It’s So Easy

By Magic of Isis

 

Summary:  Life is full of hard choices, and sometimes those choices come back to haunt you.  Harry makes a tough choice, and he and Ron have to live with the consequences.

Rating and approx. word count: PG-13, about 9675 words

Pairing(s): Ron/Harry; Ron/Hermione

Warnings: Major angst alert.

Author's Notes: This is the first fic in my Sheryl Crow series. Sheryl seems to excite my muse, and I have no choice but to write these rabid plot bunnies. Huge thanks go out to my betas, Kate and Elinor. Their comments were extremely helpful and Elinor, in particular, really made me think about my boys and how they’d really react. All remaining errors are mine.  I own no rights to these characters, and am making no money from my fic-writing habit. Visit www.sherylcrow.com for lyric copyright info.

 

 

 * * * * *

 

I saw you today

You walked away and I couldn't breathe

Cause I know how it will feel

It's a love so real when you're touching me

 

It's so easy holding you near

I could melt in your arms and disappear

Loving you baby is breaking my heart tonight

It¹s so easy but it isn't right

 

Every night I lay here alone

After you leave me and go home

She doesn¹t know that we can't let go

And it's hurting me so

 

                ~ from It's So Easy ~ Sheryl Crow

 

 * * * * *

 

 

Ron dumped the last shovelful of dirt onto the mound covering the tree roots and wiped his sweaty face on the damp sleeve of his shirt.  He probably could have dug that hole using magic, but the slight pain of exertion made him feel somehow more alive and connected to the earth.  He put the shovel back in the tool shed and entered the house through the back door.  It was a quaint little house in a charming neighborhood – they had bought it three years ago thinking there might be little Weasleys to run around in the backyard someday...

 

Hermione was working in her study as he passed by on his way to the bath.  She glanced at Ron and smiled; he returned the smile and continued walking without breaking his stride.  They were comfortable here in their cozy house.  They had a good life with relatively few complaints.  Ron traveled a lot for his job with the Daily Prophet on the Quidditch beat, so he didn't mind the long hours that Hermione put in at the Ministry of Magic doing who-knew-what for the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  They were both respected in their fields and were paid well for their efforts.  His dad would have been very proud of them.

 

Ron pulled a clean t-shirt out of a drawer, and he put on an old pair of jeans.  He glanced down at Hermione's dressing table and saw her pair of tiny diamond earrings sitting in a dish.  The year they were engaged, he'd given them to her as a Christmas present – it had nearly bankrupted him to buy them, but she was worth every knut.  They had an anniversary coming up – what was it now...four? – and he resolved to buy her the decent sized diamond earrings she deserved.  He tied his trainers and grinned as he plotted how he was going to surprise her.  Maybe a trip to the sea... 

 

It was great being able to pick up and leave as the mood struck them, not worrying about obligations or money.  Well, money...that was it, wasn't it?  Ron Weasley was no longer poor. He could buy whatever he needed and afford to do whatever he wanted.  His life was fine.

 

That is, until Harry showed up on his doorstep.

 

Hermione had answered the doorbell, which was unusual since nearly everyone they knew flooed in.  The next thing he heard was a loud squeal of delight and an excited, "Oh my God! Harry!"

 

Ron's stomach dropped about three feet as Hermione's screams reached his ears.  Harry.  Harry was here, standing in his doorway.  He could hear Hermione calling, "Ron! Guess who's here!" somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn't move for the shock.  Harry was back.

 

His hands were shaking and he was starting to hyperventilate.  Get a grip, Weasley, he told himself.  He tried to shake off the feelings, but opted instead for plastering a smile on his face that he hoped wouldn't seem too insincere.  Walking slowly down the hall, he steeled himself for the encounter.

 

"Harry, mate, I can't believe you're really here," Ron said, extending his right hand.  Harry gripped it and then pulled him into a hug with the other arm like a long lost brother.

 

"Ron," said Harry with a hoarse voice, "I...I've missed you." 

 

The two of them made eye contact, and it was clear to Ron that Harry was just as worried and uncomfortable as he was. Good, thought Ron with malice.  I hope he's cringing.  He looked up to see Hermione flitting about the room, moving random papers out of the way and offering to get Harry something to drink.

 

"When did you get here?" Ron asked, motioning to Harry to sit down.

 

Harry sat on a large white couch while Ron sat in his usual armchair.  "Just a little while ago.  I took the Muggle train from Wales this morning.  Ginny owled me and told me where you were living."  Harry paused as Hermione handed him a glass of lemonade and then sat down next to him on the couch.  "I was discharged yesterday."

 

Hermione shot a glance at Ron, but he couldn't tell what she meant by it.  Ron said nothing, so she tentatively asked, "You've been in there this whole time?"

 

"Yeah," answered Harry, but his voice was breathy as if it were really hard for him to admit he'd been locked up in a hospital for six years.

 

She smiled her toothy grin at him.  "Well, I'm thrilled that you wanted to see us." She patted Harry's arm, and he glanced gratefully up at her.

 

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me.  I did leave rather abruptly."  Harry addressed his comments to Hermione, but he glanced sideways at Ron twice, only to see him staring stony-faced at the fireplace.

 

Hermione laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room.  "Don't be silly, Harry.  You wouldn't have left if it hadn't been the right thing to do.  But you're back now, and you look wonderful.  Do you need a place to stay?  We have an extra room..."

 

Both Harry and Ron looked panic-stricken, but Hermione was oblivious to their reactions.  Harry quickly said, "No, thanks.  I've taken a room at the Noble Kinsman Inn here in town while I try to decide what I want to do now.  I don't want to impose – I really just wanted to see you." 

 

Ron heaved a sigh of relief at Harry's words.  He supposed he could deal with Harry as long as he wasn't staying with them. It was only for a few days, and Harry needed them to be his friends right now.  Ron examined Harry closely.  He couldn’t believe it – six years in the hospital!  Harry looked healthy enough, with the same disheveled black hair and wiry body.  His round spectacles had been abandoned, and his skin had the healthy glow of someone who spent a good deal of time outside.

