AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my entry for the 2015 HPRare-Cliche Fest (hprare-cliche . livejournal . com). This is a one-shot.

PROMPT: Self-prompt. CLICHÉS: Jealousy, Gay denial, Coming out of the closet, Falling in love with your best friend

Thank you so much to my beta, gjeangirl, without whom this story would have hit a wall. You inspire, gjeangirl!

Thank you to Digthewriter, the most fantabulous Mod! Loved participating in this fest for the first time & thanks for making it so easy and fun to do!

Please review, if you would!

Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Brothers. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: Post-Hogwarts, EWE (2006)

Main Characters: Harry Potter x Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley + an Original Character

Warnings: Some profanity, implied M/M slash sex (off-screen), Slash kissing, break-up of long-term relationships

JUST RIGHT

By: RZZMG

Harry stared into the three-way mirror, noting the cut of his new dress robes, while trying to keep his spirits from sinking into his toes.

There was nothing wrong with the outfit, itself. It was, in fact, quite perfect. The stitching was a tight, well-hewn weave, the dark cloth made of the finest wool with a breathable silk lining, and the stark whiteness of the crisp shirt, bowtie, and vest made his jade-green eyes a focal point, now that he no longer wore his old spectacles. The special tailor, brought in by the store's proprietor from France specifically for his upcoming wedding, had done an excellent job. He'd certainly look sharp when he married in four weeks, and Ginny would be pleased.

That was crux of the problem: his forthcoming marriage. As the seconds ticked away, taking him one step closer to wedded bliss, that strange hollow sensation in his chest grew tighter. Like a top wound much too tight, he felt as if he would spin off in a random direction at any minute. The reason for that feeling, however, eluded him completely. He should be ecstatic to be marrying Ginny Weasley, shouldn't he? She was as perfect for him as his dress robes were, fitting him in all the right and proper ways according to custom.

So, why did he have this nagging, itchy feeling in his guts telling him that something just wasn't right about it all?

He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, silently seeking her approval. He always felt a bit more comforted by her endorsement, be it about fashion, the proper wand motions for spell-casting, or supporting a political cause. Hermione never led him astray, and he could count on her uncommonly good sense and ability to out-think others to guide him when in doubt.

Now, her dark eyes glimmered with appreciation as she took him in from head to toe. "You look very handsome, Harry," she said.

There was something about her hesitation there at the end, though, that caught Harry's attention. "But?" he prompted her.

She sighed. "But… I wonder if this is really what you want."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I wonder if this marriage is really what you want."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Hermione stared at him as if she was reluctant to reveal something deep and personal, but then thought better of it and switched tactics. "I just mean that you're not very excited, is all. You're getting married, Harry. You're tying your life to the one person in the world you're supposed to love the most, the future mother of your children—the woman whose headstone will bear your family name for all eternity!"

Harry made a face. "Could you, maybe, choose an idea a little less grim?"

She gave him a flat glare. "I just mean, you should feel about it at least on par as catching the Snitch, but you don't even seem that enthused."

He frowned, contemplating her words. It was true that he wasn't as excited about the prospect of marriage as most everyone else around him. In fact, if he were to be completely honest about it, he was feeling rather hesitant about the whole thing. But that was just pre-wedding jitters, according to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and was perfectly natural. His Aunt Petunia had agreed, pronouncing that everyone got a touch of cold feet—a little last minute niggling doubt—before saying their vows. So his 'niggle' was a bit bigger than his mother's sister's had been, but that didn't mean he was a commitment-phobe or didn't love Ginny.

…Did it?

"Why say this to me now?" he asked. "Why not six months ago, when Ginny and I announced our engagement?"

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clearly considering her words with care. "If you'll recall, I did say something then. I'd asked you if the engagement had been your idea or hers. You'd said it had been hers, and that she'd thought it was time you two took things between you to the next level. I asked how you'd felt about that. Do you remember your response?"

He did and looked down at his perfectly shiny shoes. "I… I said I wanted to make her happy."

