Author: Mosh Title: One Thing Left to Give Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
Four days. Harry had left at around eight o'clock on Friday evening. It was now Tuesday night and the castle seemed dead. Ron found himself aimlessly wandering the hallways again, not really thinking about much. He dared not to think about much these days, apart from chess, how quiet the castle seemed, and how at least he didn't get shouted at for not doing his homework. Not that he'd been given much homework to do. Since McGonagall, Snape, Hagrid, Dumbledore and most of the other staff members weren't around, it was quite apparent that Flitwick and Madam Pince hadn't a clue how to co-run Hogwarts. With classes diminishing by the day, it seemed to Ron that they had almost given up bothering. Which was good. Sort of. He found it so frustrating sitting in the Charms classroom for an entire hour with such a wide range of students, since each individual year didn't have enough people left for separate lessons. First, Flitwick, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could, would show the seventh years how to do their charm, but before they could start practicing, he'd show the sixth years their charm, then the fifth years theirs, and so on. By the time the dithering idiot got around to the first years and their 'Wingardium Leviosa', most of the remaining sixth and seventh years had lost interest and forgotten their spells, or, in a couple incidents, fallen asleep. It wasn't like Charms was the most important thing on people's minds anyway, Ron thought as he headed towards the library with his hands stuffed in his pockets to keep them from getting cold. He reached the door and quickly changed his mind, continuing past the library towards the stairs. There wouldn't be anyone in there anyway. He didn't think he could face that heavy, stifling silence and musty book smell tonight. Hermione would have scolded him. Or perhaps not. Come to think of it, if she were still around she'd have probably volunteered to teach classes, and would be busy drawing up timetables and lesson plans. Ron smiled despite his dark mood, forcing it for his own sake. "Hey, Weasley!" called a familiar voice from behind. Ron let the false smile slip from his face. "Townsend," he said, not bothering to stop or turn around. "Where are you going?" "To bed." "But it's only half-seven!" "Exactly." Ron headed up the stairs quickly, not feeling particularly bad about being curt with Townsend. The kid had two of his own third year Hufflepuff friends around. Why the hell he'd taken a shine to Ron he had no idea. Probably because he was older. Quite a lot of the younger students had latched onto the remaining sixth and seventh years, obviously in need of some degree of parental comfort - age serving as reason enough - but Ron was in no mood to have a tag-along and avoided talking to the lower years. It didn't matter; let Townsend find someone else to take him under their wing. Ron didn't think his wings were big enough for two at the moment. Grateful to be back in Gryffindor Tower - until he wandered into the empty common room - Ron collapsed onto one of the squashy sofas. At first the silence hadn't bothered him that much. But now the dead quiet seemed to be tainted by a low ringing sound that Ron heard every time he thought about it. It was annoying, because he couldn't make it stop unless he found something to do. And there was precious little to do. He eyed his chess set from across the room; it had been sitting stationary on the table in the corner since Saturday night, right before the Creeveys had been picked up by McGonagall and taken back to their parents. Just like all the others, one by one. Hermione had gone into hiding with her parents very early on, straight after a snide threat from Malfoy. His mother had arrived to collect him the next day, much to Ron's annoyance - he hadn't been able to get down into the Slytherin common room in time to kill the smarmy fucker. He imagined that Malfoy would probably be with the Death Eaters by now, helping them figure out a way to break his father out of prison. Now the Creeveys were gone too, and the only Gryffindors left were Ron, Ginny and an extremely scared second year who only seemed to surface from his dorm room at meal times. "Professor McGonagall, has mum or dad said anything about me coming back with you?" "No, Mr Weasley, they haven't." "But surely they wouldn't mind, once I'm there... uh, at base camp? I'd be able to persuade them." "No, Mr Weasley." "But-" "Mr. Weasley, your mother and father have already spoken to you about this. You're safer here under the protection of the castle. You cannot expect to be put into unnecessary danger just because you miss your family. They are all well, and have sent this for you to give to your sister - I trust she is all right?" "Yes Professor." Ron still hadn't given Ginny the parcel yet. She had a couple of friends left at school, and was spending more and more nights in the Ravenclaw dorms with them. Ron figured it was probably nothing more than a jumper from their mum. Though he still felt a little peeved that he hadn't been sent a parcel too. McGonagall had assumed that he'd only wanted to go back to Grimmauld Place with her to see his parents and brothers, but secretly, Ron had been dying to see Harry and find out what was going on. Now there was hardly anyone around, let alone anyone who knew what was going on. He wondered why on earth all the other students weren't forced to stay at Hogwarts, since it was supposed to be so safe and all... but then, he supposed that their parents wanted them at home. He rose from the sofa and went over to the chess set. He'd had Colin in check. And from the look of it, he'd have Colin in check for a very long time.
