what you know about love (i got what you need)
Author/Artist: @playitaagain Prompt: ‘Because of growing up with the Dursleys, Harry doesn’t really know what a healthy relationship is. Ron shows him, however many times Harry needs him to.’ Rating: Mature Word count: 6k+ Triggers: time jumps, mentions of canon character deaths, panic attacks, dissociation, vomiting, mention of child abuse, and nightmares Summary/additional information: Ron shows Harry that it’s okay to seek comfort, to have someone hold you. He allows Harry the space to cry while showing him how much love can be found in another person’s nonjudgmental support.
Or
Five time Ron initiates comforting Harry and one time Harry seeks out comfort.
1.
Harry watches as the room flutters with excitement and apprehension. The other boys in his room are chatting about their summer plans, packing away their trunks. Harry is doing no such thing, sitting on the edge of his bed, knees pulled to his chest as he thinks about what his own summer will be like.
It definitely isn’t anything like the other boys. Dean is chatting about a family vacation and football camp he begged his parents to sign him up for - as he didn’t get to play any football here. Seamus is going camping this summer with his parents. Neville plans on working on his little garden at home - he’s really enjoying herbology. Ron is chatting about his days at the burrow, flying around the orchard and staying as far away from Fred and George’s pranks as possible.
It all sounds so lovely.
Harry wishes his summer didn’t consist of lonely nights in his room and barely enough food to get by even though he’s the one who made it or Dudley’s constant taunting that normally turns into Harry being his punching bag. He’s dreading it. He’d much rather just stay here for the summer and he got attacked by Voldemort in this very school.
“Hey, mate,” Ron calls, instantly snapping Harry out of his ravine. He flinches at the words, noting that Ron is a lot closer than he expected. It looks like he’s ready to reach out too, shake Harry back to the present, but his hand stops in mid-air when Harry turns his green gaze toward him. With a furrowed brow, he sits on the bed beside Harry instead and Harry wonders what he saw in his eyes because he looks worried.
“Are ya worried about exams?” Ron asks, curious and Harry can imagine that Ron has no idea what Harry is going back to. Ron’s big family sounds amazing and loving and exactly what a family should be like. Harry’s home life was nothing of the sort and Harry only wished he never had to go back.
“Yeah, I’m nervous about getting our marks,” Harry lies, because he isn’t nervous at all. It isn’t like the Dursleys will care if he fails or not. Actually, they might care as it means they won’t be able to get rid of him if he fails out of school. He’s sure he’s fine though, at least enough to come back next year. Ron won’t understand though but that doesn’t stop him from adding, “I’m going to miss you.”
“Maybe ya can come visit,” Ron sounds hopeful, promising. Harry doesn’t think the Dursleys will allow it because even the thought of Harry having a bit of fun is too much for them. They’d hate that Harry has freak friends and would fear it would turn Harry into even more of a freak than he is.
“Maybe,” Harry mumbles, chin resting against his kneecap. He can see the other boys bustling around, Seamus throwing clothes hazardously into his trunk while Dean gathers all of his art supplies. They don’t pay the two of them any mind and for that Harry is thankful.
“School will start before we even know it.” It won’t start soon enough though. “I could go without the classes though. Just want to hang around with you and play quidditch.” And doesn’t that sound nice. That’s probably what Ron gets to do all summer too. Oh, Harry wishes.
“Do you think your mum would let me visit?” Harry asks, allows himself to think about quidditch in the apple orchard and meals around a bustling family table. He thinks about someone cooking for him and taking care of him and cleaning his clothes. It’s silly, but he knows he will be taking care of himself for the summer. It’s nice to have others taking care of him at Hogwarts for a change. It would be nice to have a mother take care of him.
“Of course, mate. I’m sure she’ll want to see that sweater, make sure she’s made it to fit.” The sweater fits better than any of the clothes he’ll wear this summer and he wonders if he’ll be able to curl himself up in it without the Dursleys finding out and pretend he’s spending the summer with Ron at the Burrow. He doesn’t know what it looks like but he’s learned to have a good imagination.
“Thanks, Ron,” Harry whispers. Ron looks at him for a moment, like he’s searching for something. It seems he finds it because he shuffles forward a bit on the bed and wraps his arms around Harry, pulls him close.