"And I asked you if getting engaged would also make you happy," his best female friend reminded him. "You said–"

"–that eight years was a long time to date." He ran a hand through his unruly hair, further mussing it. "Actually, that's what Ginny said to me when the subject of buying a ring first came up. I just repeated the sentiment."

Sagely, Hermione nodded. "And you dodged discussing your feelings on the matter, which… Harry, that's very telling, isn't it?" She stood and crossed to him, taking his hand in both of hers. "You know I love you like a brother, and I would never discourage you from doing anything that you felt was what you truly wanted, but in this case and since you asked me… no, I don't think you're marrying Ginny for yourself. You're marrying her because she wants you to and because you think it's what's expected of you—and that everyone else feels the same way that she does about it."

Harry stared into her wise, pitying eyes and sighed. "Don't they?"

Firmly, she shook her head. "I love Ginny, and don't wish her any unhappiness, but… no, not all of us do."

"You don't?"

She sighed, and with a hand on his arm, led him off the dais before the mirror towards the guest bench, where they took a seat side-by-side. "All your life, you've done what others wanted and expected of you," she explained. "Between your Aunt and Uncle's slavish demands of you as a child to dying in the Forbidden Forest for the sake of the 'greater good', it's become ingrained in you to sacrifice your health and happiness for others. You don't feel worthy unless you're doing so. I'd hoped the war would have burned that need out of you, if only from sheer exhaustion, but clearly it didn't. You still have a martyr complex, Harry."

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she held her hand up to stall him.

"Whenever the Minister rings you up, you automatically volunteer to help out," she pointed out. "Whenever a journalist wants to delve into your private life for the sake of the public's curiosity, you lay yourself open for the world to prod. And when an old school chum or two has need of a favour, rather than do the work themselves, they call on you, knowing you'll acquiesce and get it done with minimal effort on their part. The world calls, and you jump to do its bidding. You never stop to wonder if any of that is what you really want to do. It's the reckless Gryffindor in you, I suspect, to leap before you consider all the facts."

Harry knew she was telling him the truth. Still, it was a brutal reality check. "Don't hold back, Hermione. Tell me what you really think," he sadly joked.

She gave him a forlorn smile. "What I think is that it's time for you to do what Ron did: live the life you want, and not what others want for you. Godric knows if anyone's earned that freedom, it's you, Harry."

Just the mention of Ron's name made Harry's heart pulse with a sharp, vibrant pain. He and his best friend hadn't been on speaking terms for six months, not since their blow-up soon after the engagement announcement…

"I think we could both take that lesson to heart, in fact," she continued, not noticing the way Harry rubbed over his left pectoral as if to scrub away a phantom ache. "Ron has the right of it."

He hesitated to ask what was really on his mind after her comment, but Hermione noticed and nudged him, encouraging him to go ahead and get it off his chest. "Then, you don't think Ron's just going through a phase?" he asked, parroting what everyone else was saying about his best friend coming out as a bi-sexual in recent months. "That he won't wake up one day and regret his decision to… expand his horizons?"

"No, I don't," she admitted. "I think he's on the right path towards self-actualization, actually. This was always going to be Ron's destiny." She took his hand in hers and patted it in a comforting manner. "In truth, I think he's behaving more honestly when it comes to interpersonal relationships than either of us are, Harry—well, all except the part where he's shut you out. That is a truly stupid move, in my opinion, and only shows how very immature he can be at times." She sighed. "Still, I envy him his courage. He's bucked the system and decided to live life on his terms. That's something neither of us has accomplished yet."

He stared at the empty spot on her left ring finger and suddenly had to ask: "Do you regret it?"

"Being with him, you mean? No. That part was easy… and fun." She briefly smiled at that. "What I do regret was that I couldn't give him what he wanted the most."

"Which was?"

She opened her mouth, seemingly ready and willing to finally divulge that deep and important information she's earlier tried to tell him, but then at the last moment, she shook her head and backed off a second time. "Let me just say that Ronald and I, we weren't well-suited… not like you two have always been. You and he, Harry… you fit in a way he and I never could."

