Author’s note: See chapter one for ratings, warnings, disclaimer, etc.

A strong beam of sunlight forced its way through the gap between the curtains in Ron’s bedroom, and planted itself firmly in Harry’s eyes. He threw his arm to his face, trying to block it, but after a minute, he rolled over on his other side. There was a healthy buzzing of conversation from somewhere below, and he instantly recognized where he was. It had to be the Burrow. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never allow voices that loud at Privet Drive.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, ignoring the annoyingly persistent sunlight. Before his eyes even had time to focus, he directed them to a certain curled up lump on the opposite side of the room. At first, it was a completely blurry mound-a lot of colors, but no distinct shapes or lines. He fumbled around on the floor, searching for his glasses. Gradually, as his eyesight adjusted, he saw a mop of brilliant red hair poking up from beneath a pile of thin, worn blankets.

Harry grinned sleepily, enjoying the fact that he could look at Ron, however brief it was, without having to worry about being caught. With a grunt, he pushed himself off of his mattress and went over to his trunk to fish out a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He cast another longing glance at Ron, and somewhat uneasily, decided that he’d take the chance of walking over and getting a closer look. Clutching his clothes in his right hand, he tiptoed as quietly as he could across the room.

Ron was clearly still fast asleep. His eyes were shut tightly, but his mouth was slightly open, breathing softly. His bright hair was fanned out across his pillow, sticking out in all directions. The sheet was twisted around him awkwardly, with a bare foot and ankle hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Harry thought he looked adorable.

Most mornings at Hogwarts didn’t hardly allow him the time to look at Ron until they were both dressed and down in the Great Hall for breakfast. Of course, there was always the weekends, but more likely than not, he and Ron both had Quidditch practice. Angelina Johnson, who was only slightly less intense than Oliver Wood, would have them up and out on the pitch before it was fully light. Besides, sharing a room with four other guys was not the ideal situation to get caught looking at one of them in the particular way that Harry was looking at Ron.

Seizing this opportunity, Harry stood there for several minutes, grinning foolishly down at the sleeping redhead. He wondered if Ron’s hair was as smooth as it looked, splayed out on the pillow, or if his lips were as warm as Harry imagined them. Fighting the urge to reach out and swipe a tentative finger across Ron’s cheek, Harry grabbed his limply held clothes with both hands. He had enjoyed the scene long enough, and he was afraid if he tarried any longer, Ron might wake up. Sighing to himself, he turned away and walked out of the room, headed for the loo.

****

Ron shuffled around under the covers, throwing a sheet over his face to block the obnoxious sunlight. It couldn’t be daylight already, he thought. He was far too sleepy to get up just yet. After all, he hadn’t gotten into bed until well after midnight because of Harry.

Wait a minute. Harry. Harry was here with him, in this very room.

That thought was enough to make Ron throw the covers away from his face and sit up in record time. His eyes found Harry’s makeshift bed instantly, but to his disappointment, it was empty. Where had he gone? Surely, he wouldn’t have gotten up without waking Ron up also. Ron sighed in disappointment, and slumped back down against his pillow. So much for hoping that Harry’s face would be the first thing he saw when he woke up.

Ron was really beginning to scare himself with all these thoughts he was having. A year ago, he never would’ve been thinking of Harry in this way. What had happed between then and now, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he felt an unidentifiable pang when he left Harry at King’s Cross station at the end of last school year. He had hoped it would go away during the summer months, when he wasn’t seeing Harry constantly, but it hadn’t. In fact, it had only gotten worse. He moped around the house in a very foul mood, and waited excitedly for the post, hoping Harry might owl him. He had, a couple of times, but not nearly as much as Ron would’ve liked. Then, when Harry appeared at the Burrow last night, Ron’s stomach had done an undeniable flip-flop. He looked even better than Ron remembered him, and it was with great pains that he forced himself to sleep last night, knowing that Harry was in the same room with him, just a few feet away.

It was just a phase, though, wasn’t it? Harry was his best friend, and like all best friends, he’d simply missed hanging out with him. He missed Hermione, too, though not anywhere near as much. Ron was blatantly heterosexual, and he wasn’t going to let his musings tell him anything different.

