you know that i love you (and i have a feeling that you love me back)

by Starlight5

Summary:

Ron doesn't mean to watch Harry so much. He's supposed to be focusing on Auror training, proving everyone he more than just Harry potter's best mate. But he can't help but notice the way his eyes glimmer emerald, the teasing smirks, the stolen glances, the way he draws everyone's attention so naturally. So beautifully. It's maddening, and Ron can't look away.

(chat, there are not enough Rarry fics in the market, so I've taken it upon myself to fix it. Its honestly so sad, codependent Rarry my beloved <3)

Notes:

HELLO, MY LOVES!!!! I'm a huge Friends to Lovers truther, as you can probably guess (my last fic was literally James x Sirius — I need to complete it, sigh). Anyway, I was scrolling through the Harry x Ron tag the previous night and was utterly gutted to see that there are barely any. To all the Rarry fans, it must've been heartbreaking, but alas, I'm here now, and I'll try to be consistent in this at least. Hopefully, idk. *cough cough*

I'll stop yapping, hope u like the first chapter>>>

Chapter 1

Ron doesn't mean to watch Harry so much. He tells himself that he's just used to it, that it's become an instinct. Harry is his best mate after all. Harry laughs at something one of the trainees says—it's a short laugh—light and beautiful. Ron feels a jolt in his chest; it's sharp and impossible to ignore. He's been feeling this way a lot since the end of the war, a morbid feeling of jealousy creeping over him. He clocked it as his jealousy of how carefree Harry seems to be. How everyone just seems to be drawn towards him. He knew how fucked up that is, its Harry for Merlin's sake. But still, every slight movement, every tilt of Harry's head, every tinkling laugh, settles somewhere deep inside him—somewhere he didn't know existed. It burrows into him, marking him in a way he doesn't quite understand. He is supposed to be focused on training, on getting better, on proving to everyone he's not just Harry fucking Potter's best friend--that he's more than that. But all he can do in this moment is stare--stare with his heart in his throat. His hands curl into fists at his sides; he can't stop staring.

Harry's feet shift, reaching for his wand, and Ron's eyes follow every movement. Another trainee joins Harry's conversation, which is quite literally with everyone. A small crowd has gathered around him; Harry looks comfortable, as if he were made for this-- made to be in the spotlight. Ron supposes that it is true, after everything, he is Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. He's not just anyone. Harry says something to the group, and they all burst out laughing. Harry smiles in response, as if he's happy with their reaction. Like he's on stage and everyone else is here for him. Ron feels that familiar twist in his chest again. He tells himself it's nothing. But it isn't anything. It's Harry, it's always Harry.

Ron's fingers dig into his wand, the tips of his fingers itching to reach out, to stop anyone else from drawing Harry's attention.

"That must be so tiring," a soft voice says beside Ron. A petite young woman with long, dark hair intricately braided leans against the wall next to him. She's staring at Harry, too, but with a contemplative expression. Ron turns to look at her; she's the only person apart from himself who's not trying to grab Harry's attention. He tilts his head in consideration; he supposes now is a good time to make friends. It is orientation, after all.

"What do you mean?" he asks curiously. She doesn't turn to look at him but gestures vaguely at the blooming crowd around Harry. She answers lazily, "Imagine constantly being plagued by these cretins for attention. I imagine the man has known no peace since he was brought into the world. The boy who lived never had the chance to live truly. The irony is there, eh?" Ron looks at the woman again, eyes widening in surprise. She is right, of course. Harry has not known peace since... well, never, actually. Even his childhood was an utter nightmare. Speaking of which, Ron has been trying to convince Harry to take him the next time Harry goes back to that god forsaken house. He'll teach them a lesson; he's been dreaming about it since he learned how they treated Harry. Rage fills Ron at the mere thought of little Harry cowering in a cupboard. a fucking cupboard. Are they even human? Scum of the earth.

Harry's chuckle brings Ron back to reality from the simmering anger he has just felt. Then Ron realises that he was having a conversation, but the moment has already passed, so he nods in agreement.

Oh, and" nice to meet you, I'm --" Ron gets cut off before he can fully introduce himself, "Ron Weasley, yes, I know. I'm Clarice" Clarice says while turning her head to look at him for the first time. She has sparkling, dark brown eyes, and around them is a brilliant shade of blue colour with little stars in the corners as a part of the design. She is a stunning woman, and not only that, but also intelligent and observant. These are essential traits, and Ron suspects she'll be a great ally in this place.

"Oh, I'm famous then?" Ron says with a knowing grimace, but Clarice giggles and shrugs. Ron smiles in response before turning to look at Harry again, as if he can't help himself.

Harry glances up at that exact moment; he's in the middle of a conversation, but he catches Ron staring. For a heartbeat, their eyes lock, and Harry raises an eyebrow and smirks—just a little, its teasing almost, like he knows exactly what's going through Ron's mind. Ron's stomach twists, and he quickly looks away. He doesn't know what that was, nor does he want to. This is nothing. It is just the nerves.

But his heart won't slow down, and he can feel it—he can feel Harry's gaze on him, which is setting fire to his insides. When he feels the gaze slip away from him, a thought worms its way into his head—it's startling and leaves him breathless: I want his eyes to always be on me—no one else.

All his thoughts seem to have been written on his face, because Clarice asks him if he's alright. He tries to school his expression and tame his wildly beating heart before he nods. Ron has no idea what is happening to him; it's something sharp, confusing, and all-consuming, and he doesn't know if he should fight it.

Ron takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself. But it's useless. His eyes keep snapping towards Harry, who's still in the middle of... well, everything.

Clarice notices him staring again, she raises her eyebrow faintly, but doesn't comment this time. Ron appreciated that--she understands when to step back. His attention is attracted to Harry just in time to see him shifting slightly closer to one of the other trainees, he is gesturing around animatedly. The tiny pang of jealousy amplifies. Why does this hell bother me so much? he thinks. It's just a conversation. He's had many of those. Why would he be jealous of that? It doesn't make any bloody sense.

Harry smirks at something the traniee says, and it's unbearable. That fucking smirk, that fucking look. It sets something alight in him. He swallows hard and looks away for the millionth time. I'm going bloody insane, Ron tells himself. That's the only plausible explanation for whatever is happening; he shifts his weight unconsciously, edging closer towards Harry. He knows he should leave Harry be; he is obviously in his element, but the pull is too strong. So Ron does what he always does and moves closer, that is, after bidding goodbye to his new ally (friend?), his mother taught him well.