The mental image conjured by the words "fitting with Ron" made Harry's mouth unexpectedly go dry.

She didn't mean it that way. Stop being such a pervert, he mentally berated himself.

The fact of the matter was, ever since Ron's coming out, soon after Harry's engagement, it was all Harry could do not to think about the things his best mate was doing behind closed doors. Being with both men and women… well, it was shocking, wasn't it?

And a bit arousing, too. That part, though, Harry did his best not to focus too hard upon.

He was a bit alarmed at himself, honestly, for getting turned on by the thoughts of Ron on his knees between some bloke's legs, his mouth wrapped around a hard, wet cock and sucking for all he was worth. For one, he was marrying the guy's sister, and for two, to lust after your best friend was kind of skeevy, so Harry did his best not to imagine it. Ever.

Thinking about it now wasn't helping that resolution much, though. He'd have to try harder, to focus on the topic at hand: how to mend fences with Ron so his best friend would be at his wedding, standing alongside him where he belonged.

"You, er…you want me to try talking to him again, don't you?" he asked, clearing his throat and hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt just then.

"Well, that's not exactly what I meant, but yes, I do think you need to reach out. This resentful silence between you has gone on too long, and it isn't going to end until one of you bends." She gently nudged him with her elbow. "It's going to have to be you, you know that. Ron's incapable of saying 'sorry' first."

He inwardly winced. Harry had trouble apologizing, too, she was forgetting. Just because he usually gave in first for the sake of making peace didn't mean he didn't hate swallowing his pride every time. Raising the white flag in this case would be a hard thing for him to do, too. Ron had blown up at him the night he and Ginny had announced their engagement, and cutting words had been shot across the bow at him, hitting the target. Silence and avoidance had been the way of things between them ever since.

Things couldn't go on like this, though. In that, Hermione was right. This lingering resentment between him and Ron had left Harry miserable and depressed in a way he'd never felt before, not even when the locket horcrux had influenced Ron into abandoning him.

Damn it all to Hades, he wanted his best friend back! He couldn't go on like this anymore, feeling torn in two and as if he was missing his other half.

"Alright, I'll go see him before lunch."

Ron rolled back the front door to his posh London flat in nothing but a towel, bellowing with displeasure. "Bloody hell, I said I wasn't interested in buying any magazines!"

He went abruptly silent and still the moment he realised it wasn't some persistent sales person ringing him up, but Harry standing on his front step.

"Er… hi," Harry warily offered, hands rammed into the front pockets of his jeans.

Ron's gaze flattened. "Oh, it's you." He abruptly turned about, leaving the door wide open behind him, and headed towards the kitchen in the open space loft. "What'd you want then? Come to ask why I hadn't RSVP'd yet?"

Taking up the unspoken invitation to come in, Harry entered the spacious bachelor pad and rolled the front door closed. It latched with a loud 'snickt' behind him, and the gentle tingling under his fingertips let him know the locking wards had closed in around it, assuring privacy from the outside world. "What? No," he replied, following Ron into the flat. "I came because—" He paused, having just realised what his best friend had said. "Wait, you haven't RSVP'd yet?"

His best friend shrugged with casual indifference. The muscles beneath his burly, freckled-covered shoulders bunched in a way that made Harry's throat unconsciously tighten. "Does it matter? Mum'll make me go whether I want to or not. Couldn't ruin Gin's big day, could I?"

He sounded bitter, and the sardonic half-smile on his face made him appear almost sinister.

"It's not just Ginny's day, though, is it?" Harry quietly asked. "It's mine, too, or had you forgotten?"

Ron's cool, blue gaze narrowed on him, but he didn't reply. Instead, he opened his magically-charmed icebox and reached in to pull out a carton of, surprisingly, Muggle orange juice. He opened it, sniffed it, then tipped it back and took a few pulls. His pale throat bobbed as he swallowed… and Harry was suddenly enchanted by the vision of Ron's larynx moving smoothly up and down, and of the way his head was tipped back to receive the juice, the angle perfect for allowing the sweet fluid to fill his mouth and find its way into his belly.