 

"No more glasses?" asked Ron with a raised eyebrow.

 

Harry smiled.  "Muggle doctors have an operation that corrects your vision.  I had it done last year." Noticing that Ron was trying very hard to make pleasant conversation, Harry tried to keep things friendly by asking, "How long have you lived here?  This is a really nice house."

 

"Three years - we'll give you the tour," Hermione said, leaping to her feet.  She grabbed Harry's arm and linked it with her own.  She kept muttering things like "It's so good to see you" and "I can't believe you're really here" as they showed Harry around the house.

 

The rest of Harry's visit that afternoon was pleasant enough.  They talked about Hermione's job at the Ministry, Ron's job at the Daily Prophet and a lot about Quidditch.  Harry told them that he had been exercising about four hours per day, and was now fully capable of running a marathon if he felt so inclined.  There had been a nice running path on the hospital grounds that Harry had used nearly every day for the past two years.

 

Ron chuckled.  "Always running, aren't you, Harry?" Ron jested.  The death glare he earned from Hermione for that comment was nearly as devastating as the guilty sigh that Harry gave him.  Crap!  Now Hermione was going to be all hacked off at him, and he hadn't meant it that way.  Not really.  Not much.

 

Harry had begged off dinner after that, and as soon as he was out of sight, Hermione laid into Ron.  "Ronald Weasley, how could you possibly be such an insensitive prat!" she ranted.  "Couldn't you tell how hard it was for him just to be here? And you had to go and remind him of how he was before.  I'm so angry right now I could strangle you!" Hermione stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door. 

 

"Guess I'm not getting any tonight," Ron muttered under his breath.  He wandered into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey.  Hermione hated it when he drank, but he'd never needed a drink more than he did right now.  Besides, she was already pissed off at him – he might as well be hung for a dragon as for an egg.

 

 

 * * * * *

 

The fourth time Ron lowered his hand from the door without knocking, he was stunned to see it open anyway.  Harry had clearly not known anyone was there, because he nearly knocked Ron over in his hurry to exit the room.  A flurry of hasty apologies followed, ending with Harry pulling Ron inside.

 

"I...I'm sorry about yesterday, about what I said," Ron quickly spat out before he lost his nerve.  "I didn't expect you just to show up like that, and you caught me off guard.  I wasn’t trying to be nasty."

 

Harry put his hand on Ron’s shoulder a little more forcefully than he meant to.  "No, Ron, I'm the one who's sorry.  I shouldn't have just shown up here unannounced.  Ginny and I have been corresponding over the years..." Harry flinched at the look of surprise on Ron's face as he said it.  "She didn't tell you, did she?"  Ron shook his head. "Anyway," Harry continued, "she told me about you and Hermione getting married and buying a house here.  I just...well, maybe I shouldn't have come at all."

 

Ron was stunned and hurt: Harry had found the time to owl Ginny for six years, but couldn’t be bothered to even let Ron know he was still alive.  Ron's emotions, which had been floating just below the surface since he'd heard Harry's voice the day before, suddenly exploded in a blind rage.  "Goddammit, Harry!" he shouted.  "Why did you come back?  I had a perfect life going and then you had to show up and ruin everything!  Dammit, Harry..." Ron's rage dissolved into violent tearless sobs.  Between them he muttered, "Damn you.  Damn you, Harry Potter."

 

Harry pulled Ron into an embrace, and they held on to each other for dear life, both too emotional to speak.  Harry could feel Ron's occasional gasps for air, while Ron felt Harry's silent tears drip onto his neck.  And still, they held one another as if nothing else mattered in the world.

 

Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Ron, I'm so sorry.  I never wanted to hurt you. I just...I had to leave.  You know that, don't you?"

 

There was an overwhelming sadness in his voice, but Ron was not sympathetic.  He pulled away from Harry and glared at him.  "You bastard.  You made love with me that night like you meant it – like we were always going to be together – and then you left me with a note on my pillow in the morning.  Dammit, Harry, eight years as best friends, two as lovers, and you left me a FUCKING NOTE!"  Ron's rage had surfaced again, and he rummaged wildly in his pocket for his wallet.  With shaking hands he extracted a dog-eared piece of parchment that had yellowed over the years, and looked as if it were being held together by magic.  He shoved it roughly at Harry and snarled, "Take your fucking note and get the hell out of my life!"

 

Harry looked at the note for the first time in six years.  He hardly remembered writing it, but as he scanned it, he understood Ron's pain.  It sounded heartless.  Harry had meant for it to give Ron the freedom to move on and continue to live his life while Harry tried to pull together the shattered pieces of his own, but he could see in hindsight how callous his words sounded and knew how much it must have hurt Ron.

 

"You're right," Harry said with a bowed head. "I was a bastard. The fact that I couldn't see how badly that note was going to hurt you should give you an indication of how messed up my head was.  But believe me, Ron, I never, ever stopped loving you."

 

Ron closed his eyes in pain, not wanting Harry to see him crumble.  At Harry's words, he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest.  No, dammit, no!  He'd gotten over Harry.  It had taken almost two years before he stopped dreaming of Harry and running to the door in hope whenever the bell rang only to be disappointed one more time.  Hermione had been his constant – his rock.  Hermione had understood that they were close, though perhaps not exactly how close, and she'd been there to lean on when he needed her.  He just had to be over Harry now. He had to be.

 

Ron's eyes locked on Harry's, and his heart was overcome by the sadness in Harry's eyes.  Oh, who the hell was he trying to fool, anyway?  He'd been in love with Harry for eight years, and there was no way he could deny it.

 

Harry's voice was hollow when he spoke.  "I know I don't have any right to ask you to listen, but I feel I have to explain.  When I left, I felt like I'd lost everyone I'd ever loved except for you and Hermione, and I blamed myself for each and every death.  My mum and dad, Cedric, Sirius, Hagrid, your dad, Bill, Charlie, Tonks, Lupin, Neville – they were all dead because of me.  And then when Hermione's parents and Dumbledore were killed – right before the end of the war – well, that was the last straw.  Something inside me snapped, and I couldn't think straight anymore.  I was so sure that you and Hermione would be next..."

