Notes: I found an image of fluff prompts on pinterest so I decided to write a ronarry fanfic for each prompt. This one is "Having their hair washed by the other". I hope you like it, oh and I included a small quick sketch I did for it ^^
Harry and Ron were Head Aurors at the Ministry. Everyone knew they’d been joined at the hip from the very beginning, so it was always Harry and Ron or Ron and Harry — never one without the other.
Naturally, it wasn’t a secret that they shared more than friendship or work.
And ever since Harry pulled Ron out of the lake in fourth year, both had known.
Contrary to what many had assumed when they first joined the Aurors, working together wasn’t a distraction. If anything, they were better for it — inseparable, watching each other’s backs, balancing Harry’s gallantry with Ron’s strategy.
They lived together at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, in a space they had made their own — somewhere they could be themselves and show each other all the love they carried. Something they didn’t often do in public.
Pet names like “love”, “darling”, or “sweetheart” stayed within the walls and corners of their home — just between them, and no one else. Not even Hermione.
Only Harry was allowed to touch and kiss the scars on Ron’s arms.
Only Ron could press a kiss to Harry’s forehead and rest there, against the lightning-shaped scar.
An intimacy they hadn’t found until after they’d left school.
Ron had let his hair grow after the months they spent on the run hunting Horcruxes. It fell nearly to his waist now — something that drove Harry completely mad, thank you very much.
He loved waking in the mornings to find Ron by the window, copper hair falling in soft waves down his freckled back. It looked almost divine.
Ron would never admit it, but he took far more care of his hair than he let on. Harry had caught him more than once with muggle products promising shine and silkiness.
As if he needed them. He was perfect as he was.
Sometimes he wore it braided down his back or tied into a low ponytail. Loose only at home — often spilling over Harry’s lap while he threaded his fingers through it.
At the end of that week, the two of them found themselves pulled into an important mission — and a difficult one. As complex as it could be, with a high risk of going wrong.
But they didn’t come out of it unscathed.
All the bones in Ron’s arm had been vanished, and Harry knew all too well how painful it was to have them regrown.
He stayed with Ron the entire night, keeping him pressed against his chest, trying to soothe him through the agonising process of bone regeneration.
“Harry… how did you endure this at twelve?” Ron murmured, his voice strained with pain. He was sweating despite the coolness of the night.
“I dunno, love. We put up with a lot at that age,” Harry replied, fanning Ron’s forehead with a small charm from his wand. “Come on, try to sleep. It’ll pass quickly.”
Ron’s bones had fully regrown by the next day, and they were able to return home, where he’d been instructed to rest. Things were calm — but something was clearly bothering Ron.
“Love, what is it?” Harry asked, handing a cup of tea to his good hand.
“Promise you won’t laugh.”
“‘Course I won’t. What’s wrong?”
“I feel… uncomfortable because of… my hair.” He gestured to the messy bun perched on top of his head — slightly matted, tangled. “I haven’t been able to wash it, you know, because of my arm.”
“And why would I laugh at that? C’mon, let’s go — I’ll do it for you,” he said, standing up.
“It’s not that… Well, yes, I need help, but… it’s not just washing it…” Ron’s ears had gone red.
“What? Putting on all those Muggle products you use?” Harry snorted. “Love, I’ve known for ages you use a whole bunch of things. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”
“Well, you should’ve told Hermione to keep it a secret when you asked her to help you buy them from a Muggle shop.”
“Ugh, I’ll be having words with her!” Ron said — but he was smiling. “Alright then… let’s go.”
They went upstairs to the main bathroom, the one they had redone with beautiful jade-coloured tiles. There was a clawfoot tub with golden fittings, large enough for both of them — a place where they had spent more than one night surrounded by candles and firewhisky.
With a flick of his wand, Ron removed the glamour from part of the bathroom cabinet, and Harry finally saw the full extent of his hair routine: jars, glass bottles with droppers, sprays — and if he wasn’t mistaken, at least seven different combs.
“You use all that?” Harry asked, surprised.
“Don’t be daft, I don’t use it all at once. Today we’ll just…” Ron began, selecting a few items with his wand and floating them closer to the tub. “These… I’ll tell you how to use them.”
Harry felt slightly nervous — but he could manage. He filled the tub with warm water and set a charm to keep it clean. They both undressed and slipped in together, Ron sitting with his back to Harry, his tangled hair falling loose down his back.
Harry picked up the handheld shower and dampened it, watching as the copper strands deepened in colour. Ron guided him through each step, telling him what to apply. Everything smelled rather nice, Harry admitted — recognising scents he’d caught more than once in his boyfriend’s hair.
He washed it carefully, several times, until it was clean, then spread something creamy along the full length of the red hair.
“That’s conditioner. You should try it sometime, love.”
“Oi, shut it, Weasley. I was born with this hair — nothing tames it!” Harry shot back, laughing, though he was curious. Ron’s hair had become so soft that it was easy to run a comb through it without pulling or hurting him.
While Ron stayed turned away, Harry worked a bit of the same product into his own hair and kept tending to the red strands.
“You’ve got the most beautiful hair in the world,” Harry said suddenly, once they were done and simply enjoying the warmth of the water, Ron leaning back against his chest.
“Aww… thanks, darling,” Ron replied, turning to kiss him. After a soft peck on the lips, Ron pulled back, opened his eyes — and snorted loudly right in Harry’s face. “Merlin, what happened to you?!” he burst out laughing.
The sight was ridiculous. Harry’s hair, softened by the conditioner, was plastered flat to his head like never before.
“What?!” Harry summoned a mirror with his wand — and that was it.
They both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bathroom, surrounded by coloured bubbles, warm water and Harry swearing he won’t touch that creamy bloody stuff ever again.
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