Thankfully, his pro-homosexual musings were cut short when his bedroom door opened, and a certain dark haired someone entered. There went that flip-flop again. No, it couldn’t have been that. Ron was just hungry, he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.

“’Morning, Ron,” said Harry with a smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get up.”

Ron was definitely up, in more ways than one. “Yeah, well, you know, some people kept me up half the night,” he kidded.

“Sorry about that. I promise to let you get in bed extra early tonight.”

Harry wondered if he was the only one who was seeing this conversation as potentially sexual. He was sure he was. Ron was looking as unperturbed as ever, casually laying in his bed, not noticing that his pajama top had slipped down his shoulder, providing Harry with a delectable view of freckled skin.

“Anyway,” said Harry, clearing his throat, “I heard your family talking down in the kitchen, and figured that since they were all up, we ought to be, too.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Ron half-heartedly, tossing his covers away and swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll, uh, get dressed and meet you down there,” he continued hastily, not forgetting the awkward changing scene from the night before.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you down there,” echoed Harry, turning and leaving the room. As much as he would’ve liked to hang around and watch Ron dress, or more specifically, undress, walking down into a kitchen full of Weasleys wasn’t the best time to be sporting a large hard on.

****

Harry tromped down the four staircases, heading for the kitchen. About half way there, he was met by a loud chorus of voices. From what he could pick out, it was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Fred and George. He was certainly looking forward to seeing them, considering that he thought of them as his real family, instead of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

He had stepped a few feet into the kitchen before the talking stopped and everyone turned in his direction. The talking began again almost instantly, though this time it was all directed at him.

“Harry, dear!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, running over to him and enveloping him with her arms. “We’re so glad to have you here!”

“Yes, we’re very glad you could make it,” Mr. Weasley chimed in happily.

“Congratulations on the new position, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry.

Mr. Weasley blushed slightly, but still looked pleased. “Why, thank you very much.”

“Hiya, Harry,” Ginny piped up, waving at him from the far end of the kitchen table.

“There’s the cause of the racket that prevented me from getting any sleep last night,” said Fred, though there was a big smile on his face.

“Don’t mind my brother, here,” said George. “He wasn’t sleeping, anyway. I’d tell you what he was doing, but it’d make Mum blush.”

“George!” said Mrs. Weasley, throwing him a disapproving look, just as Fred hit him forcefully in the back of the head.

“Don’t yell at me, Mum. Fred was the one-”

“That’s enough, you two,” said Mr. Weasley, though he looked amused.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at them. As often as Fred and George drove him crazy with their jokes and tricks, there was no denying that you couldn’t keep a straight face around them for more than a minute.

“Sit down, dear, and I’ll fix you some breakfast,” said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry smiled appreciatively and took one of the empty chairs between Fred and Ginny.

“How’s your summer been?” he asked, turning to her.

“Pretty nice, actually. Mum bought me a new broom, so I don’t have to borrow Fred and George’s anymore, and I’ve been able to practice a ton in the garden. I’m loads better than I was last year.”

“Yeah? What kind of broom did you get?”

“Oh, just a Nimbus 2000,” she said, somewhat sheepishly. “But it’s loads better than the twins’ Comet Two Sixties.”

“Hey, I heard that,” said George. “I’ll have you know that those Comet Two Sixties have helped us knock out a fair share of teeth.”

“George, please, not at breakfast,” reprimanded Mrs. Weasley.

“He’s just telling it like it is, Mum,” said Fred.

Harry had been so busy talking with Ginny and listening to Fred and George bickering with Mrs. Weasley, that he didn’t immediately notice the chair next to him scrap against the floor as it was moved back. It wasn’t until a shoulder brushed his that he turned around.

Ron sat down next to Harry, looking hungrily at the full plate Mrs. Weasley had set in front of him.

“I’m starving,” he said, picking up his fork and loading it down with fluffy, yellow eggs.

“When are you not starving?” asked Ginny, throwing him an amused look.

Ron just shrugged, his mouth too full to speak.

Ron really did eat all the time, and Harry marveled at his metabolism. He was just as tall and skinny as he always had been, and Harry had hardly noticed any fat on him. And yes, Harry had checked more times than he cared to admit.