Harry notices Ron coming up behind him; this time, he doesn't look away. He says something to the people he was talking to, probably his goodbyes, and then walks up to him with a slight smile. It's his smile--Ron's smile. This is a smile that Harry exclusively uses for Ron. It's different from the one he uses when keeping up with his appearances; this smile is much softer, more genuine, and oh so Harry. His Harry. No one else's. That calms Ron a little, but the fact that no one has seen him the way he has. No one knows Harry the way he knows him. And no one will ever. Period.

Ron smiles back, relief pouring through his crevices. It's been only a few days since he last saw Harry, but sometimes it feels like decades. "You've been much too quiet today. Harry says lightly, but there's a teasing quality to his tone. "Too quiet. Something on your mind?"

Ron coughs in surprise; he didn't think Harry would have noticed. But then again, Harry has a penchant for surprising him. And sue him, if he doesn't love it, knowing that Harry has been observing Ron, too. His cheeks heat up at the thought.

"Just...trying to focus," he mutters, his hand twitching. Harry moves closer, just enough for Ron to see the light reflecting off Harry's emerald eyes. He's beautiful, Ron thinks distractedly. His eyes widen at that thought. No, no, no...everyone would notice the same. Surely. Yes. He calms himself down.

"Mhm," Harry hums at his horrible excuse, "You're staring a lot at me, you know."His voice is soft, teasing, and Ron forgets how to fucking breathe. He repeats internally, *in, out, out, in, out,* but it's useless.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Continuing from the last chapter because I was too lazy to finish that chapter.

Notes:

helllooooo wonderful people!!! honestly, I wanted to make Ron a bit deranged, but I'm not sure if that characterisation is too far fetched *sigh* Anywho, I'm literally making this story up as I write, so I have no clue how long it will be or even how the next chapter is going to be like. I know, I know *rolls eyes* I should done a beat sheet, but I love living life on the edge so *shrugs shoulders nonchalantly.*

Hope you like this chapter!! tbh its more like chapter 1.5 but eh we make do. I'd love to know any thoughts xx

Ron's brain short-circuits. His mouth goes dry. He opens it—closes it again—because what in Merlin's name is he supposed to say to that? That he was not staring? Or that he is, and it's only because Harry seems to be some kind bloody beacon.

"I—" he stammers, he can feel the heat climbing up his neck., "I wasn't."

Harry tilts his head at Ron, like he is genuinely considering Ron's answer, but his glittering eyes tell another story. He knows how much Ron is lying. "Sure you weren't," he murmurs in response, voice light, but something is thrumming underneath it, something that jabs Ron in his chest.

Ron's fist curls tighter around his wand. He wants to roll his eyes, laugh it off, say something, anything. However, his brain is not functioning as it should.

The moment hangs taut, then it breaks. Someone calls Harry's name, so he turns with an easy smile—not his smile. This is his showman smile—yet Ron's heart still stutters. He waves off Ron like everything is normal, like Ron isn't still standing there with his heart trying to hammer its way out of his ribs.

Ron drags in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. in, out, in, out. But his pulse refuses to slow down. Harry is already dragged into another conversation, smiling easily and brightly, and stunningly, like that moment was truly all in Ron's head. Maybe it was. Yeah, he was overreacting.

A gentle, yet familiar voice slides next to him again.
"You really are terrible at hiding things, you know."

Ron startles. It's Clarice. Again. Her arms are folded across her chest, her gaze calculating but not unkind.

"What?" he blurts out, far too defensive for nothing.
She smirks at him and raises a sharp eyebrow. "You look like you've been hexed, mate, or…" Her eyes flick towards Harry, then back to Ron. "Well, I think you should figure it out yourself."

Ron can feel his ears go bright red. "Don't be ridiculous. He is my best mate."

"Mmm" Clarice hums, but she's clearly unconvinced, "I didn't say anything, darling," she drawls, and then she continues," However, if I were you, I'd work a bit more on my poker face. Everyone is too busy fawning over him to notice, but i—" she taps her temple to empisize her point "—pay attention."

Ron looks around, uncomfortable—and scared that someone else overheard. He wants to argue, to tell her she's imagining things, and trying to start something, but the words are stuck in his throat. All he can manage is a weak, "Drop it. Please."

Clarice gives him a sympathetic smile and nods in response. She's not pushing it—at least for now. He feels grateful for that, but somehow the silence is worse than her teasing. It leaves Ron time to think more deeply, and it leaves him with this growing, awful thought that maybe, whatever it is that is happening to him, he isn't hiding it as well as he thought.

The sound of someone clearing his throat grabs Ron's attention; it's Kingsley. The chatter starts to dissolve into silence. Ron is happy for the distraction, for something to get his mind to fucking shut up.

"Welcome," Kingsley begins, his voice deep and powerful, rolling over them in waves. "All of you, stand here not because of luck, but because every one of you deserves to. You chose a future where the world relies on you to keep it safe. And that is a huge weight to bear."

He lets his words take the intended effect before continuing, "The war is over, but peace is a finicky thing. It must be guarded, protected, day by day, night by night, moment by moment. This task is not as glamorous as you might think; in fact, it's quite the opposite. It takes hard work, discipline, vigilance, and—" his eyes focus on Harry before he finishes the sentence, --a lot of sacrifices."

Ron turns his gaze to Harry. To an untrained eye, he would look perfectly composed, but Ron can see the colour of his knuckles changing. He wants to hold it and pray the tight grip open.

"You all are not here to be heroes," King's voice has gone quieter now, forcing them to lean in, "You are here to be Aurors. That means knowing when to fight, to listen, to lead, and when to walk away. It means that we never, and I mean never, forgot who we serve: the people who cannot fight for themselves, "

He pauses and looks away from Harry. Harry seems frozen in place. Ron wants to run over now, but he knows he can't; he can't draw attention to Harry.

"If you remember all of this, then you will do well. If not, you will not last. Report here tomorrow for your first day." Kingsley nods with the last line.

Applause breaks out, scattered at first, but then it swells into a roar. Ron has got to admit it, the man knows how to command the room.

Ron claps along with the rest of the trainees until Kingsley leaves the room. Harry exhales, his shoulders stiff, like there's invisible chains on him. Ron's eyes follow him desperately; he wanted to reach out and make it better. To pull the chains off Harry, to make it all better, but he stops himself. Act normal. Don't stare. Be normal.