 

"But Voldemort was dead," interrupted Ron.  "We were perfectly safe."

 

Harry shook his head, "If I'd been sane, I probably would have realized that, but I wasn't sane – I was racked with guilt over everyone who died.  Everyone was treating me like some kind of a hero for killing Voldemort, and they couldn't understand why I was upset.  Even you acted as if I should be happy!  Finally, Mad-Eye Moody realized I was going around the twist and he forced me to see a healer at St. Mungo's.  They set me up at an elite hospital for serious nutters."

 

"I tried to see you, you know," sniffed Ron.  "The healer at St. Mungo's would only say that you were still alive and that he couldn't tell me where they had taken you."

 

"He probably didn't know," Harry said.  "The hospital is under a Fidelius Charm, so only the Secret-Keeper could have told you where I was."

 

Ron had forgotten to be angry.  He was more interested in getting some answers than in ranting any longer.  "I thought, after so many years, that when you didn't try to find me it was because you didn't want to.  I never realized you'd be there for six years."

 

Harry reached for Ron's hand and guided him to the edge of the bed, where they both sat.  "Ron, for the first few years I was there, I thought about killing myself every single day.  If it hadn't been for the very competent and watchful staff, I'm sure I would have succeeded.  Then, after quite a lot of therapy, I gradually lost the urge to off myself.  Eventually, I became interested in running, and it seemed to lift me out of my funk."

 

Ron noticed for the first time that Harry was dressed in exercise gear, and he must have been on his way out for a run when he opened the door.  He couldn't help but admire Harry's firm calves that peeked out over his socks or his well-defined thigh muscles.

 

"Harry," Ron said after a long silence.  "Why did you really come here?"

 

"I had to see you again.  I needed to see for myself that you had really moved on and started a new life with Hermione.  I had kind of hoped...well, this sounds terrible, I know... but I had hoped that maybe the two of you weren't happy together, and that maybe you and I could try again.  But now that I've seen you both together, I realize that I made my choice six years ago, and I'm going to have to find a way to get over you and move on with my life."

 

Harry was taken aback by Ron's scathing reply.  "Oh, that's rich.  Sure, Harry, you made your choice, but what about me?  I never had a choice – you chose for both of us.  I didn't want to move on.  I didn't want to get over you.  I wanted to be with you.  Dammit, Harry."  Ron closed his eyes again, sensing he was on the verge of tears and desperately wanting to avoid another outburst like the last one.

 

Harry put his arm around Ron, and when Ron opened his eyes, he was staring directly into Harry's.  Before he could engage his brain, he was crushing Harry's lips with his own, frantic to taste what had been denied him for so long.  At first, their kisses were frenzied, then tender and then sensual. 

 

God, he never thought he'd be able to kiss his beloved Harry again, but here they were, sitting on a bed in some hotel room.  "Damn you, Harry," Ron whispered between kisses.  "Damn you for reminding me that I still love you."

 

 * * * * *

 

The jostling of the bed woke him up, and glancing at the clock, Ron was glad he’d had the presence of mind to owl in sick to work that morning.  Hermione wouldn’t be home for at least three more hours, and Harry was doing the most delicious thing to Ron’s neck with his tongue.  He moaned, which seemed to encourage Harry all the more, until the two of them were once again in the throes of passion.

 

Harry’s few days at the inn had turned into a couple of weeks; then he found a flat not far from the center of town and moved in there.  This is where Harry and Ron found themselves, their limbs entwined, bodies fitting together perfectly on a large bed that Hermione had bought for Harry at a charity shop.  Having Harry nearby was a mixed blessing for Ron because it was way too convenient to drop by his place, and when he did, it was nearly impossible to leave.

 

Now, completely knackered, he felt he should quickly shower and get home to his wife.  And he would do that just as soon as he had the energy...just as soon as Harry stopped giving him the puppy-dog eyes.  It just wasn’t fair – why was it so easy to be here with Harry and forget all the responsibilities he had at home?  Funny – he remembered thinking that his obligations were minimal, until Harry came along to provide a compelling alternative to just about everything else Ron had to do in his life. 

 

“Mmm, Harry?” Ron asked carelessly.  He felt rather than saw Harry’s eyes focus on him.  “Why is it so much better to lie here with you than to do anything else in the world?”

 

Harry smiled at him.  “Because you’re a lazy sod. And also because I know your sensitive spot and I’m not afraid to use it.”

 

“Care to join me in the shower?”

 

“I thought you’d never ask.  Can I bugger you in the shower?” asked Harry with an impish grin.

 

“No!” exclaimed Ron.  “I need to be getting home soon…” where my wife is waiting for me.

 

The fact was Ron had no interest in going home to Hermione. It was all wrong, what they were doing.  Hermione deserved better than this.  Harry deserved better than this.  The Daily Prophet needed him to show up at work, and he was slowly starting to crack under all the pressure.  The problem was that he knew he should give up Harry, but spending time with Harry was the only thing in his life right now that he wanted to do.

 

 

When Ron Apparated home, he knew something was wrong almost immediately.  Hermione’s briefcase was sitting by the door, and there was a faint humming coming from the bedroom.  She was home early.  It was...oh shit, it was already quarter past six.  He’d meant to be home an hour ago.

 

Hermione emerged from the bedroom just as Ron’s eye landed on the card with his name on the envelope.  He panicked: Merlin, he’d forgotten it was their anniversary.  They were supposed to be going out for a romantic dinner.

 

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you, honey?  You did say our reservations are at six-thirty, right?”  Hermione stretched to kiss his cheek.  Ron hoped he didn’t smell too much like Harry.

 

“Er, well, sorry.  Happy Anniversary, love.”  He kissed her forehead and quickly raced to the bedroom to change robes. 