Harry was done eating long before Ron was, but he sat there, happy and content, watching as Mr. Weasley read over the notes Mrs. Weasley had prepared him for his luncheon speech, and catching pieces of Fred and George’s conversations about their newest inventions.

“Arthur, are you quite done? We’re going to be late,” asked Mrs. Weasley, as she came bustling into the kitchen, wearing a very attractive, and very new lilac dress. She looked nicer than Harry had ever seen her, and he couldn’t be happier for the Weasley’s recent increase in income.

“Coming, Molly, I’m coming,” said Mr. Weasley, collecting his notes hastily, and rising from his chair.

“Be good dears,” said Mrs. Weasley, turning to her children. “We’ll be back later on this afternoon.” She bent down and kissed each one of them, including Harry, hurriedly on the cheek.

****

That afternoon found Harry and Ron sitting lazily outside in the garden in the afternoon sun. They had lounged around the house for most of the day, being typical teenaged boys, and not feeling like doing anything that was in the least bit productive.

“I’m hungry,” Ron complained suddenly, breaking the friendly silence between them.

Harry chuckled. “You say it like it’s something new.”

Ron’s eyes glared at Harry, but his mouth twitched upward into a grin.

“I’m a growing boy, I can’t help it,” he said defensively.

Ron didn’t have to tell Harry that he was growing-Harry noticed it more than he would’ve liked to.

“I’m going to get something to eat,” said Ron when Harry didn’t speak. “Want anything?”

“Nah, I’m ok, thanks.”

With a groan, Ron lifted himself up off the cushioned chair, and jogged into the kitchen. Without thinking, Harry leaned forward slightly in his chair, so that he could watch his friend’s retreating form. Yes, Ron was definitely growing.

“What’re you looking at?” someone asked suddenly, causing Harry to jump and swivel around quickly.

“Oh, hey, Charlie. Nothing,” said Harry, hoping Charlie indeed hadn’t seen what he had been staring at.

Charlie sat down in Ron’s vacated chair with a slightly perplexed look on his face before he spoke again. “What’s new? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing much, just trying to get though school and save the world from Voldemort. You know, the usual stuff.”

Charlie winced at Voldemort’s name, but didn’t complain. “Have a good summer?” he asked.

“No,” said Harry darkly. “Well not until I got here.” His mood lightened at that last bit. “What about you? You’ve still got all your arms and legs, I see.”

Charlie held his arms out in admiration. “Yep, still got them. Though I couldn’t tell you for how much longer. Hey, Ron,” he said, directing his gaze over Harry’s head as Ron walked back out into the garden.

Ron reappeared over Harry’s right shoulder, balancing a large plate on the palm of his hand. Tilting dangerously on top of the plate was a sandwich at least four inches thick, though Harry was willing to bet all the galleons in his vault at Gringotts that there was absolutely no corned beef on it.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked his oldest brother.

“That’s the nice, warm welcome I was looking for,” kidded Charlie.

Ron had already managed to fit almost half the sandwich in his mouth, and Charlie knew he would be much too busy chewing to say anything else.

“Anyway,” Charlie continued, “Bill and Percy ought to be showing up soon. I figured Percy would’ve been here by now. You know how prompt he always is. Mum told us you were here, Harry, and suggested that we stop by.”

Harry blushed slightly, feeling bad that he was the reason Bill, Charlie, and Percy’s other plans were put on hold. Still though, he would be extremely glad to see them all again.

“How’s Percy?” asked Harry, somewhat hesitant about brining up a potentially sore subject.

In Harry’s opinion, and one that he was sure most of the Weasleys agreed with, Percy had been a complete arse in the past year or so. Ron had owled him over the summer, though, saying that when Mr. Weasley was named the new Minister of Magic, Percy had come around at last. Harry was still slightly skeptical, but if the rest of the Weasleys believed that Percy’s change was sincere, then Harry would believe it, too.

“He’s good, as far as I can tell,” said Charlie. “I don’t see him much, of course, but I haven’t received any tear-stained letters from Mum yet, so I reckon all’s well.”

As if on cute, Percy Apparated at the garden gate. He was dressed just as neatly and impeccable as ever, but Harry noticed a definite change in his demeanor. He didn’t have the haughty look that Harry had grown so accustomed to seeing on his face, and he didn’t swagger quite so much when he walked.