But soon the crowd too started to disperse, and Ron edges closer to Harry. Clarice seemed to have disappeared amidst everything. He hopes he will see her soon. Harry is still ahead of him, tension slowly seeping out of his posture.

Ron comes up from behind and bends to Harry's ear, "Hey…you alright?" Ron whispers, so no one else can catch it.

Harry shivers, and the tiny hairs at the base of his neck rise. It's cute, Ron thinks. His head snaps, surprised, before he gives Ron a faint smile. "Yeah," he says, his shoulders easing up a bit. "Just thinking…I guess."

Ron nods like he completely understands. He wants to say more, he wants to reach out and steady Harry, but he holds back. Hopefully, his presence is comforting enough.

Everyone around them seemed to have faded out. For Ron, it was almost like they were in their own private bubble together, an invisible world where it was just the two of them. He watches as Harry takes a deep breath and exhales.

I can't let anyone hurt him again. Not ever. Not like this

And just like that, the first day of orientation ended, but something changed, and Ron knew nothing would be the same again.

Notes:

AAAAA MY LOVELY BABY BOY RON!!!! Idk why there are so many bashing fics for him, but I petition that it needs to be stopped!!!! Ron Weasley supremacy!!!! He is so baby girl guys *sigh*

Ron:" we're literally just friends."
harry: *smirks*
Ron: *literally dies*

Anywho, have a great day y'all and touch some grass xx

Yours truly

Chapter 3

Summary:

It's the second day of training.

Notes:

Hello, my excellent, lovely, and gorgeous readers!

I hope you guys had a splendid day, as I did not. But writing this did help me. I'm thinking of making this fic more fluffy than angsty because, well, who doesn't love happiness? and because, as a Marauders fan first, we seem to be allergic to it. I hope to contribute at least some smiles. That would make my day.

The first week of training hit Ron like a bludger to his face. He thought he was prepared—that he was ready—he was ready, wasn't he? But it was only the second day, and his muscles screamed, his wand arm was sore, and the instructors barked at him like he'd never cast a spell in his whole life. It wasn't killing him to say the least.

Harry, of fucking course, looked bloody brilliant. No, not perfect, as Ron could see the shadows developing under his eyes and how his exhaustion slowed him down; yet, he adapted and adjusted—almost effortlessly. But Ron knew that Harry stayed up late practising spells. He had been to Harry's place to help him drop off some stuff the previous day, and there were tons of books piled on his table. It has been evident that Harry was taking this seriously.

And everyone noticed. Everyone always noticed Harry.

Ron told himself it didn't matter. He said to himself that the stabbing feeling in his gut, anytime Harry was praised, was nothing more than his insecurities and his need to be seen for once. It was quite pathetic, he agrees. His mantra had become :I'm just jealous. That's all this is. Jealousy.

But then Harry laughed with someone during one of the drills—a rough laugh that crept under Ron's skin and stayed there. Ron nearly misfired his spell onto his poor partner. Shit. Shit. Shit.

...

After practice, Clarice found him; she flopped carelessly onto the bench beside him. "You've got that look again, "she said casually, like she had known him her whole life.

"What look?' Ron grumbled, running a face through his sweaty hair.

"The one where you pretend nothing is happening when really…" she trails off, her eyes flicking to Harry again in the courtyard. Harry is talking to another trainee—Daphne Greengrass, by the looks of it. His wand is tucked behind his ear, the sun hitting his hair perfectly.

Ron scowls, "It's nothing."

Clarice hums and leans back, reaching for her water bottle. "If you say so, darling boy."

Ron clenches his fist, It's not like that. It can't be like that.

Still in his thoughts, Ron gets brought back to the present when a distinct voice cuts through the training yard.

"Oi, Ron! Are you coming, or are you planning on staring at nowhere all day?"

Harry's grinning at him, his hair a complete mess from the sparring. His shirt sticks to him, moulding onto his lithe figure; the collar is tugged half off his shoulder, as if he didn't care.

Ron's mouth went dry. He tried to swallow, but the words remained stuck in his mouth: "Er—yeah. I was thinking…"

Harry came up in front of him, "Oh, don't strain yourself. Dangerous habit, that. Anything on your mind?"

Ron scrambled to find something to say, anything, anything that wasn't you. But before he could stutter something incoherent, a voice cleared her throat next to him.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Ron?" Clarice said pointedly. Ron had forgotten that she was sitting beside him, but he was grateful.

"Er---yes. Harry, this is Clarice, Clarice, this is---" and again, before Ron could finish his sentence, Clarice interrupted. "Harry Potter, it's wonderful to meet the legend himself." If anyone else had said that sentence, Ron would've rolled his eyes, but Clarice's tone was more observant than anything. Definitely, not fawning. She said it more like a fact, and Harry seemed to have noticed that too.

"Oh, this pretty lady knows who I am? I can bloody well die happy now, can't I?" Harry replied with a charming smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "From all the stories I've heard, I'm pretty sure you don't have any darn idea how to die," Clarice said back dryly but with a smile.

Ron couldn't help but smile at her answer. He knew he liked her for a reason. Harry, seemingly having the same thought, turned to Ron with a smirk, "I like her." Before Ron could nod in agreement, ignoring the weird feeling in his chest, Clarice interrupted again. She seems to do a lot of that.

"Hello, boys, I'm right here. And also get in line," she rolled her eyes. Harry turned to look at her and started laughing, but Ron couldn't help but join in. Harry's laugh always got to him in a way nothing else can. It always started low and then broke into something barely contained. Something powerful. It made Ron's skin prickle. It was the kind of laugh that felt oddly private even when it was not.

Ron forced himself to keep grinning, to make it look like his thoughts were not overpowering him. But his chest started to ache, and his heart was beating too hard against his ribs, and Ron wanted everything to just fucking stop.

Stop. Stop. Stop. and, at that moment, Harry looked at Ron, and, like he could sense that something was wrong, his grin faltered. He looked concerned.

Clarice stood, dusting off her trousers. "Well, I'll leave both of you to your riveting staring contest, that I want no part in. Don't stay out here too long, boys; otherwise, you'll miss supper." She winked at Ron, like they were sharing a secret, before wandering off.

Harry plopped down beside Ron with a sigh, his hand reaching to remove his glasses and clean them with the edge of his shirt.

Harry glanced sideways at him, his vibrant emeralds catching the fading light. Even dulled by his exhaustion, they still had that same sharpness in them that he had grown up with--the kind that absoluteness that destroyed all of Ron's shields.

