Harry didn't know what to think. He didn't even know what he was feeling. Around the other Weasley's, and Hermione, he and Ron acted normally. They laughed and chatted and occasionally argued, but alone, it seemed like a different world. Their gazes sent chills down his spine, a warmness or flutter in his belly. He had slept in Ron's bed every night now. Sometimes touching, sometimes not.
On the train ride back to Hogwarts he sat in a compartment with Neville and Ginny while Ron and Hermione did their prefect duties. He listened to their conversation but did not join in until he heard Ginny say his name several times.
"Huh?" He said dumbly, turning away from the window.
"Nothing," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes.
Back at school, after dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retired to Gryffindor tower and hung out in their favorite spot near the fire. Hermione looked over their studying schedules again and handed them over after saying goodnight. Angelina came over on her way upstairs to inform Ron of quidditch practice the following night. Then they were alone.
"You'll do fine," Harry told Ron, figuring his silence was the result of anxiety about the practice. Ron looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face.
"I suppose," he said grimly, "Wish you were still on the team."
"Me too," admitted Harry, "But…" He lifted his hands in a sign of defeat.
"Ready to go up?" Ron asked, standing. Harry nodded and they walked toward the stairs. He followed, then Ron stopped suddenly and Harry bumped into him. Ron turned around, then took a step down to where he was almost face to face with Harry.
"You can't…not here," he murmured quietly, staring at the stone floor.
It took Harry a moment to understand what he was talking about. Then he realized and said,
"Right…not here."
Then Harry stepped closer, and, suddenly feeling brave, placed his hands on Ron's hips and pulled him close, looking up at him. Ron averted his gaze but was breathing heavily. Harry slid one hand up to Ron's chest, feeling the rise and fall. They stayed like that for a moment then Ron finally looked at him. Which was different. They had never actually made eye contact while touching like this. He looked scared, or nervous.
"Be confident," Harry murmured, he slid his other hand up, "Confident." He repeated.
"I cant," Ron replied, his voice quivering.
Harry didn't want to hear it. He dropped his hands, then, thinking again, replaced them and closed the gap between them, and kissed him.
He had no. Idea. What he was doing. But he didn't stop. It was nothing like kissing Cho, which had been awkward and wet. Ron was warm, and firm. Harry pushed into him, he heard a tiny moan escape Ron's mouth and pushed against him harder, he didn't want to stop but they weren't in the best place to be doing this. He pulled away.
"Holy shit," Ron whispered. He looked shocked.
"Let's just go," Harry replied, nodding toward the door upstairs and wiping his mouth.
[][][][][][][]
Harry awoke rather suddenly in the middle of the night. He glanced toward the window after putting on his glasses, it was dark out. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were sleeping soundly. Ron was awake, sitting cross legged in bed with his wand lit as he flipped through a quidditch magazine. A pile of chocolate frogs was next to him, and a bottle of something. He looked at Harry, seeming slightly embarrassed and confused.
"Um…couldn't sleep," he whispered.
"Er…you drinking?" Harry thought about Hermione and his conversation at St. Mungo's again. "Do you…do this often?"
Ron shrugged. Then picked up the bottle, he pulled off the cork and then gestured it to Harry.
"I…okay." Harry quietly got up and walked over, he sat down at the foot of Ron's bed, took the bottle, and took a small sip. "Ron, are you okay?"
"Sure, why?"
"Well…this." Harry gestured to the bottle. "It just doesn't seem like you."
"How's it not like me?" Ron asked with a quiet laugh. "Who are we anyway? How are we supposed to be acting?"
He had a point, Harry thought. Who were they anyway? He sighed and handed the bottle back to Ron, who took a drink, stoppered the bottle, and set it down next to him. He leaned against the pillows propped against his headboard, flipping the magazine closed. Harry looked around the room carefully, making sure the others were asleep.
"Look," he whispered, "About earlier…" He didn't know what he wanted to say. Shaking, he grabbed the bottle and shifty opened it and swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquid.
"It's okay," Ron said quietly, looking down at his hands, "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Harry asked, "What for?"
"I don't know. I…probably did it wrong."
Harry was so startled he actually smiled. "No," he said softly, "You…you're great." Ron looked up, seeming nervous. "You are. You make me feel great."
"How could I…" Ron heaved a great sigh. "I'm not…anything. I'm not great. I'm just me. And-"
Harry leaned forward and hugged him, tightly. Ron smelled like chocolate and rum. Harry moved closer, and glanced around the room again, then kissed Ron on the forehead. Ron sighed again, but he sounded relieved, relaxed.
"This won't work," he murmured, "At school. We can't…can't be this."
Harry knew he was right. But he also didn't even know what this was. But he felt something grow inside him, a white, hot feeling deep down in his very core. He grabbed the front of Ron's shirt and pulled him close, resting his forehead against Ron's and looking him in the eye, he said quietly but forcefully,
"Promise me something."
Ron didn't speak, he looked almost scared. Harry spoke again,
"You promise me," he growled, "You're mine."
Ron's lips parted slightly, he said nothing but nodded. Harry placed one hand behind Ron's head and growled again,
"Say it. You. Are. Mine."
"Yes," Ron whispered. Harry felt him trembling.
"Mine." Harry repeated. He needed to know. He needed to know something, someone, was his. Fully. Someone that would not leave, no matter what. Something that could not be taken from him. "Say it, Ron. Say it."
"I'm yours."