He wondered if this was how his best friend looked when swallowing a mouthful of come, too.

Harry took a shuddering breath. Oh God, had he just imagined something perverted about his best friend while watching him chug back on some OJ? Shit. That… that just wasn't right.

As he was about to open his mouth to ask if he could have a glass of water, the sunlight streaming in through the tall, roundtop windows across the room caught the aquamarine stud in Ron's ear, winking brightly and catching Harry's attention… and causing him to snap shut his mouth and belay his request. He zeroed in on the jewellery, noting the perfectly round cut of it—and that it also happened to be the exact same size as the four-carat diamond Harry had placed on Ginny's finger.

When had he gotten that done?

As Ron finished off the juice, he pressed the cardboard carton between his hands and crumpled it flat. Then, rather than simply magicking it away, he turned and tossed it into a regular trash bin under the counter. He leaned back against the islet, muscles flexing as he folded his arms across his chest and stared Harry down.

"Well, what do you want then?"

Harry's Auror instincts kicked in, some sixth sense telling him that something more was going on here than what he was seeing or hearing. "Why're you—? What's—?" He sighed, and ran a nervous hand through his hair, mussing it, unsure where to start. "What I mean is—"

In the background, the shower kicked on.

Harry froze. Someone else was in the flat with them.

He met Ron's unflappable gaze and just knew his best friend had invited someone over the night before. Someone for… companionship.

His heightened senses then began picking up on the subtle hints he'd missed over the last few minutes: various articles of Ron's clothing strewn across the sofa and lying casually upon the hardwood floor where they'd been tossed without care, two empty beer bottles sitting next to the kitchen sink, the lingering scent of cigarettes and an ashtray full of cold butts, playing cards strewn haphazardly across the coffee table where a game for two had been played… the swollen, reddened skin of Ron's lips, the small mouth-shaped bruise at the bend of his neck, and the lazy, satiated look in those eyes whose colour matched the glinting gem in his ear.

Not just a friend, then.

Male or female, though? He couldn't decide.

That dark, sinking feeling in the centre of Harry's chest returned, threatening to make him ill, dropping his blood pressure into dangerous places. Get out. Go now. Escape, the voice in his mind repeated over and over, reminding him that he really wouldn't want to know the truth, because either alternative would be difficult to face.

Some part of him had to be as masochistic as Hermione had hinted at, though, because no matter how much he wanted to flee Ron's flat just then, his feet seemed glued to the floor with Sticking Charms. His mouth, too, seemed to have a life of its own.

"You've got a… guest over. I didn't know. Sorry."

Ron stared at him in silence for a bit, but then he shrugged as if the entire matter was inconsequential. "Should've Owl'd me first, huh?"

Harry frowned at that cold dismissal. "Alright, yeah. My mistake. Maybe I'll just go then."

He'd come back another day, after sending a note. It would be for the best anyway, since he had someone here.

He took a step back, intending upon turning on his heel and leaving, but at that exact moment, the shower shut off, and an insane bout of curiosity stayed his departure. Who had Ron brought home last night? Was it someone he knew, or a random stranger? How many men had his best friend shagged since deciding he had a preference for them? Was it a lot? Was it a man back there right now, stepping out of the shower, naked and dripping wet and thoroughly sated from having fucked Ron last night?

His fists clenched and his blood ran hot under his collar.

"You're not leaving," Ron pointed out, drawing him back in. He uncrossed his arms, and leaned back against the counter. "There something more you wanted, Harry?"

Harry's mind furiously worked over a subject, any subject to give him an excuse to stay a bit longer. The need to know the identity of the stranger was now of chief importance, the consequence of which no longer mattered. "Why didn't you RSVP?" he asked in an offhand manner.

It was a pathetic excuse to linger, and Ron seemed to know it. His smirk returned. "Did Charlie get a special visit from you, too? I know he hasn't RSVP'd yet, either."

"Charlie wasn't asked to be my Best Man," Harry pointed out, letting a little of his anger over that fact seep through his teeth, helping him to get his back up. "Thought I'd find out if I needed to replace the spot I'd left open for you or not, seeing as how the wedding's only a month away."