“Harry, smashing to see you,” said Percy, sounding firm, but not conceited.

Hello, Percy,” said Harry, though he eyed him warily.

“Ron,” Percy greeted, nodding his head in Ron’s direction.

Ron smiled at him, but he was still munching on his sandwich, and couldn’t speak.

Percy had no sooner dusted off the seat of an empty chair and sat down when the garden door opened again, Bill walked through.

Bill looked much the same way he had when Harry had seen him at Grimmauld Place last year. His hair was just as long as ever, despite pleas and threats from Mrs. Weasley to cut it, and he still sported a fang dangling down from one ear lobe, though Harry noted that he’d added two small, round ones next to it. Bill was definitely a sight, and a sight that Harry wouldn’t have minded looking at for long periods of time. In fact, if it weren’t for his growing infatuation with Ron, and the fact that he couldn’t possibly be attracted to other guys, Harry would almost think he had a crush on Bill.

“Is this a family reunion or something?” laughed Bill, strolling up to join the ever- growing group.

“Close enough,” said Ron with a loud gulp, finishing off the rest of his sandwich.

“Who’s up for a game of Quidditch?” asked Bill. “I brought along a couple of extra brooms, in case someone doesn’t have one.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” said Harry excitedly.

He just now realized that he hadn’t been able to fly in almost two months, and he missed it terribly. It was the only thing he was innately good at, and he wanted to get in a little practice before heading back to school. It wouldn’t do for him to fall of his broom in the middle of one of the Gryffindor practice sessions.

“Ok, great. I’ll go get the other brooms,” said Bill, as he existed the garden and entered the house.

“One, two, three, four…” Ron counted, pointing to each person. “I think there’s a problem. We’re short a few team members.”

“That’s ok,” said Charlie, waving his hand casually. “We’ll improvise. Besides, I’m sure Ginny’ll want to play. She’ll use any excuse to try out that new Nimbus 2000 of hers.”

“Wait a minute,” said Percy, suddenly looking stricken. “I’m not playing.”

“Of course you are,” said Ron. “We’re short enough as it is.”

“Oh, no,” protested Percy, his face going slightly pale. “You’re not getting me on a broom.”

“Why not?” asked Charlie. “You used to fly when you were a kid.”

“That was years ago,” said Percy, straightening his tie and trying to look important.

“Too bad. You’re playing, and that’s that,” said Charlie, rising from his chair and grabbing Percy up by the collar of his crisply ironed shirt.

As Charlie had predicted, Ginny was more than delighted to play with them. He also talked Fred and George into coming out of hiding and joining them. Percy, too, seemed to give into Charlie and Bill’s threats of sending him Howlers at the Ministry, and he reluctantly agreed to mount a broom. They had to play with just one Beater and one Chaser a piece, then of course with a Seeker and a Keeper.

Harry and Charlie were both Seekers, as they were the best of the lot and no one would let them play on the same team. Ron was the Keeper for Harry’s team, Ginny was the Chaser, and Percy, to Harry’s great dismay, was the Beater. Fred argued with George over who would get to be the Beater, and who would have to play as the Chaser. Fred won in the end, and George complained loudly as he threw his club across the yard. Lastly, Bill was the Keeper.

They had a surprisingly enjoyable game, considering the lack of players. Just as she had told Harry, Ginny had gotten a lot better, and Harry could tell at once that she’d be a great asset to the Gryffindor team this year. She scored on Bill three times in a row, before he seemed to shake off the rust and really get into the game. Even after that, though, she was able to send a few more Quaffles past him.

Charlie was just as good as Harry had always heard he was. He didn’t know how long it had been since Charlie played last, but it didn’t seem as though it had been a single day. Though he was bigger than Harry, he moved just as fast and his eyes darted around the field just as quickly.

To Harry’s great surprise, Percy never fell of his broom once. That was probably because he hardly moved, but that was beside the point. He seemed to sort of hover there in mid air, moving slightly to the left or the right, trying to keep up with which way the other players were going. His Beaters club was sticking out of the pocket of his robes, and Harry knew that wasn’t the best place for it to be if Percy ever intended on sending any Bludgers across to the opposing team. Both of Percy’s hands where clutching the broomstick tightly, however, so there was really nowhere else for him to put the club.

