Echoes
...for shocolate

Harry's bedroom door burst open, thudding against the opposite wall. He sat up in bed to watch Ron's tall frame silhouetted by the light from the lantern on the landing behind him. He was wearing a thin undershirt, legs a stark white contrast to his black boxers. Grumbling heavily, Ron shuffled into Harry's room and leaned back against the door to shut it once again, re-submerging them in darkness.

Fumbling for his wand, Harry whispered a lumos and blinked his eyes fully open, trying to focus without his glasses.

"What's going on?" he asked, when Ron simply kept his head down, shaking occasionally, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'bloody wanker.'

"I'm a prat, that's what's going on," Ron sighed.

Clearly recognising that this was going to require a bit more than a quick reassurance, Harry sat up more comfortably, securing his wand casually between his knees. He watched as Ron slowly approached the bed and sat next to him, hunching over and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"This got something to do with Hermione?" Harry asked, cautiously. Ron turned to narrow his eyes at Harry.

"You reckon?"

Ron finally sat up straight, to run a hand across the back of his neck. Harry watched him, waiting for more information, which he hoped would soon be forthcoming.

He didn't have to wait long.

"I may have said the words 'Viktor' and 'Krum'..." Ron began, "and... there may have been a 'fucking' between them..."

Harry grimaced, before rubbing both hands vigorously over his tired face.

"Are you seriously still on about him?" he asked, scratchy voice muffled by his hands.

"No!" Ron said quickly, sighing again. "I'm not, that's just the problem. I don't even know why I brought him up..."

Harry lowered his hands and reached for his glasses on the bedside table, settling them over his ears and nose. Twirling his wand absently, he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip as Ron watched the movements of the light at Harry's wand tip, distracted.

"What was the row about?" Harry asked, a bit awkwardly. Since the war had ended and Ron and Hermione had finally got together, Harry had been gloriously out of the picture, when it came to their rows. Either they'd been too busy to have them at all, or they had been able to keep them to themselves. Either way, Harry hadn't seen Ron like this about her since they'd come back.

"I dunno," Ron sighed again, turning his head away from the light and squinting.

"Okay, look," Harry started, shifting to face Ron again, placing his wand on the bed next to them. "So, she's hacked off with you. Just go and apologise and-"

"She left."

Harry blinked at Ron, who remained facing forward, expressionless.

"What do you mean, she left?" Harry asked, slowly, heart pounding in question. But there was no way she would... was there?

Sensing Harry's trepidation, Ron shuffled back along the mattress and drew his legs up to sit fully on Harry's bed, turning inward to face him. He dismissed Harry's worry with a wave of his hand.

"She hasn't left me," Ron reassured him. "She's just left the Burrow. Disapparated and I don't know where she's gone... She was really bloody upset..."

"Oh," Harry said, simply, flooded with relief. But he was reminded quickly of the fact that this relief didn't lessen Ron's reasons for being here, and he scratched at his stubble, trying to think of what to say. "I guess after seven years of knowing you, if she still wants you, she's not going to finally just see something she doesn't like and break it off."

Harry shrugged, and Ron gawked at him.

Ron grabbed the nearest pillow and aimed for Harry's face. With a muffled grunt from Harry, the pillow crashed against his glasses and dropped off the bed.

"Oi! Hermione's not around to fix them, you wanker," Harry grumbled, removing his glasses and inspecting them for damage. But he grinned at his success in temporarily shaking Ron out of his depression.

Once he'd replaced the undamaged glasses over his nose and returned his attention to Ron, however, he caught him picking at the quilt in front of his half-bare, pretzeled legs, breathing in a series of sighs.

"Reckon she's gone to her parents'..." he trailed off.

"Then why not go over and see if you can get her to talk to you?" Harry yawned.

"Nah." Ron shook his head, abandoning the quilt and looking up at Harry again. "Doubt she'd leave with me, and I don't like rowing at their house. Don't want them to see how big of a git I really am."

Harry tried to suppress a chuckle, but Ron caught it and shrugged.

"So, really," Harry began, softly, "why did you do it? Why bring up ruddy Viktor Krum? He's hundreds of kilometres away and she hasn't seen him in over a year. And even last time she did, at the wedding, she danced with your arse, if I recall. Anyway, she's stuck with you now..." Harry smiled, and Ron tried to return it.

"I know all of that," Ron said, quietly. "I just... dunno. Sometimes..."

He paused, as if trying to decide how or even if he should continue. But eventually, amidst the silence, he managed to drop his voice a fraction lower and free the words he'd been holding back...

"Sometimes, I don't feel like I deserve it. Like I'm back in the sodding tent with that damn locket round my neck, and... and I feel like I've already lost. I know it isn't true, and that I'm being ridiculous, but it happens so quickly, I can't stop it. And then I've gone and fucked up and said something bloody stupid..."

"Like 'Viktor fucking Krum'?"

