The following morning there was no time for any awkwardness. Harry's alarm clock began blaring and Ron rolled over, flinging an arm over his eyes and praying for a few more minutes of precious sleep.
"Bollocks! I forgot to set the alarm earlier last night! Today's a Training Day—half hour early start!"
With that Harry sprang out of bed, dragging half the covers with him. Ron groaned at the loss of heat and tried to reclaim the duvet. Eyes still squinched determinedly shut, he had no warning for the soft lips that suddenly descended on his. Ron let out another decidedly more carnal groan.
"If it weren't for some big red-headed poof buggering me into the mattress last night, maybe I would have set the alarm right," Harry said, his already alert and cheerful face blinking into view. Before Ron could muster an appropriate response, Harry had swatted him smartly on the bum and sprinted for the shower.
It was Merlin's luck that he landed a lover who was a morning person.
Lover.
Blimey, he and Harry were lovers.
Ron felt a stupid grin break across his face and suddenly decided that having coffee ready for Harry was sufficiently lover-like but not too girly. He didn't even flinch at the cold floor under his bare feet.
Being able to semi-openly ogle your best mate while he did chin-ups made the laps around the track a little easier, Ron found by eleven that morning. Harry's t-shirt was drenched with sweat, molding smoothly over his back and biceps, and Ron reckoned he could watch Harry for about seventy-five percent of a lap without drawing too much attention from the other huffing, straining Aurors at various exercise stations. Ron was so involved in watching the even contract and release of Harry's well-formed muscles that he lost track of his laps until Moody's bellow interrupted his reverie.
"That's four extra laps you've completed, Weasley! That's the kind of hustle I like to see from you people," he concluded with a sweep of his magical eye around the room.
Several people rolled their eyes as Ron came to a slightly embarrassed halt and began walking to cool down, but Moody just blew a sharp blast on his whistle to signal the end of the workout, looking incongruously Muggle in his gray sweat suit hacked off above his peg leg. Why he needed a track suit was beyond Ron as he never actually did any exercise himself.
Harry heaved himself up for one last pull-up and then dropped to the floor. He began rotating his arms in wide circles as Ron jogged over.
"Ready for some lunch, mate?" Ron asked, lifting the hem of his t-shirt to mop his streaming face. "Mate?" he asked again when Harry didn't answer.
He dropped the hem of his shirt to find Harry's eyes fixed where his stomach had just been exposed.
Well, hey.
Ron couldn't suppress a grin as Harry's eyes jerked back to his face. Harry was already so flushed from the workout that Ron couldn't tell if he were blushing.
"Looks like you're hungry for something," he couldn't resist teasing as they headed for the locker room. Harry shoved against him with a shoulder and grabbed a towel from the industrial-sized hamper outside the main workout room.
"Shut up or I'll grab you by the bits in the shower and show you exactly what I'm hungry for," Harry returned with a quirk to his mouth.
"Fine by me, mate, but somehow I don't think the others would be so keen. Can you imagine the look on Shacklebolt's face?" Ron guffawed.
Just as they brought up the rear of the tired, sweaty Aurors filing into the locker rooms, Harry raised up on tiptoe to whisper in Ron's ear.
"I want you to spend your entire communal shower thinking about what we can do in our shower at home and then try not to get hard in front of everyone," he murmured with an evil grin.
Ron squeezed his eyes shut in mingled defeat and lust. Luckily he didn't hit his head too hard when he walked directly into the doorjam.
"The Muggles don't know that this was the original site planned for Hogwarts," Remus commented as he led Ron and Harry across the echoing lobby of the British Library in London. Ron had been there a few times but not since Remus had made a habit of coming there to sort through intelligence documents and strategize with Hermione.
"The four founders were planning to build the school here because it is a well-tuned astrological node for learning—passes right under the constellation Circinus," Remus continued as they entered the main reference room.
"Don't tell me," Harry jumped in, "Circinus, Circinus…"
"The Compasses," Ron interjected without realizing he was going to.
"Well done, Ron," Remus said with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a grin as they wound their way through successively smaller and more specialized reading rooms.
"Since when did you pay attention in Astronomy?" Harry asked in a confused tone.
"Since Hermione petitioned for that re-sit on the fifth year exam," Ron retorted. "She wanted to review constantly for the re-sit, determined to get the highest score ever. We were dating at the time and I figured, hey, if she wants to spend time on the Astronomy Tower, I'm not going to complain if one type of studying leads to another…"
Ron trailed off uncertainly as he realized Harry's mouth had tightened. Maybe you weren't supposed to reminisce about snogging a best friend so soon after beginning a relationship with your other best friend. It occurred to Ron that there were really a lot of things he and Harry hadn't discussed yet. They hadn't talked about what to tell Hermione, what and when to tell the rest of the Weasleys, or Remus, or the Order. Good God, they hadn't even talked about the fact that until approximately a week and a half ago, Ron had firmly believed he was straight.