Five days since he'd left. Ron stopped in his tracks, aware that he'd been addressed. Madam Pince sauntered over from the direction of the stairwell in her lanky, spidery way. She raised one thin eyebrow at him, waiting for a response. "Oh." "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" The second thin eyebrow joined the first, half way up her forehead. "Sorry." She pursed her lips together, giving Ron an impatient look. Ron waited until the silence grew too awkward. "I'm sorry, uh... professor Pince, I wasn't hungry." He wondered what the point was of going down to the near-empty Great Hall to not eat breakfast every morning. He didn't feel particularly sociable because the only thing people were murmuring about was You-Know-Who - a topic of conversation that he really was sick of having to hear at meal times. Well, at any time, to be perfectly honest. Pince surveyed him stiffly for a moment longer, before sighing and letting her shoulders drop a little. "Well, neither was I, but I made the effort to appear unmoved by recent events, particularly in front of our younger students. I am asking you to at least do the same. For their sakes." "Yes, of course." Ron didn't want to appear unmoved. He didn't want to appear at all. He wanted to get out of here and help the Order, but obviously having turned sixteen still wasn't enough for his parents. Fred and George were only seventeen, just one year older, and they had been allowed to go down to London to help at Grimmauld Place. What's one year? Ron knew he could be useful - he had skills worthy of the Order of the Phoenix... he was brave. Most of the time. "Fine, move along," Pince said, pulling Ron out of his thoughts with a noticeable lack of authority. It would seem that out of the library setting, she lacked quite a great deal. Ron nodded, continuing on his way, but the only thing his daily stroll around the castle brought him was the image of the news headlines on a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet that was on the floor outside the Transfiguration classroom. The words were bold and red, sticking out like a sore thumb against the rest of the monotonous black and white print on the cover: You-Know-Who rumoured to make his move on the Ministry of Magic within a fortnight! The Ministry had stated that they were fully prepared for the attacks to start, but Ron knew damn well they weren't. Fudge never took anything seriously. It didn't help that there had been numerous false tip-offs in the past few months that had amounted to nothing. As for the Wizarding community, the news had sent everyone in to a panic. Fair enough, be on alert, but it wasn’t the first time the papers had whisked everybody up into a frenzy over nothing, and he doubted that it would be the last. But, as always, Dumbledore had grabbed Harry and run back to base camp for meetings and extra training and Merlin only knows what else. No, Ron was quite sure it would amount to naught and students would slowly begin to seep back into the castle as soon as the initial panic had died down. He sighed and scuffed his way down a random corridor, eventually coming to a dead end then turning around and heading back out again. He realised he’d give anything to hear Hermione keeping on at him about something or other at that moment - the dead silence of the place was smothering. More so than Hermione could ever be.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had it in his hand and was making his way downstairs. He sank happily into the thought of the chill breeze sliding its ghostly fingers through his hair, the infinite white of the sky outside as he tore across the Quidditch pitch and up over the stands... "Where do you think you're going, young man?" Great, Flitwick. Ron stopped and turned, as Flitwick shuffled up to him from the direction of the Great Hall. "Oh, I was just going out for some fresh air," Ron said, casting the Charms professor his most innocent look. But Flitwick eyed first the Firebolt and then Ron's face with suspicion. "I don't think so," he said, frowning. "It's not safe for students to leave the castle. I am under strict orders to make sure nobody goes wandering off." Ron huffed. "But I'm going mad locked up here like this!" he protested. "I was only going to fly around the Quidditch pitch a few times." Flitwick shook his head apologetically. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't allow that." Then his expression brightened. "Perhaps you should go to the library! I'm sure you'd be able to find plenty of things to keep you occupied there!" Ron shook his head, feeling at a loss - there was nothing to do here! The library was nothing more than a book-tomb, he couldn't think of a worse place to be. And he didn't exactly have a great choice of company to keep either. Flitwick remained where he was, resolutely staring at Ron. He was probably making sure that Ron didn't sneak out of the Entrance Hall once he'd gone. So, with a heavy heart, Ron began the trek back up to the dorm to return Harry's broom to its resting place.
