture?" Ron asked, elbowing aside an oddly tall goblin in the Friday noonday crush of foot traffic in Diagon Alley and trying to keep up with Harry in the crowd of noisy shoppers.

Both Ron and Harry had immediately decided on the most mature, healthy way of dealing with their unexpected kiss: complete and utter denial. Harry had emerged from the bedroom half an hour later and the two had calmly sat down to a pasta dinner and talked of work and quidditch like any other night. Ron had spelled away all traces of Harry's accidental magic, and Harry had done the same with the traces of Ron's kiss judging by his composure at supper.

They hadn't spoken of it since, and as far as Ron was concerned it had never happened. If he had experienced disturbingly erotic dreams featuring tousled black hair and desire-laden green eyes every night since, well, that meant nothing. Neither was it the least bit significant that he and Harry both had been erupting into spontaneous fiery blushes at random moments all week.

"Oh, pack it in, Ron. Your Mum needed a hand and you know I can't say no to her. Besides, why are you complaining? This way you get to pick exactly what you want to eat," Harry replied over the bustle. The midday sunlight glinted cheerfully off the frames of Harry's glasses as he turned back to grin at Ron.

Ron found himself rather cornered by Harry's neat turn of logic but still wished they'd had half a minute to pop in at the canteen at headquarters. Judging by the ominous rumbling his stomach was making, he'd be faint by half-three if he didn't at least get a bag of crisps or something.

Harry seemed to read his mind. "And quit pouting about missing lunch—we'll just grab something extra when we buy the dinner food."

Ron drew even with Harry as the crowd thinned minutely and scowled, more for effect than anything else. How could you truly be unhappy when you had food, weekend quidditch, and your twenty-third birthday party all in the near future?

"But I wanted a hot meal—Neville!" Ron interrupted himself as Neville Longbottom strode across the cobbles toward them with his usual gentle grin, hand in hand with his fiancé Susan Bones.

"Neville, Susan, how are you? Wedding plans coming along?" Harry shook Neville's hand and Ron followed suit, each of them giving Susan a nod and a smile. Neville had come a long way from the cowed student of their Hogwarts days, although he still lived at Hogwarts. He was an apprentice to Professor Sprout to become a Master of Herbology, and since delving into his chosen field had blossomed like one of his carefully tended plants.

"Harry, Ron, good to see you!" Neville replied. "You hit the hippogriff on the head, we're supposed to meet our mums in half an hour to look at china patterns. I keep telling Susan I don't care what our dishes look like, but I've found it's best to let the women have whatever they want and just get out of the way when it comes to the wedding stuff."

"Too right, mate," Ron replied with a shudder as Susan rolled her eyes but smiled, her cheeks pink with excitement. Ron remembered the way Fleur, Ginny and Mum had descended into a subhuman state of crazed wedding preparations before Bill and Fleur got married, plunging the Burrow into a sea of lace, flowers, dishes, and stray hair-styling spells that were apt to strike unsuspecting males at inconvenient moments. He elbowed Harry before he could bring up that Ron had been forced to cope with a neat chignon and a coronet of roses for two hours before one of the spells could be reversed. Harry guffawed but mercifully did not share the story with Neville and Susan. Apparently he thought the twins' blackmail photos that they still brought out at family gatherings were punishment enough. After this happy reminder, Ron could bet they would make an appearance at his birthday party. Could a bloke never get a break?

Neville chuckled good-naturedly along with Harry's laughter and then hefted a shopping bag in one hand and took Susan's arm with the other. "Well, we've got to press on, mates, because I'm damned if I'm going to watch the mums fight over china patterns without a little fortification first. We're headed for Florean Fortescue's—one of his sundaes is just what the mediwitch ordered."

"Would you like to join us?" Susan asked politely, shading her eyes with her free hand.

"Thanks, but we've got to buy food for fifteen and be back at work by one. Which reminds me, you both are invited to Ron's birthday lunch this Saturday at the Burrow," Harry replied. Ron blushed—he should have remembered to send a written invitation to Neville and Susan.