Remus seemed oblivious to the sudden tension, but Harry seemed to shake it off as they reached Remus' table piled high with messy stacks of paper and weighty books that looked at least as old as the founders. There were students and researchers everywhere walking up and down the tall aisles of books and parked at tables similarly spewing scholarship paraphernalia. Nobody had ever been this diligent at Hogwarts, from what Ron remembered. Well, except the Ravenclaws. And Hermione. Most everyone else spent library study hours either trying to sneak snacks or snogging past Madam Pince back in the stacks.
"A simple Notice-Me-Not charm and the Muggles never realize that I've been hogging this table since eight o'clock this morning, a feat normally impossible in a research facility as busy as the British Library. Well, none of them notice except—ah, Mrs. Swinson, how kind of you to see to my request so quickly!"
Remus turned a charming smile on the elderly woman in a truly hideous tweed suit bustling importantly toward them. She blushed and winked at Remus, who gallantly complimented her on her research skills as she sat an even dustier old volume on the table.
"Anything for you, Mr. Longstaff," she simpered. "And you've brought even more nice young men to study with you. I swear, all you scholarly lads dressed so interestingly—why I had a simply charming blond young man in here just earlier today! Now, you three behave and I might see what else I have in early twelfth century heretics." Her wavering voice floated in the permanent almost whisper of career librarians and she scuttled away with a whiff of old paper.
"Dear woman," Remus said absently as he began sorting stacks of parchment. "We generally get more info from historical Muggle sources if we focus on heresy since so many wizards and witches were accused of it."
"Longstaff?" Harry asked incredulously as he plopped his bag on the chair next to him at the scarred wooden table. "Where did you get that?"
Remus looked up and his cheeks colored faintly.
"Oh, that's just an old joke Sirius and I had. When we first started working for the Order after we graduated we did a lot of undercover work, and we started competing for who could come up with the most aliases that were phallic allusions. Just never got out of the habit, I guess," Remus finished sheepishly.
"That sounds like Sirius," Harry chuckled as Ron tried to muffle his laughter. Merlin forbid he anger Mrs. Swinson and undo all of Remus' careful diplomacy. As he watched Harry wryly shake his head Ron thought how good it was that Harry could finally think of Sirius and smile. It had been a long time in coming and was as due to Harry's stubborn determination to go on despite all the tragedy in his short life as to time passing. Ron felt that warm glow of pride spread through his chest and tried to listen to what Remus was saying before he leaned across the table planted a kiss right on Harry's lips. Snogging Harry in the middle of the British Library was probably not the best way to break their new relationship to Harry's adoptive godfather.
"Now, Harry, Ron, I asked you here to have a look at the data Hermione and I have been able to piece together. Voldemort has broken the Death Eaters into cells of about ten each, and we've been mapping their locations. Thanks to your observations, we've been able to confirm that he's been pairing new recruits with old hands, but we can't figure out what all the movements mean."
Remus pushed a few books aside and unrolled a large map out across the table. Ron put a couple of books on the corners nearest him to hold the curled parchment flat.
"Ron, I'd like your opinion as a chessplayer here," Remus glanced up at him. "It would take too much magical energy to make so many locations Unplottable, but they're not even bothering with simple cloaking charms. Any theories you two can come up with on the significance of the locations and the number of times they're moving would help. I think Hermione and I have been looking at it for too long and we need a fresh eye."
Harry bent over the map and began lightly running his fingers over the places marked, but Ron sat back and let his eye and his mind take it in as a whole. He had found over many years of divining opponents' chess strategies that if you didn't focus too sharply but let your mind relax into the picture, patterns and connections would form and then rise to your conscious awareness.
"Hermione noticed that the sites are either magical now or were famous for magical events or people in the past. That's why we've been doing all of this research here—ancient Muggle sources kept track of magic as they tried to muster evidence for witch trials," Remus explained. "In fact, Harry, pass me that book Mrs. Swinson brought—it's a rare middle English text I've been trying to get access to for some time."
Harry hefted the heavy volume and shifted it over to Remus, who swiped a hand across the cover to try and remove some of the thick layer of dust.