 

Fortunately, he’d had the presence of mind to buy the diamond earrings two weeks ago when he’d been covering a Quidditch match in London, otherwise he’d have been in an even worse fix.  He pulled the small box out of its hiding place and put it in the pocket of his navy blue dress robes.  He didn’t have a card, but the earrings were quite extravagant, so he might be able to get away with it.

 

Ron splashed on some cologne, more to cover up any lingering scent of Harry than to impress Hermione.  Examining his face in the mirror, he was looking a little ragged around the edges, and he wondered if he was going to have to make love to Hermione tonight.  Damn, he knew they shouldn’t have had that third go.

 

He drew his wand and chanted, “Orchideous!”  Ron quickly gathered up the flowers that emerged from the tip of his wand and brought them to Hermione, who was impatiently waiting by the fireplace, tapping her foot.  When she saw the flowers, her look softened, and she kissed him before rushing to the kitchen to put them in a vase.

 

Ron and Hermione were only a few minutes late for their dinner reservations, and it turned out to be a lovely evening.  Ron offered to get a bottle of wine, but Hermione wasn’t drinking, so he had a glass of Firewhiskey instead.  Halfway through their sorbet, Ron presented her with the earrings, and Hermione was nearly moved to tears.  She gushed loudly, showing them off to the waiter and the nosy woman at the next table, who seemed suitably impressed.  It took so little to make Hermione happy – why was it such a chore for him now?

 

Harry.  He’d been perfectly content with his life with Hermione until Harry showed up.

 

They decided to walk home rather than Apparate, and Ron noticed that Hermione seemed pre-occupied with something.  When he asked her about it, she hesitated to tell him, but then changed her mind.

 

“I’d wanted to wait until we were home, but I suppose there’s no harm in saying it now.  Ron, I’m pregnant again.”  Hermione looked at him with eager anticipation, but his face was guarded.

 

“How long?”

 

Hermione slipped her hand around Ron’s arm.  “Eight weeks on Monday.  This is the longest I’ve ever gone without miscarrying.  The midwife thinks four more weeks should get me past the danger point.”

 

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed this time, won’t we?  But Hermione, love, don’t get your hopes up just yet, okay?  Four weeks is a pretty long time when you’re waiting for something like this.”  Ron hoped to God he was saying the right thing, because every instinct was telling him to run to Harry.  Damn, they’d been trying to have a baby for over three years, and now – NOW! – she had to go and get pregnant again for what...the fifth time?  He wasn't sure he could handle a fifth miscarriage.  Ron should have been ecstatic that Hermione’s pregnancy had lasted eight weeks so far, except that everything had changed the moment Harry came back.

 

Ron did not even want to entertain the thoughts that were crossing his mind.  Hermione could give him babies ... well, let’s say her chances of giving birth were better than Harry's.  She loved him and was loyal to him, and Ron was a cad for cheating on her. All Harry had given him was heartache.  No, that wasn’t true.  Harry loved him to the very depths of his soul.  Harry made him feel alive; Harry made the magic in his bones tingle with excitement.  He needed Harry just like he needed Hermione, just like he needed air and water. They both said they needed him.  As hard as Ron tried, he just couldn’t figure out a way to resolve the situation without somebody getting hurt. So much for Gryffindor courage – he was a coward through and through for courting this disaster.

 

Fortunately, when they got home, Hermione was too tired to have sex, so that was one less lie he was going to have to tell.  But Ron was rapidly losing control of the situation, and he’d have to make things right – very soon.  The question was: what was right?

 

 * * * * *

 

Ron was sure the discomfort was radiating off his body.  Hermione had insisted on taking Harry to dinner and telling him their news together.  The pregnancy had lasted ten weeks now, and despite Ron's warnings, she was completely convinced she'd carry the baby to term this time.  Ron had no proof, but he suspected she somehow knew that Harry was coming between the two of them, and was determined to make it clear to both Ron and Harry that Ron’s obligations were to her and their unborn baby.

 

"Hermione, I had no idea you'd been through all that," Harry said, after Hermione had recounted her previous experiences with pregnancy.  "I just thought that maybe you and Ron weren't ready to settle down with a family just yet."  Hermione didn't notice, but Ron could hear the unasked question in Harry's voice: Why didn't you tell me you and Hermione were trying to have a baby?

 

Ron couldn't look at either of them, but stared at his empty plate instead.  What was he supposed to do now?  Who was he going to disappoint?  Who was he going to have to hurt?  This was agony for him – knowing that he was going to be responsible for causing so much pain to the dearest people in his life.

 

"Ron?" Hermione was speaking to him.  "Ron, did you hear what I said?"

 

Ron jerked his head up.  "Sorry, what did you say?"

 

"What's the matter with you?" Hermione asked testily.  "I just asked you if you'd told Harry about your – uh – Quidditch idea."

 

Dammit!  Why had she brought that up too?  He'd be lucky if Harry ever spoke to him again after tonight.  "No, Hermione.  It hasn't come up yet."  Ron glanced quickly at Harry, who was looking at him suspiciously.

 

As Hermione interrupted him, Ron rolled his eyes slightly, earning a snigger from Harry.  "Well, Ron has been making a few discreet inquiries of his Quidditch contacts to see if anyone would give you a tryout."

 

Harry's eyes darted from Hermione to Ron.  "Why would you do that?  I haven't played Quidditch in years."

 

Now that Hermione had brought it up, Ron thought he might as well continue.  It was, actually, one of his better ideas.  "Come on, Harry.  You're in better physical shape than at least three quarters of the Seekers who play professionally – I know, I've seen them all.  You're a natural on a broomstick.  And let's face it – you love the game.  I think playing Quidditch would make you happy, and I want that more than anything."  He glanced at Hermione.  "We both do."

 

Harry didn't say anything for a while as he considered the possibilities.  Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks.  Finally Harry said, "So does anyone want to meet with me?"