Harry’s team was ahead by twenty points. It was a wonder, really, since Charlie’s team was able to zoom around the field without having to worry so much about the Bludgers. Fred, ever the talented Beater, was constantly sending the perfectly aimed red balls at Ginny any time she got too near the goal, or at Harry any time Fred suspected him of spotting the Snitch. It was to Ginny’s credit as a Chaser to dart quickly around them, and still manage to score.

Ron was the other reason why Harry’s team had a slight lead. He had improved vastly from his first year as Gryffindor Keeper, and saved most of the attempted goals by George. He flew with a confidence that Harry hadn’t seen in him before. Even more so than Ginny, he would be a big asset to the team this year. The Slytherins would have to look awfully hard to find a lack in his abilities.

Harry had spotted the Snitch a few times, and so had Charlie. Every time Charlie went into a dive, Harry’s stomach lurched, and he too flew downwards, following him. It seemed that the Snitch was too quick for them, and it would dart away quickly before either of them could get too close to it. When he saw Charlie dive again, he looked in the direction in which he was heading and caught a small golden glimmer floating near the boundary they were using for their own makeshift goal posts. Ron’s attention was diverted by George, who was flying at him full force with a Quaffle under his arm.

Harry zoomed off after Charlie, hoping he would be the one to reach the Snitch first. They were each closer to it than they had been able to get all game. This encouraged Harry, and he put on an extra burst of speed and gained a small lead on Charlie. All of Harry’s attention was focused on capturing the Snitch, and he neglected to brace himself when George flew up behind him and knocked him completely off course.

“Watch out!”

It all happened so suddenly that Harry didn’t have time to halt his broom or steer it in another direction. The force of George’s hit sent both him and Harry crashing into Ron. Charlie, who was almost directly behind Harry, pulled his broom sharply to the right, barely avoiding the heavy collision of arms, legs, and broomsticks. The force of the hit jarred Harry’s grip loose, and before he could grab on again, he had a sensation of falling. After just a second, he hit hard on the ground with a splat. Almost instantly, there was another splat, followed closely by one more, and then a thudding of feet.

Luckily, they hadn’t been very far off the ground, so it was doubtful that any injuries would be serious. Harry was dazed for a second, but he looked around, trying to ignore the stars that were popping up before his eyes. Though he couldn’t see clearly, he could tell there were two lumps lying on the ground next to him, both groaning and appearing to be holding their heads.

Harry heard laughter from behind him, and he turned gingerly to see Charlie almost doubled over.

“I told you to watch out,” he coughed between tears of laughter.

Harry didn’t see what was in the least bit funny, and from the looks on George and Ron’s faces, they didn’t either. It wasn’t until he went to move his leg in order to stand up that he realized his precarious situation.

He, Ron, and George had fallen directly into a large, sticky puddle of mud. Harry was lodged down in several inches of it, the grayish brown substance oozing through the legs of his jeans.

“Ugh,” said Ron, verbalizing what Harry was feeling.

“You prat, why didn’t you watch where you were going?” George grumbled at Harry, rubbing the back of his head gingerly.

“Me?!” shouted Harry, “you were the one who ran into me!”

“Ok, guys,” chucked Bill, “no fighting now.”

Percy stood a safe distance away, looking distastefully at the jumble of dirt-covered players.

Harry scowled down at his arms, which were coated almost completely up to his elbows. Ron didn’t look any better. From the markings on him, he appeared to have fallen almost front first. You couldn’t discern his clothes for the dripping mud. His face, too, was nearly all brown, though not nearly as bad as the rest of him. George seemed to have gotten off a little better than the other two. His right arm and leg were seeped in a light brown, but with the exception of a few flecks on his face, he didn’t look so bad.

“Ugh,” said Ron again, trying to pry himself out of the murky puddle. “I’ve got to get this off.”

“Does that mean you’re quitting?” asked Ginny, giving him a gloating look. “That means we win, you know.”

“We’re not quitting,” said Harry firmly, forcing himself up to his feet with a loud squelching sound. “We’ve played in worse conditions. C’mon, Ron, let’s get started again.”