"Assuming we don't have a dress fitting or cake tasting or anything else of life-shattering importance, we'll be there," Neville grinned. "Take care, mates."

Fifteen minutes and forty galleons later, Ron and Harry strode triumphantly out of Greengrass' Greengrocers with a feast fit for a king. Well, Ron strode, Harry more staggered trying to manage six bags of food.

"Honestly, mate, are you an Auror or aren't you?" Ron chided Harry, neatly shrinking Harry's bags and combining them into one much smaller bag.

"Yeah, well, shopping spells weren't covered on the training syllabus," Harry grumbled. "Come on, we'll just be on time if we can get to the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron in five minutes."

"It's not a shopping spell, it's a fourth-year shrinking spell that obviously a certain Tri-Wizard champion was too busy too—"

"Well, well, if it isn't Potty and the Weasel," came an all too familiar upper crust drawl from behind them.

Harry stiffened and turned around. "What is it, Malfoy?"

Ron thought Harry showed admirable restraint by refraining from any insults. Although perhaps it wasn't so strange. Harry and Malfoy had been an item toward the end of 7th year.

Draco stepped in so close to Harry that their robes were touching. Harry showed no signs of backing down.

"Just wanted to give you and the Weasel my love, Potter," he breathed. "How could I fail to greet the wannabe Aurors who nonetheless are the reason my father is dead."

Harry drew in a sharp breath and stiffened even further. Ron's shopping bag fell to the ground as his anger flashed bright at Malfoy for bringing up something still so painful to Harry. Lucius Malfoy had been the first person Harry had killed and it had killed something within him to do it. He'd done it to save Ron's life when Lucius had captured them the summer after their seventh year, and Harry was so shattered that Ron had wondered for a time if they would be able to carry out their plans to enter the Auror's program in the fall.

Like he always did, though, Harry bounced back and entered training with an even fiercer determination. That didn't mean that he'd forgotten that horrible afternoon when he'd first summoned enough hate to make the Avada Kedavra work. Ron suspected that Lucius' death had figured heavily in Harry and Draco parting ways that summer.

Harry didn't talk for two days after they heard that Draco had taken the Dark Mark.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron growled, dropping his wand from his wrist holster and letting it show past the cuff of his sleeve.

Draco ignored Ron. "So, seeing anyone new, Potter?" He looked Harry up and down slowly and stepped even closer. Harry was absolutely rigid and looked as if he'd break a tooth if he clenched his jaw any harder, but he said nothing.

Draco leaned in to speak in Harry's ear but fixed his eyes on Ron with a cruel smirk. "I've heard about your little intelligence operations with the Order. Tell me, Potter, how many Death Eaters have you spread your thighs for? I know Weasley can't afford the info exchange rate, but I guess you'd rather pay with your body like the slut you are than drop the gold and make him feel poor."

Ron saw red and it took him several moments to register that it was Harry holding him back from pounding Malfoy into the pavement.

"Stop it, Ron, stop it!" Harry grunted as Draco's malicious laugh rang out in the street where people were beginning to stop and stare at their confrontation. "We can't do anything unless he actually attacks us and if we do we'll be taken off fieldwork before we get back to the office!"

Ron subsided and stood panting, trying to pour as much hatred as possible into his gaze as Malfoy continued to smirk at them.

"You two are pathetic. I've been trailing you all afternoon and you never even noticed," Draco sneered. "I particularly enjoyed listening in on your little chat with Longbottom. Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat ass."

Draco held out something small and round and Ron tried to see what it was as he tilted his head in confusion at Malfoy's last bizarre statement.

Harry had frozen at Malfoy's words, though, and held out his hand to take whatever it was as if in a daze. "Give it here, Malfoy," he said, as if repeating a line in a script. Draco placed it in his hand, deliberately brushed himself across Harry's body with a seductive motion and a sneer, and sauntered off. Harry opened his hand and Ron saw the distinctive small, shriveled up brown kidney shape of a bezoar.

