Chapter 8

Christmas came and went. It was vibrant, loud, and rich with the sounds of music, the smells of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and the thrumming warmth of good company. Even with the slightly forced undertones, the knowledge that there were seats missing to avoid looking at empty spaces, it was nice.

That didn't mean that Harry slept any better that night.

He was thinking. Always thinking. 'Zoning out', Ron had called it, and Harry supposed he did that too, losing time when he wasn't even deliberately turning thoughts over in his mind. Yet where once it had been in quiet contemplation, engrossed in pained thoughts of days gone by and mistakes made, of internal discovery and dumbfounded fascination, now it was mostly something else. Almost exclusively something else.

The seat at the window in Ron's room wasn't all that comfortable. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable either, but it wasn't anything special. Harry didn't mind either way; it wasn't like the solace of the window itself, pulled closed but otherwise bared wide and open to inhale the thin wisps of moonlight, needed proper seating. There wasn't anywhere quite so comfortable as what Harry had found at Hogwarts anyway. Who he found.

Knees drawn to his chest, chin resting atop them, and arms locked to stave off the kind of chill that couldn't be deflected by Warming Charms, Harry gazed out at the stretch of the Weasley's garden. He barely saw it, but that didn't really matter any more than the simplicity of the chair. Lost as he was, chewing over the question and the confusion that had been niggling at him for days, he didn't even notice when Ron's snores ceased.

"You still not sleeping?"

Starting, Harry glanced towards the dark corner where Ron's bed was wedged. Ron was propped up on his elbows, the oval of his face pale and visibly squinting, frowning just a little. Harry smiled, shrugging in the face of Ron's concern. "Nah. Not tonight."

"You mean not tonight too," Ron corrected.

"Yeah, that." Resettling his chin, Harry returned to gazing at the window. Through the window. Beyond that. Idly, he wondered if Draco was sleeping that night, or if he was just as sleepless as Harry found himself. Given his circumstances and how often they'd found one another similarly incapacitated, Harry doubted the former. Definitely when considering the home that Draco would be returning to.

What was he doing? Who was he with? What was he thinking? Harry had never considered Draco in such a light before, but then, he'd never had the need to. They'd always been at verbal – and sometimes physical – blows, or it had been… something else. Something more than that, an unexpected relief and comfort that Harry had found in the most unlikely of places, and then something else again.

A habit. A comfortable habit. Shared study hours, shared company, the odd word or two, but it hadn't been more than that – had it? Nothing more than simple companionship, and Harry hadn't needed or sought more than what they'd had. But then Draco had said… he'd said…

A scuffle across the room, the shuffle of blankets and then feet, preceded Ron's rising from his bed. Harry eyed him sidelong without turning his way. "You don't have to get up," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Ron replied, making his way to the window nonetheless. He plopped down into the seat across from Harry with a heavy sigh that evolved into a yawn. "I'll just keep you company."

"It's fine. Really."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Another yawn had Ron slumping back into his chair, rocking it slightly on its feet. "Did you actually get any sleep at all?"

Harry shrugged.

"I take that as a no." At Harry's small smile, Ron sighed again. "Yeah, I thought so. I wasn't sleeping too great back at Hogwarts either, but I thought being home might change that. I guess not. It just feels…"

He trailed off, but Harry didn't need him to finish the thought. It was self-explanatory enough, because Harry felt the same. The Burrow was the same, but the people in it were irreversibly changed from who they'd been.

"Yeah," he murmured, and silence fell between them.

It wasn't uncommon for Harry to find himself with company in his sleeplessness. With the exception of the final week of school, Draco had always joined him. Less common was that such accompaniment would be Ron. It wasn't a bad thing, far from it, but Harry found himself glancing towards Ron once, twice, and again before he realised that he was no longer drifting in the throes of confusing yet somehow comfortable thought. It didn't annoy him, but it was a little saddening; Harry was under no allusions that he'd been any closer to working out just what he thought and how he felt about the situation with Draco, but he'd hoped to at least spend the hours of unending sleeplessness a little productively.

Instead, he shrugged aside that possibility and turned to face Ron properly. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Ron didn't reply immediately. He was staring out the window himself, finding that detached listlessness that sometimes somehow helped but that Harry wasn't quite able to reach in Ron's silent company. Taking the moment to regard him, Harry prodded wordlessly at one of the countless questions that had been niggling at him of late. Ron's profile was cast in a pale wash, his long nose a sharp blade down the middle of his face, his cheekbones smattered by freckles that were washed to a shade of ruddy grey by the night that matched his hair. When Harry prodded a little more deliberately, he found… nothing. Nothing at all.