Ron looked at Harry strangely, not feeling exactly as determined. Harry threw him a meaningful look, and mounted his broom again. Ron shrugged, deciding it was best not to argue, and climbed back on his broom, too.

If Charlie caught the Snitch, or if George scored more goals, Harry wouldn’t have minded losing to them. Well, he would’ve minded, but not as much as he would have over a forfeiture. Like he had said to Ron, he had played in much worse conditions than these, and although this was just a friendly game out in the garden, there was no way he was giving up.

Before long, the sun was starting to set and shadows were beginning to form, and Harry knew he needed to find the Snitch soon or they would have to call the game off. Even thought that meant Harry’s team would win, he didn’t think it was fair for the other team. Besides, he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of having ended the game properly, or the feeling of accomplishment at having beaten the gifted Charlie Weasley.

Circling high in the air, Charlie just a few feet below him, Harry searched frantically for the golden Snitch. A few cheers went up, and he looked down quickly to see what had happened. George had apparently scored on Ron again, as Ron was taking the Quaffle and throwing it back at him angrily, a few flakes of mud flying off of his shifting arm. Ron seemed to have taken Harry’s pep talk to heart, because after that, he flew quickly and precisely, guarding his area, his eyes never leaving George.

Looking back up again, Harry saw Charlie go into yet another dive. Harry looked ahead, but couldn’t see the Snitch. He zoomed after Charlie, hoping this wasn’t a feint and hoping that he would spot the Snitch before Charlie got to it.

He spotted it at last, near the ground in almost the middle of the field. He was slightly off to the right, though, and Charlie was a good bit ahead of him. He would have to fly extra fast to be able to make up the distance in time. Charlie was now just a few feet away from it, and Harry was at least a yard behind him. Not even his Firebolt could cover the length in such a short amount of time.

Just as Charlie reached out to grab the Snitch between his fingers, he was sent tumbling headlong off this broom, landing with a heavy thump on the grass. A Bludger had hit him squarely in the back. Harry took advantage of this fortunate stroke of luck. He swooped down to the place where Charlie had just been, and clasped the fluttering gold ball between his fingers.

Harry’s feet had barely hit the ground before he turned, trying to figure out where that timely Bludger had come from. Apparently, the other players were doing so as well. Everyone was staring open-mouthed at Percy. He was barely eight feet off the ground, obviously stricken, and glancing around furiously.

“Where’d you learn to Beat like that?” asked Ginny, with an awed expression on her face.

“Well, you know, I always felt I was a natural born flyer,” said Percy, his demeanor changing abruptly from dismay to pride.

“I never knew you had it in you, Perce,” grunted Charlie, picking himself up off the ground and rubbing the area between his shoulder blades.

“Shows how well you know your brother,” said Percy, landing next to Charlie. “Well, I’d best be off. Got lots of preparation to do for my proposal on controlled Potion ingredients tomorrow. Best say good night to Mother and Father.” He threw the broom over his shoulder, and swaggered off back to the house.

“That was some hit he gave you,” said Harry sympathetically.

“Don’t let him fool you,” said Fred, walking up between them. “I saw the whole thing. He swung around in mid air, and the tail of his broom hit the Bludger. He didn’t even have his club out, the stupid git.”

“That sounds more like the brother I know,” laughed Charlie.

“Since we won,” Ron started at Harry, “is it ok if I clean myself up now?”

“Mmm, I guess so,” said Harry, “though that’s a nice new look for you.”

“You don’t look any better,” retorted Ron, playfully punching Harry in the shoulder, cracking the mold of mud that had dried there.

“Good game guys,” Bill said Bill, patting Harry and Ron on the backs, “but I guess we’d better be off, too. Nice seeing you, Harry.”

“You, too. See ya,” Harry said to Bill and Charlie before they Disapparated.

Harry and Ron trudged slowly back up to the house, greatly encumbered by the now dried muck that had attached itself like glue to their skin and clothes. Regardless of the mud nuisance, Harry felt cheerful. Not only had it been great to fly again, especially under such perfect weather conditions, but seeing Bill, Charlie, and even Percy made him feel more like a part of the Weasley family. He felt cared for, and like he belonged--something he never even came close to feeling with the Dursleys. Having Ron around only served to lighten his spirits. Ron was his best friend in the world, and according to Albus Dumbledore, the thing Harry would miss most. Dumbledore was hardly ever wrong, and Harry knew this was definitely not one of those few cases.