 

"Nathaniel Spinnet.  He owns the Falmouth Falcons. You remember Alicia – he's her uncle.  I talked to him at a match I covered there last week and he remembered seeing you play at Hogwarts.  He said you should owl him if you're interested."  Ron sat back in his chair, eying Harry curiously.  He couldn't tell whether his idea was being well-received or not, but thought since Harry hadn't stormed out of the restaurant yet, it was probably okay.

 

Encouraged, he continued, "New players usually join teams in August, so you'd have a couple of months to practice on your own.  Now that the regular season has ended, it won't be as busy for me, so I could help you," Ron caught Hermione's look of displeasure – “Provided, of course, that it's okay with my lovely wife."  He smiled at her, and she lifted an incredulous eyebrow.

 

"Falmouth's pretty far away from here.  And I'd have to travel a lot, wouldn't I?" asked Harry.  The intensity of his gaze gave nothing away, but Ron knew him well enough to know he understood there was another motivation.  Ron needed Harry to have another interest besides him.  He needed Harry to do something else he loved besides making love to Ron.  Ron needed space.

 

Suddenly, Harry relaxed and seemed at ease with the idea. "Do you suppose my old Firebolt still works?  I haven't opened up my school trunk in years."  He took his last bite of roast chicken and made a strange face as he chewed and swallowed.  "What brooms do the others Seekers use now?"

 

Ah…finally, neutral territory.  Ron noticed that whenever he and Harry broached a subject that was too sensitive, their conversations would always end up at Quidditch.  It was their language of fraternal bonding.  Hermione could understand if she wanted to, but she chose not to.  Ron launched into a discourse about the state of modern brooms as Hermione excused herself to use the loo.  Both men fell silent as they watched her exit the room.

 

Suddenly Harry turned on him.  "Why didn't you tell me you and Hermione were trying to have a baby?" he hissed at Ron. 

 

"I didn't really think about it.  We'd been trying for three years before you showed up," Ron answered.  He was amazed at Harry's stunned expression.  "You didn't think I'd stopped sleeping with her, did you?  She's my wife, for God's sake, as well as the cleverest witch we know.  She’s already miffed about the amount of time I spend at your flat - don't you think not sleeping with her would make her a little suspicious?"

 

Harry swallowed hard and rubbed his face with his hands. "Every time you leave me, after we've been together, I think about you going home to her.  In my mind, all I can picture is the two of you together, and it drives me crazy."

 

Ron sniggered at the 'crazy' reference.  "Sorry," he said when Harry didn't laugh.

 

"And then I feel terrible because…because Hermione's my friend," continued Harry.  "And she'd never want to hurt me, and here I am hurting her in the worst possible way."  He paused, waiting for Ron to say something, but Ron only hung his head guiltily.

 

"I know why you want me to play Quidditch," Harry said.  That got Ron's attention, because he looked up quickly.  "You want me to travel and to have something else to do while you stay at home and make love to your wife."

 

"I meant what I said," Ron replied carefully.  "I want you to be happy.  Look, as much as I’d like to spend my time lying about in your flat, I have obligations – to the Daily Prophet, and yes, to Hermione as well.  And I just don't know how things are going to turn out between you and me with a baby coming and all…"

 

The color drained from Harry's face, and Ron could feel that his ears were flaming red.  He watched Hermione approach the table and sat up a bit straighter in his chair.  "We'll have to talk about this later."  Harry nodded and they both smiled at Hermione as she sat down again at the table.

 

 

But they didn’t talk about it later.  When Ron showed up the next evening, Harry had answered the door to his flat wearing only an old pair of running shorts, and there wasn’t really much talking going on after that.  If only Harry didn’t look so damn tempting all the time; if only his eyes weren’t so intensely green, stirring some deep emotion within Ron every time his gaze fixed on him.  If only Harry didn’t make him feel like nothing else in the world was important whenever they were together.  And the sex!  Merlin, whenever he was with Harry, he felt like a teenager again.  Harry must have spent the last six years thinking up creative and exquisite ways to make love to him.  His energy was amazing!

 

On this particular night, they’d left a trail of clothes on the way to the bedroom and spent the next two hours ravishing each other.  Ron couldn’t help but think Harry was trying to convince him that Hermione would never measure up to him as a lover.  There was no question about that – Ron thought it ludicrous for Harry to think he had any competition.

 

“Harry,” started Ron, but Harry interrupted him.

 

“I don’t want to talk about anything unpleasant tonight, Ron.  Okay?  Can we just leave it to another time?”

 

“So you’re not angry at me?  You seemed pretty upset at the restaurant...” Ron couldn’t believe Harry was going to let him off the hook that easily.

 

Harry rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow.  “And aren’t you proud of me?  You should be, you know.”

 

Ron stared at him, not knowing why Harry was smug.  Was he just a sadistic bastard who was enjoying the torment he was putting Ron through?  No, knowing Harry, he’d feel guilty about that if he were doing it on purpose.  “What exactly have you done to make me proud?”

 

“Six years ago, I would have left you with a callous note on your pillow and, most likely, a pool of blood on your floor.  But I’m still here, and I’m not going to run this time.”

 

Ron saw only earnestness on Harry’s face, and the magnitude of what Harry was saying hit him like a Bludger.  He could feel tears stinging his eyelids.  “God, Harry, if only you knew how hard this is for me...”

 

Harry leaned over and kissed Ron softly.  “I do, Ron.  I know exactly how you feel.  You don’t want to leave your lover, but you know in your heart it’s the right thing to do.  Shit, Ron, it’s a horrible situation to be in.  Why do you think I waited until I was completely insane to leave you before?”

 

Ron couldn’t speak, so he pulled Harry closer and buried his face in Harry’s neck.

 

“Since our first conversation after I returned, I’ve thought a lot about what you said,” Harry said.  “You were right to be angry with me for making the choice to leave without talking to you.  If it were up to me, I’d be a million miles away from you right now, even if it meant giving up the only thing in my life that makes me truly happy.  But I won’t make the same mistake twice.  You wanted to make the choice – here’s your chance.  I’ll go along with whatever you decide, and I promise, I won’t kill myself over it.”