"Exactly."

Ron looked up into Harry's eyes again, and for a long moment, they simply examined each other. It had been a while since Harry had gotten such a direct look into Ron's soul, one that came with words rather than just looks and feelings. It was a different kind of knowledge, the sort that Ron offered to him freely, rather than the sort that was ingrained in their friendship. Sometimes, they knew each other so well that words seemed useless. But those brief moments, scattered and distant, during which they'd actually been said, with no way to misunderstand them... It struck Harry hard, the weight of their closeness defined by words he knew Ron would or could never speak to another living person... outside of the three of them. And right now, tonight, outside of Harry alone.

"I don't know how to make you stop feeling those things," Harry began, slowly, "but just know that you're wrong. I knew you were wrong when I was eleven and picked you to be best mates with instead of any of the other gits at our school, didn't I?"

Ron gave a short, shy chuckle and broke eye contact with Harry to blush down at his own knees.

"Mushy bastard," Ron muttered.

"Oh, I love you, too!" Harry teased, stretching a leg forward to jab Ron's shin with his big toe. Ron laughed, but it quickly turned to a heavy groan as he sagged forward, dropping his shaggy head almost all the way to the mattress.

"I hate this," he whined. "Things were going really well, you know?" He lifted his head again to look sadly up at Harry, his fringe now cutting jaggedly down across his eyes, blocking them almost completely from Harry's view.

"Yeah," Harry said, simply, feeling a bit out of his depth with this conversation. Ron sighed, his shoulders drooping another few inches.

"Right," he said, "just gotta wait for her to come back. She'll come round eventually..."

"Course she will," Harry reassured him, trying but failing to stifle another yawn.

Ron nodded, disappearing into his thoughts. Harry caught sight of his bedside clock, lifting his brows at the softly glowing, charmed numbers.

"Ron," he said, dryly, "it's 3am..."

"Mmm..."

"You were rowing with Hermione at 3am?" Harry blinked at Ron who finally shook himself from the depths of his thoughts to address Harry.

"Nah, couldn't sleep after she left. That was several hours ago..."

Ron shifted a bit uncomfortably and shrugged.

"I know it's mental, but I can't seem to sleep alone anymore," and even in the dark, Harry could see Ron's blush.

Harry studied him for another moment before removing his glasses again and stretching his arms above his head. Shuffling, he forced his legs back underneath his sheets, kicking Ron in the process.

"Well," Harry said, when Ron shot him a glare, "are you going to tuck yourself in, or not?"

"Alright, budge over," and Ron crawled up the bed to flop down next to Harry, digging sheets and blankets out from under his body as he turned onto his side.

"Graceful," Harry remarked, as Ron finally settled beneath the covers, tucking his arm underneath a pillow so his head was situated against his bent elbow.

Facing each other, the moonlight reflected in their eyes as they breathed, and Ron shuffled again to get comfortable.

"I'm afraid a bunch of little things like this will add up to one big thing, and I'll be an arsehole again," Ron admitted, barely audible, even so close to Harry.

"You won't. You were never an arsehole. It was a lot more complicated than that."

"Plenty of excuses, aren't there?" Ron muttered, and Harry sighed, head sinking a bit deeper into his pillow as he studied Ron closely.

"You see what you're doing?"

But Ron shook his head, slowly, clueless.

"Arseholes don't worry that they might be arseholes," Harry explained. "They just... are. And they don't give a shit. But I know, and you know, that you give an awful lot of shits. Therefore, you are not, and can never become, an arsehole. It's just common sense."

They blinked at each other.

And suddenly, they were laughing, barely contained to their small, shared bed. Ron rolled onto his back, shoulder and left hip digging into Harry as he clutched his stomach, grinning up at the ceiling. Harry flipped onto his own back aggressively, purposefully jostling Ron around the bed before they settled, both contentedly breathing up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry I woke you, mate," Ron yawned.

"Nah, any time," Harry whispered, closing his eyes. And he felt Ron's breathing slow to something close to peaceful.

"Miss her," Ron sighed, and his body sank deeper into the mattress next to Harry as he mumbled off to sleep. And Harry could feel him turning his head away to face the door, as if anticipating her arrival here in the night...

Ron woke to what sounded like crying, coming from directly above his left ear. Drifting awake, he quickly came to and registered that the exact tone of the sobbing he was most definitely hearing was coming from Hermione.

He sucked in a sharp breath and opened his eyes wide, staring immediately up into her scrunched face, inches from his own. Her clenched eyes popped open at the sound of his gasp, and fresh tears cascaded down both of her cheeks in small rivers.

"Hermione!" he hissed, too loudly. Harry twitched in his sleep, his gentle pattern of peacefully deep snores caught off rhythm before he stilled again.