"Strange that this one is so dirty—they normally keep these rare older texts in pristine, protected conditi—"
Ron looked up as Remus cut off suddenly. The werewolf had gone suddenly rigid in his chair, staring down at his dust-covered hand in shock. Ron looked down at the book and noticed that the dust was strangely sparkly. Before he could process the oddness of the dust or Remus' reaction, Remus slumped over on the table and began to shiver.
"Silver dust! It's been covered in silver dust!" Harry shouted, dragging the book out from under Remus' arms and flinging it away. "Ron, lay him out on the floor while I find his medicine," Harry ordered urgently.
Ron shot up out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste to get to Remus. As he hefted the now violently shaking man up by his armpits and laid him gently on the floor beside the table, he gave thanks in the back of his mind that the Notice-Me-Not charm kept the Muggles from seeing a werewolf in convulsions from silver poisoning in the middle of the British Library.
"Just hang on, Remus," Harry said in what was probably meant to be a reassuring voice but shook with nerves. He was tearing through Remus' bag, trying to find the small leather parcel that carried Remus' emergency potion syringes. Silver being a fairly common substance, Remus always carried the small kit should he be accidentally exposed.
"Dammit, where is it?" Harry muttered frantically as Ron settled Remus head on his lap and brushed hair off Remus' sweating forehead.
"F-f-front p-pocket," Remus wheezed. His tremors vibrated through Ron's legs and Ron tried not to notice how blue his lips were getting.
Harry dove into the front pocket of Remus' bag and reached to pull the packet out.
"Got it—"
Harry vanished.
Ron stared uncomprehendingly.
Portkey, the packet had been turned into a portkey—what the hell?
This whole thing had been a setup. Shit, that librarian said something about a blonde man in the same type of clothes they were wearing who'd been in here earlier—goddammit, if he'd paid attention he'd have picked up that it had to have been Malfoy. Some Auror he was. Harry had been spirited off to Merlin knew where and he had a dying werewolf in his arms.
"Remus, can you hear me?" The werewolf's eyes were now rolling around in his head and he was shaking harder than ever. "I'm going to make us a portkey to St. Mungo's and we'll get you sorted in no time."
Luckily, Remus seemed too far gone to question why they weren't simply using his anti-toxin or to realize that Harry was gone. Ron set the portkey and felt the familiar jerk behind his navel.
Ron relayed the situation to the head mediwitch and watched the team of trauma mediwizards descend upon Remus in the emergency ward of St. Mungo's. Then he stalked toward the nearest fireplace to start setting things in motion. Call Grimmauld Place and get someone over here to be with Remus, get to Auror HQ to get a team together to go after Harry, ask Hermione to go to the library to collect evidence from the scene and question the librarian—Ron took refuge in letting his training take over, pushing away the panic and horror that would lessen efficiency in a combat situation.
And there would sure as hell be a combat situation in short order if Ron had anything to do with it. Ron refused to believe that Remus would shortly be following Dean and Seamus and Luna, but Malfoy would pay regardless of whether Remus survived the silver poisoning.
But all of that aside, if he had laid a finger on Harry by the time Ron got there they would have to use dental records to identify Malfoy.
Three days later the wrenching fear remained but the burning anger had been replaced by growing despair. Ron sat at the kitchen table in their flat and stared at his cup of tea gone long cold. The silence seemed to scream Harry's absence, and Ron found himself absurdly covering his ears with his hands to block it out.
He'd been with different search teams for thirty hours straight but Moody had sent him home two hours ago, telling him that if he didn't sleep for eight hours he would be taken off the investigation permanently. Frankly Ron was amazed they'd let him help look for Harry at all given how personally involved he was. If only they knew exactly how involved he and Harry had become in the last two weeks.
Had it only been two weeks since that night in the Muggle club when Ron first found himself lusting after Harry? He'd loved Harry as a friend since they were eleven, but now to find the possibility of that love growing into something new—it had been terrifying and electrifying at the same time, like finding he'd made the Gryffindor quidditch team. Alone in the flat feeling like someone had cut out his stomach since Harry was gone, Ron could admit the truth—he was perilously close to falling hard for Harry.
Ron's hands left his ears and slid into his hair, grabbing handfuls and pulling as if the slight sting could ever eclipse the pain in his soul at knowing Harry could be cold, frightened, in pain, dying—no! It couldn't happen. Harry always made it.
God, please, let him make it this time.
The floo flared and Hermione stepped into the kitchen.
"Ron? Moody said he'd sent you home, but I wasn't sure if he meant here or the Burrow," she said. Her bushy hair was wilder than ever and the usually sharp ironed creases in her clothing were soft and wrinkled, highlighting her fatigue.