 

No, Ron was wrong.  Harry was a sadistic bastard, and a clever one at that – throwing his own words back at him.  Except, well, he was right, wasn’t he?  Harry knew that Ron couldn’t resist him and wouldn’t ask him to leave anytime soon.  How could he?  He was so in love with Harry that he couldn’t even think straight.

 

Ron shifted so he could see Harry’s face.  “You know I can’t live without you in my life.  I just need some time to sort it all out.  In the meantime, though, what about Quidditch?  Will you contact Nathaniel Spinnet?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry answered, his serious look quickly breaking into a wide smile.  “Do you want to go to Diagon Alley with me tomorrow and look at racing brooms?”

 

Ron nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.  “Yeah, I’d love to.  It’ll be fun.”

 

 * * * * *

 

Ron couldn’t believe his good fortune.  Jules Farthing, the Seeker for the Tornados, had caught the Golden Snitch six minutes in, making it the shortest match in modern playoffs history.  Ron interviewed everyone he could find, but he could only print “Too bad about the short match” so many times.  He penned a quick companion piece about changes to the newly renovated Tutshill stadium and still made it back to the office to file his report by eight o’clock.

 

Hermione wouldn’t be expecting him until the wee hours of the morning, so he decided to drop by Harry’s flat before heading home.  Harry had owled earlier with the news that his tryout with the Falcons had been brilliant, and Ron thought a little celebration might be in order.

 

When he got there, however, Harry was nowhere to be found.  Ron thought he might have gone out for a run, but dismissed that idea when he saw Harry’s trainers poking out from under the bed.  He waited for another twenty minutes and then Apparated home.

 

He’d just gotten in the door when Pigwidgeon came barreling through the open window, practically knocking him over.  Ron quickly untied the note from his leg, noticing the little owl was nearly delirious from exhaustion.  He tore open the note and recognized Harry’s untidy scrawl. 

 

“Ron – Have taken Hermione to St. Mungo’s. Not looking good for the baby.  Come soon. Harry”

 

Ron screamed in frustration as he pulled out his wand and lit a fire.  He was in no condition to Apparate, and floo was faster anyway.  His mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, conjuring scenarios of things that could possibly have gone wrong and feeling terrified at what condition Hermione would be in when he arrived at the hospital. 

 

When he stumbled out of St. Mungo’s fireplace, he completely bypassed the information desk and went immediately to the trauma ward.  How pathetic, he thought as he took the stairs two at a time, that I’ve done this so many times I know the procedure.  The matron at the trauma ward desk recognized him at once.

 

“How is she?”  Ron demanded as he approached her.

 

“Your wife will be fine in a few days time, Mr. Weasley,” replied the matron, “but I’m afraid she’s lost the baby.”

 

“No!  Dammit, no!”  Ron buried his face in his hands, while the matron came around to the front of the desk to comfort him.  He hadn’t realized until just this minute how much he had wanted that baby or how very much he wanted to become a father.  His loss cut through him like a knife as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

 

“She’s in unit three,” said the matron soothingly, as she gently patted his back.  “Your friend, Mr. Potter, is with her.  You can join her whenever you’re ready.  Can I get you some tea?”

 

Ron shook his head.  “No, thanks.  I just need to pull myself together, and then I’ll go see her.”  If it was anything like the other times, Hermione would be a wreck by now, and he had to be strong for her.  He didn’t want her thinking she’d somehow failed him.

 

He collected his wits and took several deep breaths before heading into the ward.  Pausing at the entrance to unit three, he heard Harry’s voice coming from behind the privacy curtains.

 

“Haven’t they been able to figure out why this keeps happening?” Harry asked.  Don’t tell him, thought Ron.  He doesn’t need to know.

 

“Yes, but I don’t think we should talk about it now,” answered Hermione’s voice.  Good girl, thought Ron.

 

“Something happened during the war, didn’t it, Hermione?  Something that you think will make me feel guilty.  I can tell by the look in your eyes.  You might as well tell me, Hermione, before my imagination gets carried away.”  Harry’s voice had a determined quality, the tone that Harry used with Ron sometimes when trying to get him to divulge some long forgotten secret.

 

Hermione sounded weak and scared.  “It was before the war, actually.  That night at the Department of Mysteries; the night that Sirius—”

 

“What happened?  I thought you fully recovered from that curse.”

 

“I did, for the most part.  I healed enough to be able to live a fairly normal life.  It’s just that, well, they told me at the time that I probably wouldn’t be able to bear children.”  There was a long silence, and Ron could only imagine the looks that Hermione and Harry were exchanging.  Finally Hermione spoke again.  “Harry, it’s not your fault that I went there that night.  You practically begged us not to come, but we wouldn’t listen.  I’ve never blamed you – it’s just one of those really unfortunate things that happen in life.”

 

Harry’s voice quivered slightly as he said, “God, Hermione, I’m so sorry.  I never knew.”

 

“You’re a good friend, Harry.  You know I don’t offer my trust easily, but I know I can trust you with my life.  What I love most about our friendship is that we can always be honest, even if the truth hurts sometimes.”

 

There was a rustling of bedclothes, and Ron figured Hermione was shifting in the bed. She said, “Anyway, there’s not much to be done about it anymore.  And I owe you for saving my life today.  I probably would have bled to death if you hadn’t come to my rescue.”

 

“Come on, Hermione,” said Harry, “a lot has changed, but I still have that ‘saving-people thing.’  I never could resist a witch or wizard in distress.” 

 

Ron heard a chair move along the floor and, shortly afterwards, Harry’s lame excuse for having to leave.  Ron retreated out the door to confront him out of Hermione’s earshot.  When Harry rounded the corner and saw Ron staring, he gasped.

 

“Ron, I’m so glad you’re here.  Hermione’s been asking for you.  She’s going to be okay,” Harry rambled.  “But she, er, well…she’d already lost the baby by the time we got here.  I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry too,” said Ron.  “I should have been there for her.  Thanks for taking care of her, mate.”  He threw his arms around Harry in a hug, but felt Harry’s body stiffen.