"You've been off these last few days," Harry said as he slipped his glasses back on. He said this as a statement. "What's been going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

Ron barked out a laugh that came out harsher than he intended. "Trust me, mate. You don't want to know."

Harry tilted his head in consideration and raised an eyebrow, 'I wouldn't have asked if I didn't. Come on then, you and me? We're it, Ron, you know that."

Ron couldn't help but give Harry a slight smile. And for a second there, with Harry's beautiful eyes looking through his soul, Ron considered it. Considered spitting everything all out, the ache in his chest, the way Harry's smiles lodge themselves under his skin like it's electric, how Harry is always on his bloody mind.

But as always, the words evaded him, and instead, he forced himself to shrug and say, "Just tired, is all. You are, too, Harry. Don't think I have noticed your late nights."

Harry studied Ron momentarily; the silence almost stopped Ron's heart. Then he leaned back, his shoulders brushing against Ron's. He gave Ron a self-deprecating smile and said," Well, you always notice everything. I can't hide anything from you, huh, Ron?"

Ron, feeling more in control, teasingly said, "We're basically married, babe. You know you can't."

Harry froze for a second at his words, his shoulders digging into Ron's. Then, like Ron imagined that moment, he smirked and replied, "You're my wife now, aren't you? You must be honoured, many people are vying for that position."

Still with his shoulders pressing against Ron's, deliberating or not, Harry continues before Ron can further embarrass himself, " So you admit it then? You're mine now. Better tell Hermione before she starts planning the wedding without us."

Ron snorts. Hermine is the one who started this joke. She joked about how they both had basically everything, but a marriage certificate. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, you're not funny. Neither is Hermione."

But Ron doesn't move away; if anything, he leans closer-- consciously knowing or not.

Harry turns towards him, studying him like he's peeling back all of Ron's layers. "I'm not joking. You'd make a brilliant spouse. You cook, nag, and even glare at people who get too close to me. You're perfect. "

Ron's mouth drops open and he splutters, "I do not glare--"

"You glared so viciously at Daphne earlier." Harry grins smugly, "You thought I didn't notice? It was so obvious."

Ron's ears start ringing. "I wasn't glaring it her I was just---just--."

"Protecting what's yours?" Harry supplies charmingly, his eyes sparkling with something Ron can't quite place.

Ron starts choking on air. "You. You—you are insufferable."

Harry laughs, that low, rich laugh that curls heat under Ron's chest. His head tips back, and his throat is exposed. Ron stares for too long. Harry notices. Of course he does. He always notices stupid shit like this.

"Oi," Harry says, this time softer; he nudges Ron's knee with his own. "Don't go all quiet on me. I like it when you fight back."

Ron rolls his eyes, "You like anything that winds me up."

Harry's smile widens more. It's cute, "Exactly. And it's bloody adorable by the way."

Ron can feel his pulse thudding, hard and fast. He wants to shove Harry off the bench, wants to laugh and tease him back, wants to drag him closer, wants everything all at once. He wants.

Wants.
Wants.
Wants.

But instead, he just mutters, "Git."

Harry leans closer, his voice dropping, almost conspiratorial. "Your git, remember?"

Ron's mind blanks. Absolutely blanks. He almost combusts on the spot. His face is probably red enough to rival a howler to your face, but before he can find something to say--

A deep voice cuts through the tension.

"Glad to see the two of you have time for courting between training. One would think you'd be tired out by now. But alas."

Ron and Harry jolt like schoolboys caught doing something they shouldn't be. Ron jumps so violently that he almost topples off the bench. Harry starts laughing hard, that damned fucking laugh. That arsehole.

"Kingsley--sir." Ron croaks, straightening up so fast his back cracked. His face was flaming hot now. "We were just--er--we weren't--"

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood a few feet in front of them, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. His presence almost swallowed the space.

Harry, of course, didn't seem to know the meaning of shame. "You caught us, "he said pretty damn cheerfully, like he hadn't just declared Ron to be his wife a few seconds ago.

Ron elbowed Harry so hard that he let out a squeak of pain. "Shut the fuck up, Potter, " he hissed so forcefully, glaring.

Kingsley's eyebrows arched, and for one heart-stopping second, he thought he might have to kneel over in sheer mortification. Then Kingsley let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled. "Relax, Weasley. I've been in this business long enough to recognise loyalty and love when I see it."

Ron blinked, confused but relieved, "Loyalty, sir?"

Kingsley's expression became warmer, but no less stern. "Yes. The two of you may laugh, may drive each other mental, but I've seen it already. You both were made for each other. You move like you've both been in this field together for years already. That kind of bond? That trust that you both have, that unshakable certainty? It's rare. Don't take it for granted."

Harry went quiet, his bright grin fading into something more thoughtful. Ron felt his throat start to tighten.

"This training will break you down before it builds you back up. Stronger than ever before, " Kingsley continued, his eyes flicking to look at both ot them in the eyes. "If you want to be Aurors, you'll need a lot of trust. Especially trust. Don't let anything come between you two.

Silence fell after his resounding words. Ron's pulse hammered away in his ears.

Harry nodded — seemingly composed. His voice steady and determined, "Yes, sir. understood." But Ron noticed the way Harry's hand started scrunching up into a fist.

Ron blurted out after that, "Of course, sir," though his voice cracked, unlike Harry's.

Kingsley studied them both for a heavy moment, and Ron had this awful feeling that he saw through more than he ever wanted anyone to. Finally, Kingsley nodded. "Good job, boys. You did well today. Supper is waiting, don't keep the others."

As he strode away, Harry leaned close, voice wicked against Ron's ear. "See? Even Kingsley thinks we'd be a fantastic couple."

Ron shoved him so hard that Harry toppled over the bench and started hollering. Their laughter rang through the courtyard, echoing against the stone walls. And for a fleeting moment, Ron forgot about the ache in his chest, forgot about the gnawing jealousy, forgot about everything apart from the way Harry's voice tangled beautifully with his.

Notes:

ISN'T RON SUCH A CLUELESS CUTIE??? Like babyboy?? Harry is blatantly flirting with you?? Also, this fic has no bashing... apart from Dumbledore, because I genuinely hate that man with a passion. But let's see. I'm not sure, yet though.

Also, if you notice any mistakes— whether it's spelling, inconsistencies, or ideas— please let me know. I don't have a beta reader if that's not obvious enough.