"Ron?" Funny, dream-Harry had never spoken before. Ron turned over again. Dream-Harry was still there, looking down at him, moonlight shining onto his face through the window, making him appear a strange pale-blue colour. "I don't have much time," dream-Harry said quietly. Ron didn't reply, only lay staring up at his best friend, almost fancying he could smell the familiar deodorant that Harry always wore. Dream-Harry held his wrist out above Ron's nose, making him go momentarily cross-eyed. Ron frowned, focusing his vision on dream-Harry's watch. He thought it was a strange thing to do, but then, dreams were supposed to be strange, so it didn't really matter. "See my watch? It's a Portkey, set to send me back to base camp in twenty minutes. Are you going to talk to me or not?" Ron listened to the very faint 'tick, tick, tick' of dream-Harry's watch, which was still hovering right above his face on that thin, pale-blue wrist. He sniffed, sure that he had just smelt Harry's deodorant again. "Ron!" dream-Harry urged, looking and sounding anxious. "Look, I'm really sorry that you weren't allowed to come too, but it's not safe. I'm really busy training with Dumbledore... Snape's being a bastard, but he's keeping me busy... and your parents are fine... Fred and George are actually really calm, for some reason. Uh, Bill and Charlie are there too, they told me to say 'hi' from them. I'm messing this up, I'm sorry. I had all these things to tell you, but you know how it is, once you're there you forget what you were going to say, and there isn't much time anyway. Are you angry with me?" Then dream-Harry did something that made Ron start. "Harry!" Ron exclaimed, feeling the solid press of a hand on his shoulder. He sat up quickly, hitting his face against Harry's outstretched arm. "I'm awake? You're really here?" Harry nodded slowly, but that wide-eyed anxious look never left his face, only seemed to grow more pronounced. "Uh, yeah. I'm here. So, you are talking to me then?" He took a step back as Ron attempted to untangle himself from his bed sheets. "Shit! Ah, of course I am, I thought I was dreaming," Ron said, finally escaping from his linen prison and stepping forwards. He was only in his boxers, and goose bumps rose to the surface his skin from the slight chill in the room. He shivered. "Not really dressed for a visit though. How did you get here? Do they know you're gone?" His excitement rose at the thought that Harry had found a way to sneak out of Grimmauld Place. But Harry nodded, extinguishing Ron's grin instantly. "Yeah, I've been allowed to visit, but-" Harry stopped and looked down at his watch. "I've only got seventeen minutes left. Are you okay?" Ron looked at Harry's watch too. "Seventeen minutes? Oh, the Portkey, that's real then?" Another nod from Harry. "Why only seventeen?" "There isn't much time. I can't explain everything right now, please just listen to me, okay?" Harry took a deep breath and Ron felt a sense of foreboding. It was one of those 'I have bad news, prepare yourself' breaths. "The reason I left so suddenly was because Dumbledore summoned me to his office to tell me that Trelawney had another of those seer-things-" "Another prophecy?" Ron interjected, feeling that he should have tried to do the Divination teacher in a long time ago and put her out of her, and Harry's, misery. "So what did this one say then? That you're going to die on the forty-fourth of October eighteen-forty-four? Honestly Harry, she's a nut case! I don't know why Dumbledore takes everything she says so-" "Ron, please... sixteen minutes, just let me finish," Harry said, moving closer and looking almost comically serious. Ron swallowed uneasily. "There's going to be a mass break-out of Azkaban later tonight." Harry ignored Ron's gasp. "Then- then Voldemort is going to move." Ron felt a strange, tingling, hot sensation spreading over him. His ears seemed to cloud up, and everything sounded like it was surrounded by thunder. When he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn't find his voice and nothing came out. He took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. "What does this have to do with you?" He silently cursed himself for asking such a stupid question. Harry looked quite rigid, and though he tried to force a grim smile, it ended up more like a pained wince. "Because I have to be there when they escape. With the Order, waiting for Voldemort. We can't just sit around waiting for him to do more damage, he's already rumoured to have made a start on small Muggle towns. They say he's using them..." Harry swallowed. "For training his Death Eaters. He's getting them to kill people for practice. God, it sounds so unreal, but tonight, when he moves, we move." "What? How do you know this?" Ron all but shouted. No way. No fucking way could Dumbledore make him do that! "But... you... you're not ready to face him yet, are