"Yeah, Valentine's Day. Who could forget? And you mean you haven't asked Neville, yet? Colour me shocked. He's always been your go-to replacement for me in the past."

"Stop it," Harry growled, seriously annoyed now with Ron's intentional cruelty. Forgetting the visitor rifling around in the bedroom for the moment, he turned all his attention towards his best friend, pointing a finger in emphasis at him. "Whatever your issue is with me, just stop it. I've never treated Neville like that and you know it. I've never given anyone your place, Ron."

His best friend's upper lip curled with disdain as he straightened from his casual slouch over the kitchen counter. "Sure you have. You just refuse to see it."

"What are you even talking abou—?" Harry began to demand, but the rest of the words died on his lips the moment Ron's guest rounded the corner and came into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey."

The dark-haired man gave Harry a quick once over, a nod in greeting, and then dismissed him, turning to Ron.

"So, um, I left the towel hanging up and, well… I'm off." He reached out and took hold of Ron's hip in an intimate grip that spoke of having done it before and pushed up on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to Ron's lips. "Text me?"

Harry's heart collapsed into the floorboards.

A man. Ron had shagged another man—a Muggle, if he had guessed right from the cell phone reference. No wonder his best friend wasn't using any magic today.

Ron tore his attention from Harry and looked down at his friend. Lover. Rentboy? Whatever they were to each other, his features softened a bit as he answered, "Yeah, okay, sure."

The two men didn't kiss a second time, but the desire to do so was obviously there in the shorter man's face, as if he wanted to mark his territory and give Ron a goodbye memory he wouldn't soon forget. Instead, he gave Ron a timid smile and reluctantly let go of the towel, stepping away. He then hurried towards the door, snagging his jacket hanging over the edge of the sofa before heading out.

As he moved past Harry, his eyes cut to the side, and they locked gazes. Ron's lover frowned, obviously noting the similarities between them at the same moment Harry did: they were of the same height with similar builds and dark-coloured hair, and both of them had green eyes.

The stranger breezed past without a word and was gone quicker than a Snitch while Harry stood dumbfounded, reeling at the revelation he'd just had about what it all meant.

As far as stand-ins went, Ron couldn't have found a better match. He and the boy-toy could have passed for brothers.

Jesus Christ, Ron's lover looked like him!

Harry shut his eyes as a tsunami of guilt washed over him, nearly knocking him to his knees. This was the answer, then—the reason for the angry accusations and the hateful silence between them for so many months. The thing Hermione had been trying to tell him this morning, but had been too wary to mention, for fear of freaking Harry out. The reason his best friend would begrudgingly come to his wedding, but would not stand at his side to send him off properly, as a Best Man would.

Ron fancied him.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" his best friend asked him when they were alone once more, nudging Harry away from the numbing safety of mental shock. "It hurts knowing you've been replaced by a person who could pass as your sibling." He huffed a dark, cynical laugh. "Actually, it's fucking worse when they actually are your sibling."

Merlin's soul, why had he never seen it? They'd been best mates for a dozen years, and he'd never once suspected! How could he have been so blind?

"All your life, you've done what others wanted and expected of you… You still have a martyr complex, Harry."

The truth hit him then like a Bludger to the head: because he'd locked down so tightly on his own needs and wants in favour of pleasing others that he'd refused to acknowledge he even had a preference. He'd refused to entertain the notion of Ron as anything other than a best friend every time the possibility crept up, for fear it would seduce him away from his intended path.

"I couldn't give him what he wanted the most…"

"Ronald and I, we weren't well-suited, not like you two have always been. You and he, Harry… you fit in a way he and I never could…"

This is what Hermione had hinted at—what was responsible for that strange feeling of wrongness whenever Harry considered his engagement, and why it 'just wasn't right' for him to continue on the path he was taking. This was why he hadn't really wanted to marry Ginny, but why he'd been physically attracted to her all along, and why he'd been so devastated by Ron's refusal to accept Harry and his sister as a couple. This was the cause of the hole through the centre of his soul.