Ron was his friend. His best friend. He was a good-looking enough bloke, and Harry could acknowledge that he was fit, but - no. The flush of satisfied warmth that Harry felt with Draco, when he was sitting with him, leaning against him, soothed into sleep time and again, wasn't there. Harry didn't feel the urge to reach out and touch him, to climb into Ron's lap and sink into the softness of touch and closeness that held nothing more than just that.

Or it hadn't been more than that. Not at first, and not from Harry's perspective. He hadn't wanted more, but if Draco did? Now that Harry knew he might?

It was an itch Harry scratched at until he picked it open. Realisations and revelations, an unprecedented understanding of himself, had bombarded him in the months since the war had so violently ended. The twinging feeling of discomfort as often as horror or confusion wasn't unfamiliar to Harry anymore. What Draco had said, and the possibility it presented, was somehow a combination of the three with something else added on top.

"How do you know when you like someone?"

The words were out of Harry's mouth before he'd had any clue that he would be speaking them. He bit his lip instantly, switching his gaze to the window again as Ron glanced his way. That wasn't right. He didn't want to ask that. He didn't want to talk to anyone about what he was thinking, what he was feeling – or what he wasn't thinking or feeling.

But Ron was awake, and he'd always been a talkative person. Opening up an avenue, deliberately or otherwise, was more than incentive for Ron to take the question by the reins. "Is this about Ginny?" he asked. "Because if it is – Harry, I'm your best mate and everything, but that might be a little much for me."

Harry laughed. Or he tried to. It would have been good if he could manage to lighten the mood a little. "No," he said. "It's not about Ginny."

"Are you saying you… still like her?"

"No." Harry shook his head before resting his chin back onto his knees. "Not like that."

Ron nodded. Harry caught the gesture only from his periphery. "That's… I guess not good, but not so bad either, at least from my perspective. But then – when you like someone?"

"Just forget about it," Harry muttered. "It was a stupid thing to say."

"No, wait. Hold on." Straightening in his seat, the last vestiges of sleep dribbling from him, Ron fixed his attention wholly upon Harry. Harry didn't need to glance his way to know the entirety of it. "We hardly ever chat anymore. I mean, at all. I know study's crazy and all, and you prefer studying in the library by yourself –"

By myself. Ha.

" – but I reckon we've hardly chatted properly for a good while now." Ron shifted, his chair squeaking, and sniffed in the way he did when he became a little awkward. "Look, I know I'm not too great at all the heavy talk and stuff, but I'll give it my best shot."

"To be honest, Ron, you're probably better than Hermione," Harry said. "No offence to her, but –"

"Yeah." Ron chuckled. "She's so smart in some ways but in others she really misses the mark."

He spoke with such fondness, such open and sure sincerity, that Harry couldn't help but look at him. Ron's smile, turned down at his slightly curled hands, was crooked, a dark curl above his chin washed as grey and white as the rest of his face. It illustrated the feelings that he clearly felt for Hermione nonetheless. They hadn't said anything, hadn't admitted anything to anyone and possibly not even to each other, but Harry knew. It was obvious.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly.

Ron glanced up from his hands. "Huh?"

"About Hermione."

To his credit, Ron didn't blush. It could have been that they were alone, just the two of them, or that the skewing effects of sleep had lingered more than Harry realised, but for once Ron didn't seem awkward at being called out. "I dunno," he said. "I just… felt it, I guess."

"Felt what?"

This time, Ron's chuckle was a little bashful. "I dunno. Feelings. About Hermione. And –" He caught himself, paused, then seemed to climb back from his momentary embarrassment. "I just always want to spend time with her. I want to be around her, even if we're doing something dead boring like studying. I just love talking to her, you know? Or watching her. Or being there so that every now and again she'll look at me, and I'll know she's noticed me and she's thinking about me."

Harry stared at Ron as he lowered his gaze back to his hands. His crooked smile had a slightly mischievous edge to it that mirrored the way he played distractedly with his long fingers. When he glanced up at Harry, it became a grin. "Sounds stupid, right?"

Harry shook his head but for a moment couldn't speak.

"Was it like that for you, too? With – you know, with Ginny? And Cho."

Pursing his lips, Harry thought. He stretched his memories, searching for the feelings that accompanied them. Whether from time or an absence of them entirely, he couldn't seem to reach them.

Harry slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Well, Ginny's still your sister, after all."