you? You... Dumbledore's making you go up against him tonight? Fuck off! That's ridiculous!" Harry raised his hand for silence, which was something he'd never done before. It was so... Dumbledore. "Listen, it's got to happen, you know that. Snape found out the truth about Voldemort's training sessions. Trelawney predicted that the breakout will happen later tonight, and that I had to be there." "Harry, don't be so fucking stupid! You told me yourself that Dumbledore's messed up before! He... he can't make you do it! He's-" Harry stepped forwards, eyes wide and pleading. "I knew you wouldn't understand, but-" he checked his watch again. "Fifteen minutes, Ron! There's no time to argue about this. The Order will be there too, so it's not like I'll be facing him alone." Ron gaped. Was Harry here to say goodbye? He realised with dawning horror that if anything happened, he'd never see Harry again. "Don't. Don't you dare say goodbye, you... take it off. Take the watch off and you can stay here! Then Dumbledore will have to fight You-Know-Who instead!" "No. You remember what I told you about that prophecy? I have to do it or there might not be another chance. Something is supposed to happen later tonight, between me and Voldemort - stop wincing at his name - but Trelawney didn't say anything else, so that's all we have to go on. But it has to happen. It has to be me." "But-" "Ron! I don't have much time, please... fourteen bloody fucking minutes, please just... I have to give you something." Harry suddenly looked so scared, his face drawn and pale. He had always been good at hiding how he was feeling, but now... now it was right there, etched into his face. He was frightened. Ron swallowed the lump in his throat before it choked him, forcing himself to wait. Harry didn't move or speak for a long time, only stared at Ron with a small frown, seeming to be weighing something up. That was all very well, but Ron realised that if he only had fourteen minutes left, then he really should- "Thirteen minutes," Harry said sadly, glancing down at his watch again. Then, as if something inside him suddenly snapped, he pressed forwards, sliding his arms around Ron's shoulders. Ron opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but before he knew it a cold hand was on the back of his neck and warm, dry lips were pressing against his own. Holy fuck. Another cold hand slid down to his hip, pulling him closer to Harry, then he felt Harry's tongue in his mouth, warm, wet and really... nice, pushing against his own with an increasing insistence. Harry released a quiet moan that Ron felt thrum against his lips. His head was spinning - it was so strange to be kissing like this. Just suddenly kissing. Kissing Harry. Ron pulled back, wondering if he was still asleep after all. "That... Harry, what was that for?" he managed, damning his voice for sounding so high-pitched. "Because I only have one thing left to give, and I want to give it to you." Oh. Bloody fucking hell. Harry's eyes were wide, Ron could see them shining in the dim moonlight, and they were sincere, sure. Then Harry was reaching up, wrapping his hands around the back of Ron's neck, pulling him down into another, much more desperate kiss. Ron closed his eyes, feeling the press of Harry's nose against his own, the cold rims of Harry's glasses nudging against his cheeks, the heat of Harry's breath. Somehow, though he hadn't been aware of his feet moving, they had made their way over to the bed, and soon Harry was pushing Ron down onto it. "Harry, are you mad? Are you... are you sure?" "Yes." Harry tore his jumper off over his head and struggled out of his shoes and trousers, while Ron - who had lost the ability to move - sat watching in stunned silence. He closed his eyes again, seeing the image of Harry half-bent over pulling down his boxers imprinted on his eyelids. Breathe, Weasley. "Fuck, Ron..." Harry said, his voice shaking. "Twelve minutes. This isn't fair! We've wasted so much time already." Ron still couldn't open his eyes, knowing that Harry was now naked. And aroused, going by the press of his erection against Ron's while they had been kissing. Ron took deep breath after deep breath, his heart thumping against his chest; he couldn't believe what was happening, and he certainly didn't want to believe why it was happening. He flinched when Harry touched him, cold hands on his legs, stroking up his thighs slowly. The mattress dipped beside him as Harry climbed onto the bed. There was a soft breath against Ron's shoulder, then fingers were moving up over his belly, up further across his ribs and chest, as if Harry was intending to touch all of him. Ron finally looked, turning to his best friend with things he wanted to say threatening to burst out of his throat. "Harry-" Harry dipped his head, pressing his mouth over one of Ron's nipples, tongue darting out to toy with it, rough and hot. Ron lost his train of thought, leaning back slightly so Harry could have better access as that tongue licked small circles around one nipple, then tracked a path of cooling moisture across his chest and did the same with the other. Ron heard a moan, supposed it was he who had made it, then sank back against the mattress, suddenly unable to move. He figured that