Anywho, thank youuu, my beautiful dolls, for reading this!

Chapter 4

Notes:

Hello, my darlings. Hope you all love this chapter! I don't have much to say, so i'll let you read!

Their laughter tinkled through the late August air until Ron's stomach hurt from how hard he was laughing at Harry, who was sprawled dramatically on the ground. This is the boy who lived. Ron can't believe that. That this boy who is full of light, and warmth, and everything good in the world, is that Harry Potter.

Harry clutched his ribs like Ron's dying laughter had mortally wounded him, but his eyes were soft, sticky, and looked like spun sugar. Ron wants to fucking tackle Harry and never let him go.

But he stops himself, as he always does. When he finally sits back, wiping the tears from his eyes, Harry hauls himself up and flops beside Ron like nothing happened. Their shoulders touch each other again, this time warm, steady, and real.

For a moment there, with the cool breeze gently drifting over them, the sky turning a beautiful shade of purple, and Harry sitting next to Ron like he was made to be by his side, it felt like nothing else existed—just the two of them, as it had always been, as it always might be—no, will be. Ron will make sure of that.

If there is one thing that Ron Weasley is sure of, it is that he can't live without Harry James Potter—as far as he's concerned, he wasn't even alive until Ron saw Harry that day on platform 9 ¼; that day is burnt in his memory. The first time he saw Harry, was the first time he felt alive. But that's a story for another time.

Harry tilted his head, his smile curling into something sharper. "Careful, Ron. People might think we're actually together." His smile turns more tender as he continues, "Not that I'd mind." He finishes with a shrug that pushes his shoulders closer to Ron's.

Ron felt his breath catch, his chest tightening painfully. He wanted to pretend it didn't mean anything, but Harry's eyes lingered on him just a second too long---teasing and oh so beautiful, and carrying something else that Ron couldn't quite place. Not yet.

And Merlin help him; Ron wanted it. He wanted anything and everything that Harry could offer him.

He swallowed hard, forcing a laugh that sounded wrong even to him. "As is anyone would truly believe that, mate. Don't go making trouble now."

Harry's grin widened—if that's even possible, it was infuriatingly tender and knowing. "Oh, I dunno. You play your part pretty well, wife.

Ron opened his mouth, ready to pulverise this prat, but before he could, the dinner bell rang. The sound burst the bubble that surrounded them both. Bringing them back to reality.

Harry stood, brushing himself off, and offered a gentlemanly hand to Ron with a cheeky bow. "Shall we get going, my love?"

Ron stared at the hand, then looked up at Harry, his chest still tightening. His first instinct was to slap his hand away, to roll his eyes, and to call Harry the bloody git he is. But something in Harry's grin sparked something in Ron. His grin was already expectant, like he had already thought that he'd won.

That bloody prat. Okay, I'll play your game.

And Ron Weasley was not about to lose.

So instead of brushing him off, Ron slipped his hand into Harry's, deliberately slow, and gave Harry his best impression of a fawning wife. "Why, thank you, my dearest husband. You always know how to sweep me off my feet."

And at that second, Harry fucking Potter, just froze. For one glorious moment, Ron thought he might've actually broken him.

Harry's ears went this heartstopping shade of pretty pink, and his grin faltered into something sweeter—something Ron was still trying to name. But just as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and Harry's confident smile snapped back into place.

"Careful, Weasley," Harry says, his voice gruff. "Keep that up, and I might start believing you."

Ron laughed harshly and yanked his hand away like it burned him. "In your bloody dreams, Potter."

"Every fucking night," Harry muttered beneath his breath, but Ron didn't quite catch it.

He never did.

.....

The dining hall buzzed with the usual chaos of the trainees chattering away, sweaty and starved. Ron spotted an empty spot at one of the long tables and made a beeline. Harry tailed behind.

Except…not close enough.

He got intercepted.

With her perfectly sleek blonde hair, Daphne Greengrass slid into the sea beside Harry with a smile that was far too sweet to mean any good.

Ron rolled his eyes. It was the second day in, and Harry already had an admirer, not that he expected any less from him. It's just... ugh, Ron didn't know.

'Well, Potter," she drawled, resting her chin daintily on her hand. "You were impressive today. Not that I expected different from the Boy Who Lived."

Ron nearly choked on his water. "Oh, come off it, Greengrass, he just dodged a few hexes---"

Harry raised an eyebrow, amusement evident on his face. "Dodged them better than you, Wealsley."

Ron scowled, stabbing his fork violently into his roast potatoes. "You've got the reflexes of a yeti, is all. No skill." He shovelled the bite into his mouth and spoke around it. "Besides, I had you cornered in the second round. You must admit that."

Harry tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Cornered? You mean when you tripped over your own foot? And you say I'm the clumsy one."

Dean, who had just sat down, laughed so loud the people on the other tables turned to glare at him, "Oi, Ron, tell me you didn't!"

Ron's glare intensified, "I didn't. He is making me look worse than it actually was." Heat was already travelling up his neck, though.

"Sounds pretty accurate to me, I was there, remember?" Harry said, leaning back with his infuriating ease.

Before Ron could snap back, Daphne, with her perfect posture and perfectly bored expression, set her goblet down with a light clink.

"You both were decent." She said as her cool gaze drifted to Harry's. "But Potter, you were… quite spectacular, if I say so myself. Quick thinking."

Harry's smirk softened, but before he could answer, Ron cut in, "Spectacular? Hah. He barely made it out alive. What are you on about?" Even as Ron said that he knew he was wrong, Harry was spectacular—no, he is spectacular.

Daphne arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Weasley."

Ron's jaw clenched. "I'm not---"

"Merlin's fucking bread," Dean said, looking particularly invested in their squabble, his grin wide."If this isn't domestic, I don't know what is."

The words landed like a rock thrown into an endless abyss of water. It rippled. Ron's ears matched his hair. Harry, maddeningly, didn't miss a beat.

"Finally," Harry said, smooth as butter. "Someone noticed."

Ron choked on his water again. "We're not—no, we don't—" he splutted, words evading him, making Dean cackle harder.

"Practically married." Clarice sang as she literally spawned out of nowhere. Her grin was positively wicked. "Darlings, don't tease him. He's clueless."

Two seats down, Susan Bones gave them an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. She was cutting her chicken, neatly, not even looking up. "Can we all please maintain at least some level of professionalism? Or is that too hard for you menaces?"

But there was a twitch at her mouth, like she was fighting a smile.