He was involved with the wrong Weasley.

Yet, even realising that fact, wasn't it too late to do anything about it now? The invitations had been sent, the wedding tent unpacked, the caterers engaged. Ginny had her final dress fitting tomorrow…

"It's time for you to do what Ron did: live the life you want, and not what others want for you. Godric knows if anyone's earned that freedom, it's you, Harry…"

Was Hermione was right? Should he dare to try?

Someone knocked on the front door, jarring Harry out of his head and back into the real world, where he realised he'd been silent for far too long. Ron was staring at him, as wary as a lion with a sore tooth, waiting for him to reply. What could he say, though? He wasn't even sure of the best move just then. There were too many variables to consider, too many people who would be hurt either way. Could he be selfish, or would he do what he'd always done and bow to the greater good? He wasn't sure which path was the right one to take. He needed time to sort it all out.

The knock sounded a second time.

"You should get that," he ended up saying, giving them both a reprieve from the stress of the situation. "Might be the magazine salesman again."

Ron seemed disappointed by the response. His mouth formed a hard line, but it was clear by the way he pursed his lips that he was holding back as well.

Harry was sure that, given Ron's heightened temper right then, had they continued to talk there would have been words exchanged in the heat of the moment that might have done some serious damage. Maybe it was better that they waited to have this discussion—like, for a time when his best friend was fully clothed and hadn't just spent all night fucking another man.

That thought made Harry's stomach sink three more inches.

"Yeah, right," Ron growled and headed past Harry to answer the door. "And it was a salesgirl, not a bloke."

Their arms brushed by accident, and Harry turned with the motion. His eyes automatically dropped to where Ron's long hair—longer now than even Bill's had ever been—swished back and forth against the sway of his spine, dripping pearls of water down upon the hardwood floor.

Heat flushed through Harry at the thought of gripping all that thick, lush hair in his fist as he shoved his cock deep into Ron's throat…

Ron answered the door. It was the boy-toy, back again. He'd left his keys on the bedside table, or so he claimed. Sure you did, Harry thought with some suspicion as the guy re-entered the flat at Ron's side with the air of someone who'd been there more than once and wanted to flaunt that fact in the face of a potential rival. Everyone knew that leaving one's keys or an article of clothing or a cell behind was one of the oldest tricks in the book to get back inside someone's house.

Harry tried not to eat his own tongue with jealousy as the two disappeared behind the bedroom wall together to, presumably, search for the missing keys… which weren't on the bedside table after all, according to the conversation that was clearly audible from the next room.

Yeah, now was the time to go, he determined. Decisions had to be made about his future, and further, he needed to come to some sort of acceptance of the fact that even if he decided to break things off with Ginny, he might have already missed his opportunity with Ron… who had clearly moved on, if the sound of lips meeting in a kiss in the next room over was any indication.

The front door had been left unlocked. Harry pushed it open, stepped out, took the time to shut it behind him and ensure the wards were re-engaged, and then he was gone from Ron's building as quickly as his feet could take him away. He hit the pavement at a fast walk and didn't bother with the Disapparating thing, deciding he needed to work off his jealous anger.

To Harry's surprise, it was Bill who answered the door at the Burrow four days later, when he'd come to speak to his fiancée about breaking off their engagement.

"They're all out at the mo'. Be back in a bit, though. Come in."

"Thanks." Harry stepped into the warm familiarity of the Burrow and was immediately embraced by that comforting sense of home that he felt nowhere else in the world. Here was where his heart truly resided, among these people.

He prayed they didn't turn him out after what he'd come to say to Ginny.

"Make yourself at home," Bill offered, sitting in a chair at the long kitchen table and kicking the chair nearest him towards Harry. It bumped into his knee.

He took the seat with a nod of thanks.

"So, finally come to your senses, have you?"

Harry's brows went up at that. "What?"

Bill leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared Harry down. "About Ron."

"What about him?"

The eldest Weasley tapped the side of his nose. "Can't hide the scent from me, mate. The wolf knows its own brother, and the scent of sex is all over you."