if he didn't think about it, he could pretend that this was a normal night and Harry wasn't leaving. Harry sat up, taking hold of Ron's boxers. With a slight flush to his cheeks, Harry pulled them down, then off. The next thing Ron felt was Harry's smooth and warm skin all over him, and the heady weight of his body. Then, ohholyGod - Harry's cock, nudging hotly against his own, that little bit of friction tearing a helpless moan out of Ron's mouth as Harry relaxed down on top of him. Before he could process every sensation, Ron found himself kissing again, Harry's mouth now hot and more forceful than before. The kiss seemed to go on and on, tongues working gently together, no sounds but quickened breathing and little moans echoing around the silent dorm room. After a while Harry started to squirm, and Ron's bones seemed to evaporate. He moaned loudly. Harry sighed suddenly, then he rolled off onto the bed and pressed his lips against Ron's shoulder. "There's not even time for that?" Ron whispered. He wanted to kiss some more, he wanted to feel Harry against him a bit longer, but he now realised that time was running out, the faint tick of Harry's watch bearing down on them. Second after second. "I don't know what we can use. I didn't think about it before, I'm sorry," said Harry, his voice thick and almost embarrassed. He pushed his hips forwards, rubbing his cock against Ron's leg. "You'll have to... there's nothing else to use. Could you just... touch me?" Oh God. Ron wanted to, but couldn't get his arms to move. Harry seemed to sense this, taking hold of Ron's hand and guiding it to his groin. "Please, there can't be much time left." Ron thought that his hand was deliberately trying to mess things up, he couldn't seem to move it! He squeezed his eyes shut. There can't be much time left, there can't be much time left... He slowly wrapped his fingers around Harry's hard shaft, touch feather-light, trying not to think about how different it felt to his own. Ron stroked up the smooth, solid length experimentally, to which Harry moaned, pressing his face into Ron's shoulder, breath hot and quick against his skin. He glanced down at Harry's wrist; the watch boldly displayed the number ten in a bright magenta colour. He tightened his grip around Harry's cock, starting to slide his hand up and down the dampening length of it, feeling the boy next to him shuddering, hearing his best friend moan his name. Ron turned his head, finding himself staring directly into Harry's wide green eyes. He almost smiled, but Harry tensed suddenly with a gasp, his cock twitching in Ron's hand, then a rush of wet heat beat into Ron's palm. "Wow," Ron gasped, trying to take it all in. He'd just seen Harry come! It was amazing. Harry offered a smile which didn't fully reach his eyes, then got up onto his knees quickly, shaking, but making it clear that he was ready. "Nine minutes... come on." Holy fuck, Ron thought, tearing his eyes from Harry and looking down at the palm of his hand. "I-I don't know what to do," he stammered, feeling a flush streak up his neck as he watched Harry crawl to the centre of the bed. He had a fair idea, but actually doing it? Wouldn't it hurt? Harry sighed. "Yes, you do." Not feeling all that encouraged, Ron moved over to where Harry was kneeling, carefully running his hand down across Harry's back and searching out his entrance. Harry murmured something, pushing backwards, then with a gasp Ron pushed through into the tightness. Thankfully, Harry moaned, and it hadn't sounded pained. Though Ron was by no means experienced, he knew this was nothing compared to what Harry would feel once he was inside him, but the realisation that time was flying around them forced him to prepare Harry as quickly as he could, all the while wondering - worrying - if it would be enough. He prayed it would be enough. "That'll do," Harry whispered. Ron felt the fluttering of muscles around his fingers. "I want you inside me." Ron closed his eyes, savouring those words for a moment, still not sure whether they had actually been said or if they were just his imagination. Harry moaned again as if to prompt him. Ron still had his fist clenched, but now opened it and slicked Harry's come along his cock, his whole body shaking with anticipation. And worry. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, in almost a whisper. "I don't care. You won't, okay?" Ron bit his lip, taking hold of Harry's hips tightly. "Are you sure?" "Yes, do it." Not much time left. Ron pressed himself against Harry, leaning down over his smooth, sweaty back, nudging the head of his cock against the tight - it's not going to fit! - unyielding - what if he screams?! - infuriating- Ron stopped moving as soon as he felt the head of his cock slipped inside Harry's body - was it hurting? He couldn't go through with it if it was hurting. Harry gasped loudly at Ron's pause, and it had almost sounded like the number 'eight'. Ron pushed forwards slowly, the reflexive twitching of muscles bringing him dangerously close to coming right then. Harry was so tight. He paused, giving Harry time to adjust, and waited, listening to the ragged breathing coming from beneath him, muffled against the bed covers, and oh God, Harry was clenching gently, a