Harry let the traffic begin to flow again around them as he stared down at the bezoar in his palm, not seeming to notice Ron standing next to him trying to decide who was more mental, Harry or Malfoy.

"If the fat lump had given this a squeeze…give it here, Malfoy…Ron! Do you remember our very first flying lesson at Hogwarts when Malfoy stole Neville's Remembrall?" Harry suddenly demanded, coming out of his trance.

"Yeah, what about it?" Ron asked warily. "That's not a Remembrall, that's a bezoar."

"Shit, you're right!" Harry suddenly started running full tilt down Diagon Alley, shoving people out of the way as Ron sprinted after him.

"Harry! Where are we going?" Ron shouted, but by that time he could see Harry shoving his way through a crowd gathered outside Florean Fortescue's but making little headway. Ron skidded to a halt next to him and added his weight to the effort.

"Move, move, MOVE!" Harry shouted, frantic, and on seeing his and Ron's Auror robes, a path slowly cleared to the center.

Where Neville Longbottom was collapsed on the floor, convulsing in a hysterical Susan's arms, lips blue and eyes staring.

Harry squelched to his knees in the remains of the sundaes that were splattered on the ground and attempted to pry Neville's jaw open. Ron dove down next to him and placed all of his weight on Neville's legs, trying to hold him still for Harry. Harry shoved the bezoar into Neville's mouth and began rubbing his throat to get him to swallow it.

After a tense moment in which the silence of the gaping crowd was broken only by Susan's wrenching sobs, Neville's convulsions subsided into tremors that continued to ripple through him, his breathing slightly less labored.

Ron reduced his pressure on Neville's legs and without taking time to sigh in relief, turned to Harry. "St. Mungo's, do you think? I can make a portkey."

"Hogwarts is probably best," Harry replied. "He's used to Madame Pomfrey, and as much as I hate to admit it, Snape's the best when it comes to poisons."

Hearing the word poison sent Susan off into fresh floods of tears, and easing Neville's head to the ground, Harry gently helped her to stand and began to murmur soothingly to her. Ron picked up one of the least sticky ice cream spoons and saw the reassuring blue glow when he pointed his wand and quietly said, "Portus."

"This portkey will take you to the front gate of Hogwarts," Harry was explaining gently to a slightly calmer but still hiccoughing Susan. "Shoot off red sparks when you get there and then mobilicorpus Neville to the hospital wing as quickly as you can. He's going to be fine," Harry said firmly, placing Neville's hand and the spoon in her hand.

"Three, two, one," Ron counted down as Harry stepped back and Neville and Susan winked out of sight.

"Sir, I understand that we perhaps didn't follow every single proper procedure, but in the heat of the moment we did what we had to do to save Neville's life," Harry carefully informed Moody, trying to make a point without raising the Head Auror's ire any further.

Moody was brilliant but more paranoid and critical than ever since he'd come out of retirement to assume control of the Aurors again. Ron understood that having a trusted Order member commanding the Aurors right under the Ministry's nose was invaluable to the war effort, but as he stood to attention next to Harry and tried to weather the storm of Moody's displeasure he had to fight not to roll his eyes.

"Sir, it is our belief that the attempt on Neville's life is directly connected to the Death Eaters through Draco Malfoy, who we also believe had a hand in the murders of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan," Ron bravely broke into Moody's tirade. He and Harry had hastily tried to sort out what had happened on their way back to HQ, but there were still a lot of holes.

"What?" The old man spun around on his peg leg and pinned Ron with both eyes, natural and magical. "I thought you said the Malfoy boy gave you the bezoar that saved Longbottom's life."

"Yes, sir, but how else could Malfoy have known Neville was being poisoned unless he'd set it up himself, either alone or with the help of other Death Eaters? Also, we have other evidence to present that will clarify our conclusions," Harry responded.