Ron couldn't find anything to say but Hermione didn't seem to need him to talk. She chatted quietly as she prepared fresh tea for them, turning up the lights Ron hadn't bothered with and coming to sit at the table with two steaming mugs.
"Remus hasn't regained consciousness, but at least he didn't die outright, so there's hope," she said with a sigh, her brown eyes pools of worry but her chin bravely firm as ever. "The real concern is if there have been any permanent neurological effects. To think of a scholar like Remus suffering brain damage—it just can't happen."
"It can't happen? I'm really afraid of what 'can't happen,' Hermione," Ron spoke at last, his voice rough but without real rancor.
"I know, Ron, but Harry's a match for Malfoy any day, you know that," she said determinedly.
"Hermione, Malfoy has managed to kill three of our friends and seriously injure two others in the past two weeks. He's a more skilled assassin than anyone we've seen in this war or the last. He got the drop on Harry and he's working for Voldemort. Plus he's still got some kind of twisted thing for Harry since they broke up. I fail to see how the odds are stacked Harry's favor," Ron finished bitterly. He took a gulp of the tea and was harshly glad when it burnt his tongue.
"Ronald Weasley, don't you sit here and tell me you of all people have lost faith in Harry," Hermione spat suddenly, apparently at the end of her calm composure at last.
"I haven't lost faith in him!" Ron roared, shooting to his feet and walking over to brace his hands on the sink. He let his head droop as the anger faded as fast as it had risen.
"It's just that I'm…I'm scared, Hermione. We're not kids on an adventure anymore. We haven't got Dumbledore watching out for us, or McGonagall and Snape as our teachers to protect us, or Sirius or even Remus to fight for us anymore. No more grownups to hide behind when things get really rough. This is for real, and I…I let them take Harry right in front of me—"
Ron had to break off as tears threatened. Hermione had come to stand behind him. She reached out to hug him but he shrugged her away.
"No, Hermione, please, I can't—"
Once again she understood and just laid a warm hand on his back very lightly.
"You were the one he would miss the most," she said softly.
Ron raised his head and turned to look at her.
"You were the one he would miss the most during the tournament and now he is the one you miss the most. Things are different now, aren't they?"
He searched her eyes for condemnation but found only understanding. The sight of this compassion in her beloved face that had always, always been there no matter what seemed to break the string of tension holding him up and he collapsed into her arms.
"Oh, God, Hermione, we just figured it out last week and the night before he was taken we, well, you know, and it was, it was…"
She leaned back and looked up into his face.
"It was good?"
"It was brilliant! Who knew I was a poof at heart?" Ron sniffled, a grin breaking across his face. "I don't know what's happening, Hermione, but since he's gone it just hurts so bad."
She laid a palm across his cheek.
"You think you might be in love with him?" Her voice was still tender but there was a thin thread of sadness in it.
He closed his eyes and nodded. He felt a gentle kiss dropped on his forehead before she rubbed his upper arms briskly and stepped away.
"Well, then, we've just got to find him now, war effort or no war effort," she teased with a grin. "Of course, once we get him back, I'm going to tell him that I'll rip his balls off if he hurts you. And you had better watch your balls if you hurt him. Now, get some sleep and call me if you need anything," she said as she finished washing up the teacups and reached for the floo powder.
"Hermione," he called as she threw in the powder and prepared to step in. "Thanks."
He knew she understood what he meant.
Ron was running, running as hard as he could. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face and making his grip on his wand precarious. His muscles burned with strain as he pounded down the corridor of the foul dungeon.
Harry was down there, down at the end in the left hand cell, Ron knew it with every fiber in his being. He put on an extra burst of speed. He just had to get there because something terrible was about to happen, he knew it.
Thirty feet away, twenty-five feet, twenty—
Ron slammed into an invisible wall. He was still moving but felt like he was running through thick treacle.
"Harry!" he shouted desperately as he fought to keep his limbs churning. Maybe if Harry knew he was coming he could hold on until Ron got there. Please, Harry, hang on, I'm coming, oh god, Harry, don't die before I can get there, Harrypleasedon'tdieIneedyoutoomuch—
"Harry!"
Ron found himself sitting bolt upright in Harry's bed where he'd slept for the past three nights. He was panting and sweating.
A dream. Shite, it had only been a dream.
No matter how terrible the nightmare, Ron wished all of the horror were true if it meant he could be that close to finding Harry.
The darkness and silence were once again deafening in the empty flat.
Harry.
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