Harry leaned closer to Ron, his elbow on the table, his voice pitched low enough so the others won't hear. "Jealous now are we, Weasley?"

Ron, who was shovelling food down his throat, froze. He turned slowly, glaring at Harry. "Don't be daft, Potter. Now why would I be…" he grimaced before finishing the sentence, like it physically pained him to, "…jealous?"

He stabbed the peas as if they personally offended him.

Daphne, who heard Ron's answer, smiled. Her eyes curved sharper, almost feline. "Touchy, are we?"

Ron snapped at her, positively irritated now, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Only that Potter doesn't seem to mind the attention," she said, her eyes lingering on Harry for far longer than Ron would ever allow. "But… you, on the other hand…clearly do."

Ron's grip tightened on his firk. He opened his mouth---

--but Dean cut in, grinning like it was Christmas morning. "This is better than those Muggle television shows. Keep going, mate, I'm invested."

"Dean," Susan said warningly.

'What! I'm just saying!"

Clarice leaned forward, chin in her hands, her eyes shining. "Oh, let them bicker. It's sweet. Romantic. The denial…The longing...The idiocy"

Harry chucked, a sound that did things to Ron that he'd never admit to. Apparently unfazed by everything, Harry says, "Hear that, Weasley? Romantic."

Ron, done with them all, slammed his fork down with a resounding clatter and said bitingly, "Bloody mad, the lot of you."

Harry just smiled, his eyes lingering too long on the way Ron licked his lips. But of course, Ron didn't notice.

He never did.

"Maybe, but you're still here, aren't you?"

Dean gave a dramatic gasp. Ron thought to himself that he should consider a career in one of those Muggle shows he is so obsessed with.

Ron turned an alarming shade of red, but he turned to Dean before turning to Harry to continue. "He's always like this; it doesn't mean anything. And you're right, Potter. Unfortunately for you, you have turned me mad, too. I'm stuck here."

Harry smirked, his god awful fucking smirk again, and said, "That's right, you're stuck with me."

Daphne's laugh was soft, but Ron could feel the sharpness around the edges. "Doesn't mean anything? Hah." Her eyes flicker between them like she was reading a particularly scandalous book. "I think he knows exactly what he means."

Ron bristled. "Look, Greengrass, don't you—"

"Careful, Weasley." Daphne cut in smoothly, lifting a goblet almost in cheers. "Wouldn't want you to prove my point."

Dean choked on his break. "Too late."

Clarice, clearly delighted, tapped her goblet with her fork. "50 points to Slytherin."

Susan, rolling her eyes now, pinched the bridge of her nose. "We don't even use house points here."

"Well, I say we should," Clarice replied almost blithely. "For spectacular moments like this."

Harry, looking utterly at ease, said low enough that Ron knew it was meant for him, even though the whole table could hear, "I'm fine with it. More than fine with it. It's nice knowing he cares so much."

Ron almost spluttered out his food. "I do now—no that's not—caring is—no—" He shoved his plate away in pure frustration.

Dean leaned towards him like he was going to share a secret, "Ron, mate, I think you've lost this one."

Ron opened his mouth, ready to argue until his dying breath, but Daphne slid a pointed look to Ron and murmured to Harry, "We wouldn't mind if you wanted some peace, Potter and if you'd like to sit somewhere else."

Harry smiled—it was a faint and secret thing. And it fucking tore Ron to shreds. "Thank you, Daphne, but I'm comfortable beside Ron."

The words hung in the air, and Ron breathed a silent breath of relief he didn't know he was holding in.

Clarice grinned, "Honestly, the two of you could power the ministry alone with the tension."

Before Ron could retort, there was a sudden hush that rolled through the dining hall. Almost like a tide pulling back.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had entered.

He didn't need to raise his voice to call for attention; his presence alone was enough. Quiet fell as he strided between the tables to the front, his dark robes billowing, and his gaze sweeping through everyone's souls.

When he stopped at the end of the hall, every trainee straightened in their seats.

Kinsely let the silence build until he could tip it over.

He said, "Tomorrow, you'll have your first field assessment."

A murmur spread through the hall; some were excited, others were nervous.

"It will not be a test of spells," He continued, "But of judgement and trust. You'll be placed into teams, and you'll be sent into the field. I expect you to act like true aurors would. Don't disappoint me."

Harry's hand tightened around Ron's robe, Ron shifted closer to him in solidarity.

Kingsley's gaze moved deliberately across the dining hall before landing on Harry, its target.

Harry forced still, and Ron could feel his pulse hammering. So Ron did only what he thought he could do: he placed his hand on Harry's. Though Ron wasn't looking at Harry, he felt Harry's hand jerk—surprised at first before curling softly. Ron couldn't breathe. But he didn't move his hand back; he kept looking at Kingsley like his insides weren't erupting. Like his heart wasn't steady climbing up his throat.

"Dismissed. Be ready." Kingsley's voice rang out again before he nodded quite obviously to Harry. Then he turned around with a flourish and just as he came in, he went out.

Chatter, nerves, and buzzing excitement flowed through the hall, and Ron felt Harry grip his hand harder.

Ron fought a smile.

Notes:

Okay, okay, so I've introduced more characters!! Are we loving Clarice or what? Lowk, I'm envisioning her as a Dorcas variant...? Does anyone see the vision? *sigh* Oh, and my boy Ron is fighting back and giving Harry a taste of his own medicine, which we absolutely love to see.

Anywho, see you next chapter! If you smiled at least once, my job is done here!

Sending you all the warm fuzzies xx

Chapter 5

Summary:

The group's first field mission.

Notes:

Hello, my darlings!

Hope you're good! This is my longest chapter yet, so I hope you enjoy it!

Virtually sending you all love xx

The early morning fog grew thicker as they moved deeper into the forest, each step making a crunching noise on the damp leaves. Magic swirled around them—glowing spheres, elemental spirits, and shadows blinked in and out of existence, forcing the group to stay alert. Each construct tested their reflexes, vanishing and reappearing at unpredictable intervals.

Ron's eyes darted everywhere, but his gaze, as always, circled back to Harry's. Harry, who ducked and wandered through the trees like he belonged here, like the weight of the wards, the magic, the ministry was nothing to him. It made Ron's jaw clench. Too careless. Too bloody reckless.

A spirit slickered out of the mist, darting straight for Harry's chest. Ron reacted before he even thought. "Expulso!" The orb burst into sparks.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, lips twitching."You're quick."