A sharp and silvered death will call upon you, Ron had remembered from Voldemort's first note to Harry. Who else but the wealthy, platinum-haired Malfoy could qualify as the silvered death?

Moody looked ready to tear into them again, but Harry boldly forestalled him.

"I've called an emergency meeting of the Order, sir," he said, lowering his voice despite Moody's ever-present silencing wards. "There is a larger plot afoot that is directly linked to Voldemort and I think we need to put our full strength to unraveling it." Before anyone else dies went unsaid.

Moody stared at them for a moment more before waving a scarred hand in dismissal.

"Hmmph. Well, don't think that you can trot out the Dark Lord every time you're late back from lunch and I'll let it go just this once. Try to stay out of trouble for the next three hours and I'll see you at Grimmauld," Moody growled, but Ron could see a hint of a grin as he and Harry gratefully shuffled out of his office.

Hermione was once again seated at the ancient wooden table when Ron and Harry flooed into the kitchen at Order headquarters, but mercifully dry-eyed and comfortingly businesslike as usual. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove presiding over what looked like at least five huge tureens of fragrant soup. She'd obviously heard about the meeting and meant to see that no one left hungry.

"Hi Mum, Hermione," Ron greeted them through a mouthful of the roll he'd immediately snatched from the baskets Mrs. Weasley was stockpiling. Harry finished brushing the soot off of his robes as Hermione rose to greet them. The three met in their customary brief three-way hug that they employed in times of stress. Scooping up another roll and accepting a kiss from his Mum, Ron allowed Hermione to draw him and Harry into the quieter library, mumbling greetings at various accumulating Order members they passed in the hallway.

"Neville's fine," Hermione said immediately, closing the dark oak library doors behind her. She waved her wand in a privacy charm before sliding it behind her ear and striding purposefully toward the leather sofa. "Professor Snape was able to brew the antidote in virtually no time."

"Bet it killed him to help Neville," Ron observed snidely, swallowing the last bite of roll and slouching haphazardly next to Hermione, never understanding how she always managed to sit with such upright, prim posture at the end of a long day. His comment earned him the expected swat on the arm.

"Honestly, Ronald, Professor Snape may not be very pleasant, but he's a professional and an absolute marvel in his field. I was looking through Potions Quarterly and did you know that he's invented three new potions in the last year alone? The faster-acting Skelegrow has been picked up by quidditch teams who have found that it's now easier to remove and regrow broken bones than try to heal them. And the Polyjuice Potion that's impervious to all normal biological referents—it even matches your voice to the person you're impersonating! Although Professor McGonagall told me that his Simmer-Down potion that's actually just a chemical inverse to Pepper-Up was more to drug Gryffindors into a stupor so they wouldn't blow up so many cauldrons in class but he could still fail them."

As usual, Hermione needed to prattle on about some kind of academic theory for ten minutes before Ron or Harry could get a word in edgewise. Ron just lay his head back on the sofa and let the words wash over him. Harry seemed distracted, though, picking up and setting back down small objects from the tables scattered around the small library.

"…so you can see, Ron, that theoretical academic advances can only help our practical efforts against Voldemort," Hermione concluded triumphantly. Ron couldn't be bothered to do more than grunt in reply and Harry was still wandering around absently.

This cued the pursing of Hermione's lips and the lowering of her brow, which Ron recognized as danger signs of an immanent Cranky Lecture, probably #537, or You Boys Will Never Get Anywhere in this World If You Don't Listen and Learn from Those Better Informed than You. Best to nip it in the bud.

"Look, Hermione, Harry's got to present this whole mess with Dean and Seamus and Neville to the Order tonight, and we were hoping you'd help us sort it out a bit beforehand," Ron redirected Hermione efficiently. Her eyes brightened as she saw the opportunity to do two of her favorite things at once: 1) help the boys and 2) figure something out. Harry finally came and sat down across from them in a high-back chair, planting his feet wide on the floor and leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking at Hermione expectantly.