 

Harry whispered, “I need some air – I’ve got to leave for a while.”

 

Without letting him go, Ron raised Harry’s chin so that their eyes met.  “Just so you know, I walked in on that conversation you just had with Hermione.  You have to promise me, Harry, that you won’t do anything rash.  Please don’t run away,” Ron pleaded.  “I need you to be here while we sort through all of this.  Harry, I just can’t bear to lose you again right now.”

 

Harry’s beautiful green eyes glared at Ron’s, and Ron knew he’d been right to think Harry was contemplating running away.  Harry swallowed and looked away.  “I need to go for a run to clear my head,” he said.  “I’ll come around in the morning.”  He turned on his heel and walked out, paying no heed to Ron calling his name.

 

 * * * * *

 

Ron awoke to pounding.  Was it in his head, or at the door?  Who in Merlin’s name would be pounding on his door at this hour of the morning?  Ron glanced at the clock, which read seven-thirty.  Well, okay – if he hadn’t gotten to bed at four, it would be reasonable, but it had taken Hermione a long time to drop off to sleep, and he hadn’t wanted to leave her.  Ron hauled his body out of bed and ambled down the hall wearing only an old t-shirt and his boxers.

 

“Keep your hair on, I’m coming!” he yelled, and the pounding stopped. He opened the door to find Harry leaning on the frame.

 

“Dammit, Harry, why didn’t you just let yourself in?  You know I’m here by myself,” said Ron, with annoyance. 

 

But as Harry stepped inside the house, Ron could see that something was very wrong.  Harry looked like hell, as if he hadn’t slept in at least a month.  Ron wasn’t sure, but he looked to be on the verge of tears.  Pulling Harry close, he whispered, “What’s the matter?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry answered, his voice hoarse and barely audible.  “I should have been here comforting you – after all you’ve lost.  I’m sorry about your baby.  I’m sorry about making you cheat on Hermione.  I’m sorry I ever came back and messed up your life.  I don’t know what you see in me – all I’ve ever done is cause you pain.”

 

Ron grasped Harry’s face in his hands and forced him to look into his eyes.  “Harry, listen to me.  You are not responsible for what happened.  Hermione has miscarried four times before, and we were always aware of the risk.  And, you did not make Dolohov attack her with that curse.  He got his just reward ages ago when a Dementor sucked out whatever was left of his soul.  I have to tell you, Harry, that nothing causes me more pain than seeing you beat yourself up over things you could never control.”

 

“Shit, Ron, don’t you see what’s happening?  There are too many things keeping us apart.  There were too many things that happened while I was away.  Too much time passed.  We missed our shot.”  Harry looked forlorn and lost.  Ron could only imagine the mental hell he’d put himself through since last night.

 

Ron pulled Harry over to the big white couch, and they sat holding one another for a long while, saying nothing.  Finally, Ron spoke.  “I think I’ve known it all along, ever since that first time we made love in your room at the Noble Kinsman after you came back.  I wanted so much to believe that you were all I needed to be happy.  I’ve gotten you back after six unbearably long years, and even though I know it’s wrong, I haven’t been able to let go.  But I also know if I left Hermione now to be with you, it wouldn’t make me happy.  I’d always regret hurting her, lying to her and breaking my promise that we’d always be there for each other.  That’s important to me too.”

 

Harry was silent, his brain trying to process what Ron had just confessed.  “So it’s over, then.”  It was more of a statement than a question. 

 

“I think it’s best that way.”

 

Harry nodded. “I reckon it’s time for me to move on then.  I never did get a chance to tell you that Nathaniel Spinnet made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I’ll get a flat in Cornwall, and you won’t have to bother with me anymore.”

 

He laced his fingers with Ron’s and tapped his foot nervously. Ron’s heart was breaking even if he believed deep down ending this affair with Harry was the right thing to do.  “It’s probably a good idea to put some distance between us, but if you walk away from me totally, it will kill me.  Harry, you need to know – I’ve got to tell you that when you go, there’s going to be a hole where my heart used to be.”  Ron placed his hand over Harry’s heart.  “Take good care of it, okay, because wherever you go, you’ll be taking it with you.  As much as I love Hermione, I’ve never loved her as much as I do you.  But you said I need to make a choice, and I have to make the one that’s right, not the one I really want.”

 

Harry’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I’ll give you my heart, so we’ll both have one.”  They kissed tenderly, until Harry chuckled.

 

“What...” said Ron, bracing himself for another assault on his emotions.

 

“It sucks to be us.”  They both laughed the mirthless laugh of those who finally have to admit defeat, despite all their valiant efforts.

 

“You look like hell.  Do you want to take a shower before we go to St. Mungo’s?” Ron asked.

 

“Yeah, I suppose so.  Er…do you want to join me?” replied Harry with an impish grin.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.  Can I bugger you in the shower?”

 

“Please…”  They walked hand-in-hand down the hall to the bath, each afraid to let go of the other.

 

 * * * * *

 

“What time did they say they’re going to be here?” asked Ron for about the twentieth time that morning.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she answered, “Around lunch time.  Here, Ron, since I fed him, you get to burp him.”  She handed the baby to Ron and disappeared into the bedroom.

 

“Yeah, Eddie, Daddy will show you the right way to burp.  Your Dad was the champion at the Burrow for eight years running.”  Ron lifted the tyke up to his shoulder and gently rubbed his back until a tiny burp escaped.  “That’s my boy!”

 

Edmund Arthur Weasley was three weeks old today, and he had already proven himself to be a miracle baby just by virtue of going to full term.  Ron kissed his son on the cheek and breathed in the heady aroma of new baby.  Weasleys were meant to have children, even when all the odds were against them.  And if he wasn’t mistaken, the feathery wisps of hair had just a hint of red.

 

It was barely past noon when the doorbell rang, and Ron raced to answer it.  Harry was grinning expectantly at him holding the largest stuffed teddy bear Ron had ever seen.  Standing behind him was Harry’s partner, Pat.  Ron quickly ushered them inside.