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "Quicker than you, apparently."

Harry's green eyes sparked, "Oh?" he tilted his head, grinning even as he fired off another spell. "Is this the part where you go on about how you saved my life?"

Ron froze for a second. He hated how his heart leapt at the chance to claim that title. "If you weren't so bloody careless, I wouldn't have to."

Harry's eyes flicked, surprised at his answer, but then a slow blooming smile tugged at his lips. Something drifted across his face, but it was gone before Ron noticed. "Sounds like you like it though."

Ron gave Harry a sharp look, heat crawling up his neck, "Don't start."

But Harry did start. He always started. He always looked too close. Pushed too far, touched too much, like he knew Ron's skin was already thin and raw and bruised from just the way Harry existed.

They moved in perfect sync, dodging and blazing, sometimes colliding accidentally, their hands brushing, their knees knocking, their breath speeding up. Each accidental touch sent electric jolts through Ron, making him acutely aware of Harry's presence. Ron never wanted to stop being near Harry.

Another particularly fast sphere zipped towards Harry, and Ron shot out his wand and obliterated it. He clutched Harry's arms a fraction too long, "Stay where I can see you," he muttered.

"Controlling already, are we?" Harry teased with a smile, though Ron noticed the flicker of unease cross his face.

"Of course", Ron snapped, voice low. "It's my job to protect the protector—no one—no one gets too close."

Harry froze in place; a shiver ran through him at Ron's tone. Ron sounded so absolute and sure, and Harry's heart stopped. But then he laughed softly, the sound husky, "You're impossible"

"Mmm, I prefer cautious." Ron shot back, fire dripping in his voice, but his heart, oh, his heart too, stopped in its place.

The forest held its breath with them until Harry's laughter returned. "Oi," he said, nudging Ron's elbow. "I told you I don't like it when you go quiet on me."

Ron smiled back, teasing--relieved. "You just bloody love twisting my knickers, mate."

Harry grinned wider. "You know me."

Ron's pulse thudded too fast for him to ignore. He muttered, "Unfortunately."

Before Harry could wind up Ron with another reply, they both heard Kingsley's voice roll over the forest, calling for everything to assemble.

The group of trainees was already assembled in the clearing just beyond the training forest as Ron and Harry drew near, the mist still curling around the edges of the trees, sprouting like little hands. It was eerie to say the least.

The damn scent of moss and earth clung to everything. Kingsley stood at the front, arms folded, his expression serious, commanding attention to him without even saying a word.

"Good." He said, his voice cutting sharply through the fog. "You've all shown adequate skill in this controlled environment. Now, we move on to a field mission simulation. Consider it your first.

Dean snorted at the "your first", but was swiftly shut up by Kingsley's glare.

He then gestured towards the clearing, where magical artefacts shifted in the shadows. The protective wards glimmered faintly in the morning light. "You will work in pairs, and your goal is to locate magical tokens and avoid triggering anything that could 'injure' you or your partner. This is a test, but treat it as a real operation. The scores will be tallied up, and we will be watching you. "

Ron's stomach flipped, a real operation, he thought. His eyes flicked to Harry, whose face was already determined. Set. Ready. Heat rose in his chest; it was a paradox of different emotions - worry, pride, love, and the inevitable distraction that Harry always caused.

"The parts will be assigned randomly," Kingsely answered the question on the people's mind, his eyes sweeping. "We will observe everything."

A soft sound of shuffle, then a whispered groan, came from the back. Ron glanced over and spotted Daphne smirking at Harry with a twinkle in her eye, clearly plotting. Dean is leaning on a tree, rolling his eyes, while Clarice and Susan exchange a glance that speaks volumes about their shared competitiveness.

Ron's fingers twitched around his wand. "Mine," he muttered under his breath, not entirely sure why, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

But as always, Harry caught it. The slow arch of his eyebrow said everything and nothing simultaneously. Ron could practically feel his insides crawling up his throat. A specific heat spread through him that had nothing to do with the cold air.

Kingsley clapped his hands to call for attention, then he started listing out the pairs. Ron droned it off until he heard his name being called. "Weasley, and Potter, Greengrass and Dean, Clarice and Susan. Okay, that's it, move out. You have sixty minutes to complete this scenario. Begin!"

Without another word, the trainees found their partners and dispersed under the fog, almost like shadows. Ron fell into step with Harry, instantly matching his pace as they advanced cautiously.

The ground pulsed beneath them, and glowing blue tokens sprang into existence, scattering and then vanishing.

Harry's head shot up, eyes flashing. "So this is it."

"Yes, collect the tokens, survive the wards, avoid getting hexed. Yes, basically that's it." Ron muttered grimly, scanning the trees.

"Sounds like fun," Harry said, already darting forward—eager.

"Bloody hell, wait for me—" Ron lunged after him in a hurry.

They crashed through the trees, spells flashing. Harry snagged the first token with a quick summoning charm, tossing it up in show before slipping it into his pocket with a smirk.

"One for us."

Don't get cocky," Ron gritted out, blasting a creeping vine that tried to grab Harry. "You wouldn't have gotten it if I hadn't been covering you."

"Oh, that's what it is? You saving me every five seconds? Oh, what would I do without you?" Harry ducked under another branch, laughing under his breath. "You're getting awfully used to it One might think you even like it."

Ron nearly tripped over his own feet. "I don’t bloody like it---”

"Could've fooled me, wife." Harry shot a wicked grin, then bolted to his left where another token gleamed.

Ron growled, chasing him. Reckless idiot. Careless prat. Gorgeous, bloody, reckless, careless idiot.

They moved in sync, each of them predicted the other's move perfectly—almost too perfectly. It made Ron wonder sometimes--no more so-- solidify his conclusion that Harry was made to be with him.

Every brush of their arms sent a shiver of heat up to Ron's neck. He jabbed him in the elbow into Harry's side, "Oi, careful. Stop sticking too close, you clingy fuck. Focus on the mission"

"I am focused," Harry replied, tone mischievous. "Mostly on you, though."

Ron froze for less than half a second, but then quickly gathered his wits. He will not let Harry distract him. Ron flipped him off with a sigh.

"Bloody hell, Harry."

As they advanced deeper, the shadows lengthened, and the wards became more aggressive—shooting sparks and moving quicker. Daphne and Dean's pair passed them in a flurry. Ron could hear Daphne's posh cadence berating Dean for not being careful and for sabotaging them. Dean just laughed in reply—that seems to be his answer to most conversations.