"Yeah, I haven't forgotten." In spite of his teasing words, Ron's smile died. "You never got that?"

"I don't…" Harry sunk his teeth into his lip. Was it the same? What Ron had described, how he felt – could it be the same? Harry didn't know, but talking, even intermittently, and sharing space, and just being together… Was it the same?

"Is it someone else?"

Harry's eyes flicked up towards Ron. He'd shifted slightly in his seat again, his elbows dropping onto his knees as he leant towards Harry. His face, so open and earnest, was nothing but accepting of whatever Harry would tell him.

"I don't know," Harry said, though with real confusion this time. Sliding his face down until his forehead rested on his knees, he wrapped his arms around his head instead. "I'm not sure if it's that."

"Then there is someone?" Harry didn't so much as grunt in reply, but Ron seemed to take his silence as an affirmative. "You know, I actually thought it might be. I asked Hermione –"

"You told Hermione?" Harry couldn't help but wince.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't just ask you straight off the bat. But she didn't know, and she said it wasn't any of my business, even though I reckon I made her curious. But Ginny – you know Ginny actually asked me about it, too."

Harry peeked up over his arms. "She did?" He wasn't sure if he was more surprised or horrified.

Ron nodded. "Reckon she's pretty cluey, you know."

"Must run in the family."

"Yeah. Maybe." A beat of silence met his words as Harry returned to chewing his lip, but Ron could never hold his tongue for long. "Do you want to tell me who it is, or -?"

Harry's attempted laugh failed just as dismally as the one before. "Yeah, uh, maybe not just yet."

"I take it it's someone at school, though." Ron nodded to himself. "I won't pick at it or anything, but what's the problem? Afraid you're not liked back?"

The problem was so multifaceted that the one element that wasn't problematic at all was almost laughable in being brought up. Harry shook his head, though it was a little stilted. He felt a flush of heat rise into his cheeks; it was strange, because usually Ron was the one to become easily flustered. How he stayed so serious and composed, so sincere, was a mystery. Had Ron always been like that, or was that something new? Something discovered, as Harry had made so many discoveries in the past year.

"No," Harry managed. "It's not that. He told me he liked me, see, and I don't – I don't know if –"

"If you like him back," Ron said. He nodded. "Right. I get it now. So, that's what's keeping you up at night? Or at least tonight, that is. Not sure if it's always been that."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, staring out the window as a smear of cloud shadowed the moon and briefly enveloped the garden in darkness. A second later and he jerked so violently he almost fell from his seat. He snapped his gaze towards Ron. "Shit."

Ron frowned. "What?"

"I didn't mean to – I mean, I didn't –"

"You alright, mate?"

Harry's groan sounded a little like a whimper as he buried his face back in his arms. He hadn't really thought about that part all that much, and the Wizarding world had been nothing but blatantly accepting of such skews from the Muggle norm, but… but to admit it…

"I didn't even mean to tell you it was a guy," Harry muttered. "I didn't know how you'd – you know, how you'd –"

Ron let him stumble for a moment before picking up the dangling thread. "How I'd react?"

"Yeah. That."

"I don't…" Ron trailed off only for a moment. "Oh, right. That Muggle thing."

The Muggle thing. It hadn't seemed like such a 'thing' in Harry's head. Not until it was accidentally voiced aloud. "Mm."

"I've never understood that."

"Yeah, well, you're not a Muggle."

"You're worried I'd have a problem with it?"

Once more, Harry peeked over his enfolding arms. It was perhaps the strangest conversation he and Ron had ever held, far more intimate than he'd thought either of them capable of – or at least with one another. But Ron didn't seem to have a problem with it, and Harry clasped the opportunity to smear out a niggling worry that had been prodding him for days with both hands.

Ron was frowning. His bottom lip protruded in a pout. He tried to reply three times before managing it. "I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I don't really care who you date. Or, like, I care, but not like that. I mean, you dated my bloody sister and all. There's nothing that could be harder to be okay with than that."

Harry wondered about that. He really did. After all, Draco was not only a man but also their mutual ex-rival. Ron still had difficulties with civility at times, even after months of living in the same dorm as Draco. Still, he sat silent and attentive, un-interrupting as Ron continued.

"I don't know if I've changed my tune more or something, but it really doesn't bother me who you date, and I mean it." He settled back in his chair, straight again, and rocked on the back legs slightly. "A boy or girl, even my sister, it doesn't bother me. Definitely not the boy thing. You remember when Seamus and Dean properly hooked up, right?"

