Title:  Days of Awe
Author:  Lorien_Eve
Pairing:  Harry/Ron
Rating:  R
Genre:  Drama/Angst
Archive:  You’re more than welcome, just let me know!
Spoilers:  Just from OotP.
Disclaimer:  They’re all J.K. Rowling’s.  Sadly, not one of them belongs to me.  I promise, the books would have a much different rating if they did!
Feedback:  Yes, please!
Summary:  Harry and Ron are separated in a battle against an army of Death Eaters. Harry thinks Ron’s dead. Ron thinks Harry’s not coming back. They find consolation in other people and places. Lives are changed and loves are destroyed when they meet again.

Author’s notes: A huge thanks to Lena, who, only through dedication and a strong stomach, was able to beta some of the later chapters.

Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering in order that they may have existence.
-Leon Bloy



Harry moved into Percy’s room.  It was, thankfully, several floors down from Ron’s.  The whole second story was Harry’s, and while the prospect of this solitude appealed to him, he almost wished he’d never agreed to stay.  Even the tiniest thing brought back memories of when he and Ron were so happy together.

They’d had sex in almost every room of the house.  He could only imagine Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s displeasure, not to mention the other Weasley’s who owned the rooms, had they known what self-indulgent acts occurred there.  They even debauched the kitchen table one summer afternoon when no one was home.   It took almost a month before he and Ron were able to eat in the kitchen without laughing.

The sofa in the living room had been bastardized, too.  More than once.  It hadn’t taken Harry long to catch on to the fact that Mrs. Weasley would buy his school supplies in Diagon Alley herself, if he feigned being sick or too tired to go.  He and Ron made the most of these opportune times.  Harry could still feel that obstinate spring poking him in the back as Ron sucked him off.  Much like the kitchen table, it had taken awhile before they stopped giggling when anyone sat down on the sofa.

Perhaps the most debauched room was Percy’s.  The one Harry was in now.  Purely out of spite for Percy’s prim and proper nature, Ron found it his duty to expose those four walls to, as he put it, “some atrociously exhibitive fucking.”   It now occurred to Harry why Percy’s desk and chair were looking so dilapidated.

Despite the memories it held, Harry slept better in Percy’s room than he ever did in Ireland.  Sleeping in an actual bed had something to do with it, but the familiarity he felt being at the Burrow comforted him.  The bed still seemed strangely big, but at least when he woke up at night, reaching for Ron, he could focus his eyes on the familiar walls.

****

Once this new arrangement was instated, Harry went back to work.  He didn’t think sitting at the Burrow all day would do anything to improve his attitude.  He had no doubts that the Ministry of Magic would welcome him back, even after so long an absence.

All of his fellow Aurors, not to mention the rest of the Ministry employees, were shocked to see him after so long.  There was a huge welcoming when he arrived, accompanied by handshakes and pats on the back.  None of them seemed as glad to see him as Remus, and instead of a handshake, there was a thankful hug.

“Harry,” he said, “so nice to see you!”

Harry grinned at him.  “It’s nice to be back.”

He had forgotten the hostility he had for Remus all those years ago.  Remus was a familiar face, and Harry was grateful for his presence.

“You haven’t replaced me yet, have you?” he asked jokingly.

“As if we ever could,” replied Remus, smiling at him.  “I think you’ll find your desk in the same place where you left it.”

****

By going back to work, Harry hoped that it would take his mind off his personal life.  No doubt the Ministry was seriously lacking in defenses, and Harry had plenty to keep him busy.

The only drawback to his plan was Ron.  Ron arrived at the Ministry only a few minutes after Harry.  Harry watched him walk over to his desk against the far wall.  Upon their appointment as Aurors, Moody had decided that he and Ron should have desks on opposite sides of the room.  It wasn’t so much that he disapproved of their relationship, he just wanted to exercise precaution in case it interfered with their jobs.  Definitively, it never had.  Harry was always satisfied with the work he did, and he knew that the other Aurors appreciated it.  Ron was just as dedicated, and was acknowledged for his commitment.

Harry watched Ron leaning against a cubicle, talking to a witch.  He was scratching his head in confusion, and Harry smiled longingly.  All of Ron’s mannerisms were so firmly imbedded in his mind.  He knew how Ron would respond before he even reacted.

Harry directed his attention to the map before him.  Despite Ron’s efforts, the research was slipping.  There was a pile of paper in front of him that needed to be examined and studied.  He pored through each report carefully, placing a dot on the corresponding location.

As Harry attempted to mark Manchester, he heard a too-familiar voice next to him.

“We just had another report,” said Ron.  “We think it was a false alarm, but Remus went to check it out.”

Harry grabbed for the parchment, but as he did so, his fingers graced across Ron’s. He couldn’t explain why, but he held them there, hoping Ron would have the presence of mind to cut off the connection.  He didn’t.

Instead, Ron’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s, holding them to the parchment.

“I’ll…I’ll add this to the list,” Harry fumbled out.

He tugged slightly at the paper, but Ron held it firmly.  Harry used his other hand to retrieve the parchment, but once it was removed, there was nothing between his and Ron’s fingers.  Ron ran a finger down Harry’s thumb and across the palm of his hand.  Harry wanted to jerk his hand away, but discovered that the resolve to move wasn’t there.  Ron lifted their joined hands slowly, and placed a kiss on the back of Harry’s hand.  He relinquished his grip, but kept his eyes on Harry.   Harry’s eyes bore into Ron’s for a few more seconds before he forced them downwards.

“I’ve got work to do,” he said mechanically.