Harry noticed Daphne's smirk as she glanced at him with a sly, sharp look. Ron's jaw tightened, and before Harry could say anything, Ron sidled closer, his wand arm brushing against Harry's shoulder. "Keep your eyes on the mission," he muttered, low enough that only Harry could hear. His voice was gruff, but there was this unmistakable possessiveness underneath it. He didn't seem to notice it, though.

Harry's eyebrows shoot up, and a look of delight passes through his eyes. "Oh, am I in trouble now?

"Maybe," Ron said, his tone clipped. His hand lingered near Harry's back as he guided him past the shifting shadows. He wasn't about to let Harry get distracted or get hurt.

He gritted his teeth at the warmth spreading through him at just being near Harry.

"Relax a bit, would you, Ron? You're all tense." Harry said, glancing at him with a slight frown.

Ron rolled his eyes but kept close, letting his wand move automatically. His eyes kept flicking back to Harry, scanning for any dangers, while Harry—predictably—kept dominating the wards and any stray magic.

"Oi," Ron muttered under his breath as Harry dodged another ward a little too leisurely. "This isn't brunch, you prat. Eyes on the target."

Harry raised an eyebrow, voice playful. "I'm right next to you. I love seeing you in action. It looks good on you wife."

Ron's ears turned red. "Don't call me that anymore. Enough. Or I'll hex you properly," he snapped, though his tone had more fire than actual menace.

"Right, sure you will," Harry said, grinning like a cat who'd caught the cream.

Ron growled softly, brushing past him to get a better angle on a moving orb. "Keep it up and I'll… I'll.. just shut up, you sodding prick."

"Mm, that sounds like a threat." Harry teased, eyes twinkling far too prettily in the terrible weather.

"Exactly." Ron's jaw locked. "I'll make good on it, you know I would." But even as Ron said that, he knew he was full of shit; he'd never--never--hurt Harry. Not even in his wildest imagination. Not even when he pisses him off to a level that Ron didn't even know was possible.

Harry stumbled over a root, and Ron reached out intuitively, steadying him without thinking.

Harry gave him a soft smile in thanks, and Ron had to stop himself from walking straight into a fucking tree because his brain was stopping working. Harry was just so beautiful. It killed Ron sometimes.

"You are ridiculous," Harry said with a slight giggle. It was such an honour that Ron had the privilege of seeing this side of Harry. He looked so unburdened, so carefree, and oh so Harry that it left Ron breathless. He wishes he could take away all of the mounting responsibility that Harry seems to have. He'd do anything.

"And you're incorrigible," Ron shot back, voice sharper than intended. "Now focus, the orb isn't going to blast itself."

They moved forward, matching each other's steps perfectly, and dodging the sudden sparks of magic.

A high-pitched whoop cut through the air—Clarice's voice. She and Susan appeared between the trees, moving fast. Clarice tossed a token into Susan's waiting hand before spinning and flicking her wand at Ron and Harry.

"Stupefy!"

Ron batted the spell with a snarl. "Oi! Don't go too far!"

"This is a competition, darling." Clarice drawling, smirking. "You'll forgive me."

"Not bloody likely," Ron called after her, knowing that he, in fact, would forgive her. Susan grinned at him, her eyes sparkling as she and Clarice sprinted deeper into the fog.

"Merlin, Ron, they're terrifying," Harry said, breathless.

"And smug," Ron said darkly.

Before Harry could reply, Daphne and Dean barreled out of nowhere, nearly colliding with them. Ron doesn't understand how they all keep finding Harry and him.

"Move your arse, Weasley!" Dean shouted, swiping a token from under Ron's nose with a cocky grin.

Daphne twirled in elegantly despite the circumstances. He hair caught the light of a hovering orb, her smile feline and vicious. "Careful, Potter. Wouldn't want the Boy Who Lived to lose."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, "Is this flattery or are you threatening me?"

'Whoever gets me what I want." Daphne winked before vanishing back into the mist.

Ron stood there, jaw tight. "I was just about to get it back."

Harry laughed, bumping his shoulder as they started running again. "It's fine, we will find more."

Ron rolled his eyes, "I hate her."

Harry gave him a smirk and said confidently, "No, you don't."

Ron chocked on air. "What---I said, I do. Shut your face."

But Harry's grin stayed wide, smug, and knowing, like he already knew that what Ron was feeling was jealousy and that he was more than okay with that.

Ron didn't notice, though.

He never did.

The fog thickened more until Ron could barely see two feet ahead. They slowed, creeping forward carefully. Every rustle amplified in the quiet. That was when it happened—an orb darted from nowhere, glowing too bright, too fast, and aimed directly at Harry's heart.

"Harry!"

Ron didn't think. He shoved Harry hard, pinning him against a tree, his arms braced on either side of him. The orb exploded again at a tree, and the tree fell to the ground. The forest shuddered, sparks scattering. Ron's heart stopped—what if—what if he didn't push Harry fast enough? What if--what if--no, he can't think like that, not now.

Harry stared at him, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide—scared.

Ron's hand was still cradling him. His voice came out rough, "I won't ever let anything happen to you, Harry. You're safe with me. I promise."

For a second, neither of them moved. Harry's chest rose quickly and short, his lips parting like he was trying to say something, but his body was not letting him.

Then a faint shout drifted through the mist, and it snapped Harry out of the trance he was in. He laughed softly; it was frail, though. It made Ron want to bundle Harry up and never let him go.

"You're bloody impossible."

"Mmm. Whatever you say." Ron shot back automatically, though his heart hammered so hard that he feared Harry could feel it.

"Well? Are you going to move…?" Harry said under his breath, shaky.

Ron jumped back, and they broke apart, like nothing had happened, like the air around them was not crackling.

By the time the horn blew, Calrice and Susan stood at the edge of the meetup spot, flushed and triumphant, their arms full of tokens.

"The Winners!" Kingsley boomed, gesturing at them.

Ron groaned, dragging his hand down his face. He really wanted to win. And though Harry looked okay with the result, Ron knew he, too, was disappointed.

Harry clapped him on the back.

"Well.. at least we didn't lose to Daphne."

"Second place is Daphne and Dean! Well done." Kingsley said with a slight smile.

"Oh, fuck, I take that back," Harry said with a grimace.

Ron scowled. Thoroughly annoyed now.

But his mind wasn't even fully on losing; it was on the way Harry looked at him when he was in his arms. Like maybe…just maybe…