"Right. Well, we have to answer a number of questions," Hermione began. "What is Voldemort tying to accomplish with these notes? Are the deaths of Dean and Seamus connected to Neville's poisoning? What did Malfoy have to do with Neville's poisoning and why did he give Harry the means of preventing it? And in what way are Voldemort's and Malfoy's actions related?"

Harry took out the two notes he had received and handed them to Hermione as Ron explained their lunchtime confrontation in Diagon Alley in more detail and his silvered death theory. She nodded along as she scrutinized the parchments.

"Draco has to be acting under Voldemort's direct orders," Harry said. "We know he's a Death Eater, but why did he risk giving us the bezoar? Why would he sabotage his own mission?" Ron did not miss the fact that Harry called him Draco rather than Malfoy.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "Harry, when was the last time you saw Malfoy before today?" Hermione asked carefully, her hand creeping up to twine a curl around her finger.

"Why do you ask?" Harry said in a dangerous tone, leveling a dark glance at them.

"Well, it's just those things he said," Ron ventured. "They were ugly but he clearly still has some kind of thing for you. We don't really know what went down between the two of you when you broke it off."

Harry thrust himself to his feet, his green eyes snapping and sparking. "That's none of your business, Ron," he said icily.

"Well, I think it is our business," Ron raised his voice slightly, standing to meet Harry. "He obviously still fancies you!"

"Why do you care, Ron? What's it to you who fancies me?" Harry stepped closer, his voice getting quieter as Ron's got louder. Hermione drew in a breath but did not speak.

"Do you fancy him back?" Ron demanded, damning himself for noticing how alive and vibrant Harry was when he was angry, his compact, muscled body coiled ready to spring.

"Why do you need to know?" Harry returned, deliberately glancing down at Ron's lips. Ron could have hit him for that. "Besides, I said that it was none of your business."

"It's our business if it's getting our friends killed," Ron blurted angrily and then instantly regretted it.

Harry reeled back as if he'd been punched.

Hermione gasped, standing and taking hold of Ron's sleeve. Sorry but still angry and strangely hurt, Ron turned away from Harry's small mouth hanging open slightly in his pale face. No one said anything for a long moment.

The library doors banged open on their silent tableau and Snape strode in, black robes billowing even in the few steps it took to enter the room. Merlin, of all the times for him to barge in.

"Potter, if you could be troubled to remember that you were the one to call this ridiculous and ill-timed meeting, probably to crow over your pitiful accomplishments as the much-vaunted Auror, you and your idiot friends might realize that you are wasting the valuable time of the entire Order by delaying dinner." Snape's trademark sneer and glinting black eyes swept over them.

Harry swung to face Snape and Ron and Hermione immediately flanked him in support despite the tension still hanging thick in the air. Harry lifted his chin to address Snape and in the face of his frustration Ron felt a pang of pride at how Harry always came up swinging no matter the circumstances.

"Professor Snape," Harry greeted the Potions Master cordially. "I understand we have you to thank for Neville's recovery. We are very grateful."

Ron nodded in support and acknowledgment of Harry's little speech. Snape couldn't be bothered to even muster an insult but simply spun and stalked out of the room.

Harry rested his head in his hand briefly, rubbing for a moment at his scar before following Snape. Ron knew better than to ask if his scar had been hurting in Harry's current mood, so he simply fell into step with Hermione as they walked to the kitchen. She was glancing between him and Harry with a calculating gleam in her eye, and Ron realized she hadn't said a word to interrupt his and Harry's heated exchange in the library.

Fantastic. The only thing he needed was his best friend whom he used to fancy cottoning on to the fact that he now fancied his other best friend who happened to be a male.

Ron briefly considered obliviating himself since he'd just officially admitted, if only in his head, that he fancied Harry, but gave it up with a sigh and unashamedly watched Harry's arse all the way to the kitchen. Might as well get something out of the evening.

Reviews requested!