Frowning, Harry stared down at himself. "Er, well, I was wearing this jacket when I went to see him the other day, and he had a… a friend over, but we didn't… I mean… No, we haven't."

Bill's features shifted with confusion and he took a deep, full inhale, clearly scenting the air. "But—" He seemed to consider what his olfactory senses were telling him, searching for an answer to the mystery. "That's—" He paused, sniffed several more times. "Ah. My apologies, Harry. I thought it was the two of you, but now I see." He seemed disappointed by the finding.

Curious as to how much Bill knew, Harry hesitantly asked, "But you know, about Ron?"

Bill stared at him with eyes that had bled amber, as the wolfish side of him slipped forward. "You mean that he's in love with you? Of course, that's been obvious since he was fourteen." His grin became positively predatory. "He's been staring at your crotch for the better part of a decade, mate. Tell me you never noticed."

He hadn't, no.

"You didn't think his eyes following you everywhere was a clue either, I suppose?"

Now that felt like a bit of an exaggeration. "He doesn't," Harry argued, but Bill cut him off before he could adequately counter.

"He does. He worships you, Harry, and not just as a friend. You're everything to him. That's why he's so sensitive when it comes to you. He's always been."

It was true, wasn't it? Ron had always been hot to burn in his defence and just as quickly riled by things he believed diminished him in comparison. He'd always wanted to be first in Harry's life, jealous even of Hermione's place at his side.

He looked down at the table top, unable to meet Bill's knowing gaze. "He's with someone else, though."

"So are you."

Taking a deep breath, Harry shook his head. "That's why I'm here."

"Ah." Bill tapped the table top again. "So, I reiterate what I said at the start of all this, but for a different reason this time: you've finally come to your senses."

"I think… yes, I have."

"Good. Then, I'll leave you two to it."

Harry's head jerked up in surprise right as Bill stood and left the kitchen to go upstairs. Someone else was in the house with them? Who? He glanced around…

…and saw Ginny clutching the narrow doorjamb between the living area and the kitchen. There were standing tears in her eyes.

"I knew this would happen," she told him. "I always knew it. That's why I pushed so hard to keep you." A small sob escaped from between her lips, and she put a shaking hand over her mouth. "Oh, Harry…"

He was on his feet, around the table, and taking her into his arms a beat later. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he whispered to her, holding her close. "I'm so sorry."

They stood like that whispering apologies and secrets to each other until the ambient light coming in through the kitchen windows signalled that noon had come and gone, and that the afternoon was finally waning, and then they sat down on the nearby sofa and agreed that it was over. Ginny took her engagement ring off and told him that she was going to renounce her retirement from the Harpies and join them on their European tour this spring.

"I need to leave for a while, maybe a few years. I need to get over you, Harry, and I won't be able to do that here."

Harry understood. He wished her well of it and meant it.

He would always love Ginny, he realised as he left the Burrow that evening. She'd been his first lover and he'd given her a piece of himself he'd never give another. Their time together would always be special to him. But this chapter in his life was now closed, he firmly decided, and it was time to go out and grab what he wanted, as Hermione and Bill and even Ginny had all encouraged him to do. It was time for Harry James Potter to take his life into his own hands and to do something he wanted. He was giving himself permission to be happy, at long last.

He turned in place and Apparated away for London.

He knocked on Ron's door, hoping he was in. Thursday night at the Leaky was always a two-for-one deal on your first two pints, and his best friend use to make it his top priority every week to be there right when Tom or Hannah Abbott rang the first bell of the night.

The prat better be alone tonight, too, because Harry thought it would really suck to have to kick the boy-toy out on his arse. If pressed too far and forced into an armed conflict, why he might just accidentally hit the little git with a Stupefy in the heat of the moment! Then he'd be forced to Obliviate him of the incident to prevent breaking the Statute of Secrecy… and everyone knew Harry was shit at Memory Charms. Who knew how much he might 'accidentally' erase in such circumstances!