fluttering heat sending waves of sensation up Ron's cock... Ron choked a moan, but really felt like screaming. Not just from the wonderful, tight heat, but at Harry for arguing with him; why the hell couldn't he just take off the damn Portkey and stay? He wanted to ram forwards, make Harry scream, make him understand that he couldn't leave, that Ron wouldn't allow it. But Harry only pushed backwards, taking Ron's cock in all the way with a sharp cry. Ron bit his lip hard, wanting to move desperately, but waited, running his hands around Harry's sides and over his stomach, pressing himself down across his body and holding on to him. He realised that they were essentially locked together now, like one body. He puffed out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, trying not to think of it that way. "You have to move." Ron squeezed his eyes shut, starting to rock his hips gently, only the smallest of movements, but enough to send white-hot sparks of pleasure up his prick and out across his body. He knew that a scream was building in his chest, he could almost feel it there, a heavy ball of pressure, waiting for the right time. He would have given anything, everything, for more time. Harry began steadily moving under him, moaning and rocking back and forth, his body firm and sweating and tight and hot and oh... "Harry... please don't... oh god... oh fuck... oh... don't..." Ron rocked his hips faster, pulling out further as his steady pace changed into thrusts. "Six... fucking... minutes! It's not...fucking...fair..." Harry moaned, bucking back onto Ron's length yet failing to hide the pain in his voice. Six minutes left of Harry, Ron thought with panic, pressing his face against Harry's damp neck. "Am I hurting you?" he choked, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated. "No, keep going," Harry urged. Ron felt that scream crawl a little further up his throat. He drew out of Harry almost all the way before sliding back in as hard and deep as he could, angling his hips up a little which tore a cry from Harry's mouth and an even louder one from his own. He didn't want to wonder if that cry had been of pain, though through the loud roar of his pulse in his ears, Ron didn't think it had sounded like a protest. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop now, even if it had been. He thrust again, desperately, the tension in his balls now almost painful- "Ron..." Ron came hard, harder than he thought was possible, emptying himself in jerks and short thrusts that fell in step with the pounding in his ears. For a wonderful moment, all sense of what was happening slipped from his grasp - Harry wasn't there to say goodbye; he and Harry had just had sex, and they'd be doing it again once they'd both calmed down, but for now they would just lie together, touch each other, kiss some more. All in a heartbeat. Then Ron came back to himself, aware that Harry had cried out only moments before. He quickly leaned down. "I'm sorry!" He resisted the urge to collapse with everything he had, holding himself up on shaking arms, his cock still twitching in Harry's arse. Wow, fucking hell. Slowly, he pulled out, falling down on to the bed at the same time Harry stumbled off it to get dressed. This can't be happening, this can't, can't, can't... Ron rested his arm across his eyes, unable to look. He could hear the rustling of fabric and the soft popping of buttons being pushed back into their holes, knowing that this was almost it. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he whispered. "You didn't." A blatant lie. How could it have not hurt? "Come here." "Can't," Ron whispered, not ready to get up, or look at Harry, or say- "Three minutes, come here!" Ron dragged himself from the bed quickly, and before he knew it, Harry was wrapped around him; tangled black hair up his nose, frantic hot breaths against his neck, hands around his waist, denim clad legs pressing warmly against his own naked ones. Harry raised his arm, curling his fingers in Ron's hair. Ron knew that he'd only done it so that he could check the time behind his head. "Well?" He felt Harry's chest rise and fall heavily against his own. "Two." "Keep hold of me and I'll go back with you!" Ron said, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before. He clutched Harry to him as tightly as he could. "It's been set to only transport me, the wearer. It won't take two people." "Oh, God, you'll be all right, I know you will. How many times have you met him before and escaped?" "I'm not allowed to escape this time." "Oh, God..." Harry squeezed Ron, kissing up along the curve of his neck, his jaw, across his cheek and then down to his mouth. "Thank," kiss, "you," kiss, "take," kiss, "care", kiss. So soft yet forceful at the same time. Ron kissed back hard, his hands balled up into fists behind Harry's back. This cannot be happening. It just can't. He broke away, grabbing Harry's hand and holding on to it as tightly as he could. He looked down. The watch read one, but perhaps it wouldn't work, or perhaps it was wrong. But Ron didn't have the chance to say these things, because suddenly Harry was gone. With a snap, just like that, he was gone. ~Fin~ |
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