Ron hovered for a few more seconds before slumping off.

Harry had thought that work would take his mind off Ron, but obviously, it didn’t.

****

There wasn’t much to look forward to when he came home that night. 

He had eaten dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ron and Hermione.  He refused to acknowledge them as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley also.  That, with a variation, should’ve been his title, he thought bitterly.  He choked his food down, not actually tasting it, but swallowing it just the same.  He announced that he was finished, and solemnly went upstairs to the desolate room that he now occupied.

After living the majority of his life with other people, Percy’s room seemed uncharacteristically silent.  Harry plopped himself down on the small, wobbly bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin.   This was no different than sleeping in his room in Ireland.  It was just a bed, and he would fall asleep soon, forgetting whatever it was he had to deal with while he was conscious.

****

Harry had been dozing, just on the verge of true sleep, when he imagined he felt arms around him and kisses on his neck.  It was a dream, he reminded himself, not wanting to open his eyes and face inevitable reality.

The kisses became more evident, and as Harry groped blindly in the darkness, he felt Ron’s familiar form next to his.  He awakened reluctantly, holding on to the last vestiges of his dream.

For a moment, Harry kissed back, wanting Ron’s mouth on his, and wanting his lips touching every inch of his body.  He engulfed Ron’s tongue hungrily, his hands searching for any bare part of Ron’s skin.  He grasped keenly, pulling Ron next to him.  Ron ran his hands up the back of Harry’s shirt, pressing him close.

The intimate touch seemed to jerk Harry sharply back to reality.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded suddenly.

“I can’t sleep without you.  Please, let me stay.”

Harry wavered, but he knew better.  Ron didn’t just want to sleep here; he was expecting more than cuddling.  Lying casually next to Ron was a foreign concept, and something Harry knew he had to buffer himself against.

“Ron,” said Harry, “you can’t stay here.”

Ron didn’t seem in the least bit dejected. “I know you want me here. I’m staying.”

“No, you’re supposed to be upstairs,” Harry hissed.  “Hermione would have a fit if she knew you were down here.”

“She suspects enough already.  I’m not worried about what she thinks.”

As Ron spoke, his fingers ran up the inside of Harry’s thighs.  There was a pause before Harry felt a faint finger swiping over his arousal.  Without thinking, he thrust his hips forward, his erection seeking for the provoking finger.

“And you say you don’t want me here,” Ron said mockingly.  “I know better,” he ran his finger up Harry’s cock, “and you know better.”

“No!” said Harry obstinately, removing Ron’s hand from between his legs.  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why do you do this to me?”

“Do what?  You’re the one who came here!”

“You keep teasing me, letting me get just far enough before you pull back.”

“I am not a tease, and you know it.”

“Oh, do I?” asked Ron, sliding his hand down in Harry’s pajamas.

“Go away, Ron,” he forced.

The tone in Harry’s voice was like a warning signal.  Ron removed his hand, and got up from the bed.

“Fine.  I won’t touch you again until I’m given permission,” said Ron furiously.

He didn’t mean it though, really, because Ron knew he’d return in another night or two.

****

Harry went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of juice.  The house was unusually quiet.  Through the window above the sink, he could see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking animatedly in the garden.  She was probably having a row with him for letting the gnomes take over.  He set a glass out on the counter and retrieved a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator.  About the time he raised his glass, he felt two strong arms snake around his waist.  He was so startled that he fumbled with the glass several times before he could sit it safely down on the counter.

“Ron!” he yelled, turning around, “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” Ron muttered, as he leaned down slowly, attempting to kiss Harry.

“We’ve been through this before,” said Harry sternly, though he didn’t move away.

Ron seemed to ignore him, and gently rested his cheek against Harry’s.  Ron’s face was smooth and considerably flushed, Harry could tell.  He smelled the faint scent of lingering shampoo in his hair.  He wanted to ruffle the ends of it, and feel it between his fingers.  Almost of their own accord, Harry felt his arms rising, and shaking slightly, he closed them around the back of Ron’s neck.

Ron gave a low hum of approval, and dipped his head down farther, caressing Harry’s neck with his lips.  His hands were on either side of Harry’s waist, brushing across the fabric of his shirt.

“Please don’t,” Harry choked out, as he felt his knees start to buckle.

He had become increasingly powerless over the last few days, and right now, Ron wasn’t making it any easier for him.

Ron started working his way upward.  First his neck, then his jaw, and at last to his chin.

Don’t give in, don’t give in, Harry repeated over and over in his head.  His lips were parted slightly in an effort to catch his breath.

Ron paused for a minute and looked directly down at Harry.  Harry watched his face come closer and become blurry.  He could feel the warm breath tingling upon his lips and knew Ron’s were only a breath away.  Harry wanted to resist, but he had no will left to fight with.  He knew the second that Ron’s mouth touched his, the fight was over.  He’d give in. 

There was the faintest contact, imperceptible except for the heat emitting from it.  Harry felt a groan in his throat that turned into weak shivers as it traveled down to his knees. He started to part his lips to allow better access. Then, suddenly—

“Ron, have you seen…Oh!”

Ron jumped back as though he had been burned. 

It was Hermione, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean startle you,” she began, but Harry noticed her bottom lip quivering, and she quickly dashed off back up the stairs.

Ron looked after her for a minute, his hands clenching into fists. “Damn!”

He snatched Harry’s glass off the counter and sent it sailing through the air, smashing it against the wall. The glass shattered into thousands of glittering pieces, staining the wall with sticky, orange streams that ran down into the floor, forming a puddle. He stormed out of the room.