At Harry's nod, he shrugged. "Why the bloody hell wouldn't I be happy for them? Why would I be as much so much of a tosser as to have the shits with them for deciding to date another bloke when it doesn't have anything to do with me? It's not like it really changes all that much, right? I mean, they were always hanging out anyway; now they just kiss every now and then, or sometimes they'll share the same bed at night. As long as I don't hear anything, why should I care?"

"You noticed that too, huh?" Harry asked, smiling faintly.

"Bit hard not to. They're not exactly trying to be subtle or anything." Ron regarded him, his frown easing slightly. "Is that your problem then? 'Cause I know Dean mentioned that, too – that he had a bit of a time of it, coming to terms with liking Seamus, since he comes from a Muggle family. Said they were all okay with it but it still felt a bit weird at first."

"Yeah, well, I think the Dursley's might be a little bit less than 'okay with it'," Harry said.

"So what? They're a bunch of assholes anyway, yeah? We're you're family, after all."

Harry couldn't help but smile properly this time, warmth unfurling in his chest. Ron was really saying all the right things that night. Harry would never have expected it of him.

"Is that it, then?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"That's what you're worried about? With all the feelings and whatnot. Does it help?" Ron didn't wait for Harry to reply before hastening into further assurances. "Because you know everyone would be totally supporting you to get over that weird Muggle mentality. All of us, and especially Ginny, even if she used to date you."

"Even Hermione?" Harry asked before he could help himself. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know if she was capable of that kind of acceptance. After all, she'd been raised by Muggles too.

But Ron nodded immediately. "Definitely. She's not into thinking stuff like that. I mean, of all people, can you think of anyone who would be less likely to pick on someone for that kind of stuff?"

Harry wasn't sure, but then, he did know Hermione. Knew her, loved her, and had as much confidence in her unyielding loyalty as Ron did. Or at least nearly as much; Ron seemed in a whole league of his own these days when it came to Hermione.

"Thanks, Ron," he said. "I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, well," with an awkward chuckle, Ron's smooth-talking sincerity abruptly retreated. "No problem. Hope that helps you out a bit."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"And you know," sniffing again, Ron turned back out the window, "any time you wanted to tell us anything, or who this guy is? Even if you just wanted to tell me? Go for it. I'm all ears, Harry."

Grinning, Harry extended a foot to poke Ron's knee affectionately with a socked foot. "I'll hold you to that. I'm not sure you'd even want to hear what I've got to say."

Ron pulled a face, but he was grinning himself a heartbeat later. They fell into a momentary comfortable silence, Ron rocking back on his chair and Harry staring out the window once more, sliding hesitantly back into his thoughts with far more ease than he'd managed when Ron had first sat beside him. Only to be drawn out again when Ron tapped Harry's foot in return.

"Oi, hold on a second," he said, sitting forward with elbows on his knees once more. "This guy. You talk to him, right?"

Frowning, Harry nodded.

"And you hang out with him?"

A little more hesitantly, Harry nodded again.

Ron snorted. Head hanging, he gave it an almost mocking shake. "No way." Ron peered up at Harry with just his eyes. "Have you been disappearing to 'study' with him, then?"

The quotation marks with his fingers that Ron made only added to the stupidity of the situation. Harry hadn't a hope of withholding the flush that flooded his cheeks, heightening further as Ron returned to his grinning.

"It's not like that," Harry said, turning hastily to the window once more.

"Sure it's not."

"I don't always study with him, anyway."

"Sure. Sometimes it's not study at all, am I right?"

"No." Harry huffed. "I mean, sometimes I'm not with him."

"So, sometimes you're doing it by yourself?"

Harry didn't even need to glance towards Ron to be aware of the lewd double meaning of his remark. He could still see his shit-eating grin even without turning his way. "Sod off, you fucking ass," he muttered, hunching a little into his seat.

Ron snickered, but he didn't say anything further. Amusement was still radiating from him for a long time thereafter, however, and Harry found that he didn't really mind, in spite of being the butt of it. It added a much-needed lightness to the night as he dove back into heavier thoughts.

After all, he might have shared words with Ron, but there was still a very apparent question mark hanging in his head. It might be a little less daunting to consider now, but each time Harry glanced its way and saw Draco's face, he couldn't help but wonder. That wondering was more than enough fuel to chew through the hours of the winter night.

A/N: Thank you, as always, for the lovely reviews I've received from so many (you know who you are, wonderful people). I really appreciate it, and I promise I'll try my best to answer them as soon as possible!