Hermione hitched a breath behind another sob, and Ron lifted his head from his pillow, half propping his body up on his elbow, drawing his face up so close to hers now that their noses were almost touching. She was sitting on the floor next to the bed, huddling as close as she could to his side.

"What's the matter?" Ron whispered, eyebrows knitted with concern. "I'm so sorry about before, I-"

But she crushed his words with a fierce kiss. He hardly had time to reciprocate her lips' wonderful actions before she'd pulled back again to stare into his now heavily-lidded eyes.

"I l-left you!" she cried, at a whisper, tears continuing to trail down both of her cheeks.

"I know," he whispered back, "because I was a twat to you and-"

"No!" she cut across him. "I left you."

He tried to process her words, but all he could remember was Harry's seemingly irrational fear from earlier, that Hermione had broken things off with him...

"I love you!" she whispered, sniffing, before he could voice any of his concerns. Relief flooded him, whole body relaxing, until- "Please, forgive me-"

"I don't even know what I'd be forgiving you for!" he interrupted, baffled. "So, I don't think you have anything to worry about..."

She sat back a bit, giving him space that he didn't actually want. He turned fully onto his side, propped on his right arm, searching her closely. She wiped at her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath through another wave of tears.

"It's exactly wh-what you did," she choked out, "I left you! And I... I..."

He suddenly felt his stomach drop, finally understanding.

"No," and he leaned precariously over the edge of the bed to get closer to her. "This isn't the same thing at all!"

"It feels the same," she said, desperately. "We were rowing, and I left you. I abandoned it instead of working things out. I know you didn't mean... It was just a bad moment. I was so hacked off at you for leaving the tent when things got rough. And now, I've done the same-"

He shook his head, reached out for her hand, and she willingly moved closer again. But this time, he sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling her between his legs, brushing hair back from the sides of her face with both of his hands.

"Rubbish," he whispered. "I left you in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a sodding war. You left me at my own home because I was being insensitive. Not even remotely similar."

She sniffed, looking back into his eyes through the dark.

"I even knew where you were. Went to your parents' house, yeah?"

She nodded, between his hands, and he softened them to run his fingers down her cheeks.

"I thought of following you, trying to apologise, but I didn't think you'd come back with me, so-"

"-you bunked up with Harry instead?" she finished, sniffing again.

He laughed lightly, Harry's snores having subsided behind him to near silence now.

"You trust me, don't you?" he asked her, allowing his hands to trail down her neck.

"Obviously."

"You've got to know how different this is, from what I did. But… you know, sometimes I just feel… like there's a part of the locket - of him - that's still with me, yeah? And I forget that things are fucking perfect, and you actually love me."

She crawled her fingers up the front of his shirt, up the middle of his chest, and he shivered.

"You can tell me, you know," she said, so quiet she was almost mouthing the words. "I say things I don't mean all the time, when I'm upset. And I don't have the locket to blame..."

"Reckon everybody does that," he said. "And I'm really sorry. I will talk to you, swear."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She scooted forward on her knees and nestled further between his legs, resting her head on his collarbone as he wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

"I'm shocked Harry hasn't woken," Hermione mumbled into Ron's chest.

"Oh, I have," Harry slurred, sleepily.

Ron brushed a hand through Hermione's hair as he grinned, and she pulled back to glance around Ron at Harry where he was now lying on his side, back toward them.

"Cheers for the warning," Ron said, twisting to poke Harry between the shoulderblades.

Harry grunted and squirmed away.

"Look, I would have made an announcement if you'd started shagging on my floor."

Hermione ducked her head to Ron's knee as he laughed. When she lifted her head again, Ron turned and bounced across the mattress comically, shuffling and untwisting the sheets and quilt as Harry grumbled complaints, flipping to face Ron as Hermione sat back on the floor again, drying her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

Once Ron had settled in bed again, he smiled softly at Hermione, feeling his eyes burn from lack of sleep, excited at the prospect of being able to rest properly, now that she was back with him.

"Climb in, you," he instructed, smooshing against Harry to make room for her, lying on his side, facing her, and lifting the quilt for her to join him.

Looking overwhelmingly relieved, she crawled in, tucking her body against him, her back to his chest, as he lowered the quilt around them both.

"If you get confused and spoon me, I'm kicking you both to the floor," Harry warned, muffled as his face was briefly pressed against the back of Ron's shirt.

Ron smiled as he settled down into their shared pillow again, burrowing his face into Hermione's thick hair, bunched at her neck. He found skin and kissed her, gathering her closer with his left arm. She reached down and pulled his hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles as the fingers of her other hand lightly stroked his forearm. His eyes fluttered shut happily.

Harry's breathing slowed again, puffing between Ron's shoulderblades. Hermione slid a cold foot down Ron's shin, and he clamped his bare legs around it, warming her skin. She sighed, pressed his hand to the side of her face, and he could feel her smiling.

"Let's not try to sleep alone again," she whispered. "It's bloody awful."

"Deal."