Harry would’ve rather spent an entire day in Divination with Professor Trelawney than admit this to Ron, but mud really was a good look for him; even more so when Harry imagined what it would be like to peel the stiff clothes off and see what was beneath them.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s shocked and amused faces met Harry and Ron when they entered the kitchen.

“Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, putting her hand to her mouth, though Harry thought it was more to hide her increasing smile than anything else.

“We had a bit of an accident,” Ron explained as he passed by on his way upstairs.

“Nothing serious, was it?” inquired Mr. Weasley, raising his eyebrows.

Harry stopped at the bottom of the staircase to explain to the both of them what had happened, and reassured Mrs. Weasley that other than wounded pride, no on was hurt.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” she said. “Now, please, upstairs with you. I don’t want mud all over my kitchen.” She winked at him and shooed him up the staircase.

She took that well, Harry thought to himself. Aunt Petunia would’ve beaten him within an inch of his life if he ever came into her kitchen in the filthy shape he was in now.

He entered Ron’s bedroom and opened his trunk, carefully pulling out a clean pair of clothes, and trying his very best not to make an even bigger mess. Holding his t-shirt and pants away from his body with only his index finger and thumb, he marched down the hallway to the bathroom.

Without thinking, which was a very stupid idea on his part when he thought back to the proceeding scene, he kicked open the bathroom door.

Ron was standing there, utterly naked except for the look of complete surprise and horror on his face. Perched around him, in a rigid pile, were his soiled and discarded clothes. Ron covered himself as quickly as he could, considering that he was still in shock.

“Oh…sorry,” muttered Harry, going a very deep red.

He fumbled for the doorknob, trying to close the door behind him on his retreat, but his eyes were wide with attentiveness. “I-I’ll use the one downstairs,” he stuttered, as his hand found the doorknob at last.

He pulled the door closed behind him, and leaned against the wall next to it, trying to catch his breath. How could he have been so stupid? He should’ve known Ron was in there, and he most definitely should’ve knocked before just barging in like that. Ron undoubtedly had seen the pleasantly surprised look on his face. He knew he had stood there gaping like a fish. He couldn’t help himself, though, really. He had never seen Ron fully naked before. Sure, they all showered in the Quidditch changing room after matches, but Harry was usually busy changing and showering himself. There were always other people in there, too. Afraid that someone, or even worse, Ron, would catch him staring, he’d always managed to keep his eyes to himself.

After he had seen exactly what Ron’s body offered, he was going to have a much more difficult time of forcing his eyes to stay on harmless things like soap and shampoo. Though tall and a little skinny, Harry thought he was gorgeous. The light dusting of freckles only made his skin look that much more attractive. Perhaps the thing Harry was most interested in was his size. He knew his eyes had gone instinctively below Ron’s waist in the first second that the door opened. Although he had only gotten a brief glance, what he had witnessed just induced his curiosity further.

****

Oh, shit, Ron thought the moment Harry had closed the door behind him. What was he thinking? He should’ve locked the door. Being raised in a house with five brothers had taught him that even in the loo, you couldn’t get privacy. It wouldn’t have mattered if one of his brothers walked in, but no, it had to be Harry, the one person who made him uncomfortable in situations like this.

He couldn’t explain why this time had been different. Harry had spent two other summers at the Burrow, and they had roomed together for five years at Hogwarts. They even showered in the same locker rooms after a Quidditch game. In all that time, Ron had never once felt embarrassed. It had only started this summer. Or to be more exact, at the end of last school year, just after the attack in the Department on Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry had looked very surprised, and extremely uneasy when he walked in. Had Ron blushed so bad that he gave himself away? Was it the way he gawped at being so exposed in front of his best friend? Was there something in his eyes that silently yelled for Harry to shut the door, but not before he stepped into the room also? Damn, Ron sighed, gazing down at his slowly growing erection. He’d have to be more careful from now on. No more poorly veiled fancying for him.

This was going to be a long summer.