He slapped his palm hard two more times against Ron's door, not caring if the noise disturbed the neighbours throughout the building. "Come on, open up," he hissed under his breath, feeling amped up and ready to change the world (again).

"Keep your knickers on, will ya! I'm coming!" Ron shouted from the other side of the door.

It opened a scant second or two later to reveal his best friend dressed all in black, like he was planning to go to a rave, and not the Leaky. The freckles across the bridge of his nose, his brilliant scarlet hair tied back in a pony, and the aquamarine gem in his ear were the only colour to him.

Harry's stomach did a swan dive into the earth as he took Ron in from head to toe, this time not with fear or despair, but with intense arousal. His cock swelled to prominence behind his jeans, making him desperate to free it right then and there. Bloody hell, it seemed giving himself permission to stop repressing his desire for Ron had worked wonders on his libido!

"What the bloody hell is your prob—?" Ron began to demand, looking like he could commit murder. He paused mid-sentence, however, the moment he recognised Harry standing in front of him, though.

They stood like that, silent and staring at the other for the space of a dozen heartbeats before that same, well-practised mask of disinterest slid over Ron's features again.

"What do you want now? I was about to go out."

Heart pounding, hands sweaty and slightly trembling, Harry decided he'd had enough of talking. That sort of nonsense had almost gotten them into a fight last time they were here, and he was garbage at words anyway. He was meant to be a man of action, as others had so rightly pointed out to him recently, so he grabbed hold of Ron's shirt, stood up on tiptoe to reach his mouth, and pressed on through to take their first kiss without preliminaries.

They were in the hallway where anyone could see them, and Ron's lips were slightly chapped, and he tasted as if he'd just brushed his teeth with spearmint toothpaste, but none of that mattered to Harry. All he could think about in that moment was he was giving in to something he really wanted… and to his surprise, he really liked it.

This was what Hermione had meant. Godric, the witch was clever! He'd have to remember to thank her later.

As he pulled back, he shuddered and gave a breathy, little sigh of pleasure. He'd done it! He'd actually kissed his best friend!

Ron seemed dumbfounded at first, but then something shifted within him, and a lazy, lustful gleam entered his eye. With a confidence Harry had never seen in him before, his best friend reached out to take hold of Harry's hip with one hand, pulling him in tight, and with the other, he tilted Harry's chin up so their eyes met. "You sure this is what you want?" he asked, leaning forward until their lips brushed together again. "Ginny—"

"Understands," Harry quickly explained. "They all do." He glanced into Ron's darkened gaze and reached behind him to fist his friend's hair. The silken glide of it through his fingers was as perfect as he'd imagined it would be. "I'm free now, and I know what I want." He rubbed his erection against Ron's, letting him feel how hard he was and how much he ached for him. "Though, I've never… I didn't expect… I'm not sure how to do any of this."

His best friend's smile was meltingly sincere for the first time in six months. He cupped Harry's jaw, running his thumb over his lower lip. "We'll take it slow then. Go at your pace."

Harry bit his bottom lip, considering the offer and came back with a counter. "Okay, but… ditch the boy-toy. That's my one condition to... us."

Ron's smirk was wicked and teasing as he stepped back and waved Harry into his loft with one hand. "Might as well come in, Harry, so we can negotiate the terms of my surrender, since we both know I'm crap at apologising. Who knows what I'll agree to just to earn your forgiveness."

With an eager smile and a nod of his head, Harry stepped through the door… and finally, everything was just right.

~FIN~

Author's Note:

First, I want to say thank you to everyone who's left me a nice review about this story so far. I truly appreciate your kindly-framed thoughts, your maturely-given con-crit, and your overall encouragement. I hope I can continue to keep you entertained with such stories for some time to come. :)

To the people who have left reviews frowning upon the gay relationship herein, or upon altering "straight" characters into gay characters for the sake of fiction, I say this: I'm really not interested in your opinions on the matter. I will continue to write and support gay relationships, as well as the creation of alternate universes featuring straight characters in gay relationships, regardless of your thoughts on the matter. If you don't like that, go find your entertainment elsewhere.