 

“Oh, wow, I think I’m going to have to put an addition on the house to hold this bear,” said Ron with a chuckle.  He took the teddy bear from Harry and set it in the big armchair, where it fit almost perfectly.  Ron shook hands with Pat and gave Harry a warm embrace.  “It’s great to have you here.”

 

“Yeah, it’s been busy, I’ll bet,” Harry said.  “Where is my godson? I’m dying to meet him.”

 

“Just woke up from his nap.  Hermione’s gone to fetch him.” Ron caught Harry and Pat share a warm glance.  A surge of jealousy flared within him, but he squelched it as quickly as he could. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.  We’ll pass the nursery on the way.” 

 

Harry never made it to the guest bedroom, though.  Hermione squealed when she saw Harry’s head peek through the door to the nursery, and she caught him in a hug while baby Edmund cooed contentedly in his crib.  By the time Ron and Pat returned, Harry was holding his godson as if he’d been around babies his whole life.  Ron’s heart ached at the sight.  He knew it was unlikely that Harry would ever have children of his own, and he was more than willing to make his pride and joy Harry’s too.

 

The rest of the day passed by pleasantly, and Ron found himself surprisingly comfortable being around Harry and Pat.  He’d been with them before several times, but it had always been with other Quidditch players, and they’d had plenty of liquor available.  Seeing the two of them exchange comforting gestures and obvious inside jokes didn’t make Ron feel as awkward as he thought it might.  On the contrary, it gave him solace knowing that Harry and Pat obviously had something special between them.

 

Harry and Pat retired early, but as Ron was sitting quietly in the living room giving Edmund his late night bottle, Harry wandered in.

 

“Hey, what are you doing up?” asked Ron quietly.  “Did the crying wake you?”

 

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” Harry said.  “I heard you get up and thought it might be a good time to talk.”

 

Ron smiled.  “Well, Edmund will hear everything we say, but he promises not to repeat a word.  What’s going on?”

 

Harry’s eyes locked with Ron’s. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate being asked to be Edmund’s godfather.  I almost feel like I’m really a part of your family now.”

 

“Harry,” interrupted Ron, “you’ve always been a part of our family.  You couldn’t be more of a Weasley if you had bright red hair.  And anyway, who else would we choose?”

 

Ron could tell Harry was worried about something else by the way he was distractedly pulling on the pocket of his dressing gown.  “Out with it, Potter.  What’s really on your mind?” He pulled the empty bottle out of Edmund’s mouth and propped the sleeping tot over his shoulder.  Harry watched them in awe.

 

“It’s about Pat.”

 

“What about him?” Ron asked cautiously.

 

“We’ve decided to be in a committed relationship. It’s not quite the same as a marriage – you know, no ceremony or anything – but more like an open acknowledgment to our friends and family that we’re life partners.”

 

Harry stopped talking, expecting some kind of reaction out of Ron.  Ron was stunned by the news, to say the least.  Harry’s eyes were drilling into him, though, and he wasn’t sure what to say.  “I thought the two of you seemed closer than the last time I saw you together.  But, well, if you’re asking my permission, I think we pretty much covered that the night before you moved to Falmouth.”

 

“I’m not asking for permission.  I’m asking for your blessing.  I need to know you’re okay with the fact that I’ve moved on enough to take this step.”  Harry’s expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were pleading.  Despite what he said, Ron couldn’t help but think he was asking for permission.

 

Ron thought for a moment and then asked, “Are you in love with him?”

 

“Are you in love with Hermione?” Harry asked him in response.

 

“Yes, in a way, I am.  It’s totally different than how I feel about you,” answered Ron.

 

Harry smiled.  “Yes, that’s my answer too.  I love him, but not the same way I love you.”

 

Furrowing his brow, Ron asked, “Is he good to you?  Does he treat you the same way I treat you?”

 

“You mean, does he get angry and fly off the handle at me or swear at me and tell me when I’m being an idiot?  Yes.  He definitely does that,” said Harry with a grin.

 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” moaned Ron defensively.

 

Ron watched Harry’s face as he thought about his new lover.  Harry said, “He loves Quidditch and reading, and he has a wonderful sense of humor, he does his fair share of work around the flat, doesn’t snore, and he entertains me in the bedroom.  He puts up with my moodiness, and if I get in a funk, he tells me jokes until I cheer up just to make him stop.  He may not be the one I want, but he’s what I need, and when he says he loves me, I believe him.  Yeah, Ron, I guess he is a lot like you.”

 

“See, the thing is, Harry, I really like Pat.  I tried to hate him at first, but he won me over early on, and that’s really an accomplishment.  But I think the real reason I like him is because of the way he makes your eyes sparkle whenever he’s with you.  It’s a spark that I haven’t seen in you since seventh year, before the Death Eater attacks and all the bad stuff that happened during the war.  It almost gives me hope that you’re finally happy.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement.  “I am happy – at least as happy as it’s possible for me to be.  ‘Content’ is probably a better word to describe it.”

 

Tears welled up in Ron’s eyes as he realized that this was exactly what he had hoped for when he chose to stay with Hermione two years ago.

 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.  You have my blessing and anything else you think you might need from me,” Ron said softly over the lump in his throat. “Harry, a couple of years ago, you gave me your heart.  Do you want it back now?”

 

“No, thanks.  It still belongs to you.  It will always be yours, and I don’t want it to forget you.” 

 

Harry stood up to go back to bed, and Ron followed him down the hallway to the bedrooms.  Harry watched as Ron laid the sleeping baby in his crib.  “You look contented too,” he remarked.

 

“Yeah.  I guess things worked out for the best.”  Ron turned to Harry, and their lips met in the dim light of the hallway.  “Goodnight, Harry.”

 

“Goodnight, Ron, and thanks for making this so easy for me.”

 

Ron watched Harry continue down the hall to the guest bedroom.  At least it was easy for someone.

 

 

finis