Harry stiffens for a moment, eyes wide because he isn’t used to this, even after a year of Ron’s casual touches, he still isn’t prepared for gentle hands. It takes him a moment, but he sinks into Ron’s embrace, allowing his legs to kick off the side of the bed and turning his body to properly wrap his arms around Ron.
It’s a long moment that he stays in the embrace and he’s thankful Ron doesn’t seem to find a need to pull away. He simply holds Harry tighter, allowing Harry to burrow his nose in Ron’s neck, to hold him as tightly as he needs without saying anything.
“Promise you’ll write,” Harry mutters into his shirt, willing himself not to cry. He’s eleven. He can’t cry over something as silly as leaving school. The Dursleys taught him at a young age that crying was never appropriate and wouldn’t get him anything in life.
“Yeah, mate. Of course,” Ron insists. He’s worried now. Harry can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his arms tighten just a bit more around Harry’s waist. He didn’t mean to worry Ron, but he’s going to miss him so bloody much.
“Thank you, Ron,” Harry repeats, but it’s for so much more this time. It’s for their friendship. It’s for this comfort. It’s for the love that Harry can feel for the first time in his life in his best mates arms. It’s the unwavering support and kindness Ron has shown him.
Ron pulls away from Harry then, holding him at arm’s length so he can make eye contact. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. Promise.” And Harry knows he means it. Yes, they have to separate in only a day’s time, but Ron isn’t going to leave him, and isn’t going to forget about him this summer while they’re away from each other.
The moment is ruined when Seamus drops a particularly thick textbook on the ground, startling the two away from each other. Ron clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly as he avoids eye contact.
“Here, I’ll help you pack.”
The moment is gone, but Harry will it treasure all summer, thinking of Ron’s arms around him, holding him close, holding him gently with the promise to never leave him.
2.
Harry’s shaking when he ends up back in his dorm, heart pounding in his chest. He’s been close to death before but he’s not sure anything can beat being chased around by a dragon on Hogwarts property. It doesn’t help that he’s still reeling from his reunion with Ron, something he’s been craving for ages now.
He just needs a moment alone, a moment away from the hustle and bustle of the common room, where they’re all celebrating his victory. He can still hear the high pitched squeal of the egg, taunting him as he waits for the next task. The noise from downstairs is still setting him on edge and he tugs off all his clothes in a hurry, slipping into his night pants and a warm sweater from Mrs. Weasley before he tucks himself into bed and closes all the curtains.
Even with the covers pulled all the way over his head, he can still hear the music from downstairs. With a flick of his wand, he silences the noise, letting out a sigh of relief when silence falls over the room. It’s the first bit of silence he’s had in a while and the first breath he feels like he’s taken all day. He isn’t sure how he even got into this stupid conpetition and he wishes beyond belief that he could just drop out.
It’s all just been too much. He wishes he could have Sirius here to provide support, someone to tell him that he was going to be fine, that he is going to be fine. He wants someone to hold him. It’s not something he’s used to admitting to himself, but it’s what he wants. It’s what he craves.
“Harry?”
Harry sighs, poking his head out of the covers. It would seem Ron’s broken his spell, head hanging between the curtains of his bed. His shaggy red hair is falling into his face, cheeks a bit blushed from his excitement of the day. He looks a bit nervous though, teeth worrying his bottom lip.
“Are you alright, mate?”
The problem is that Harry isn’t sure how to vocalise it. He’s never been allowed to seek comfort and love. He hasn’t been able to simply have someone hold him, but he can imagine Ron’s arms around him and he wants the comfort more than anything. The words don’t come to him, but the tears start to stream down his cheeks without his permission and he tenses as he waits to be yelled at for seeking attention and his pathetic tears.
It only takes Ron a moment to kick his shoes aside and slip into the bed next to Harry. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry about everything.” This only makes Harry cry even harder because he knows Ron is blaming himself for this, thinks Harry is still holding their fight over his head even though he’s been long forgiven.
Ron is tentative when he settles next to Harry, reaching a hand out slowly, like he doesn’t know if it will be welcome. It only has the tears streaming down a bit harder as Harry chokes on his sobs. It’s enough for Ron to place a hand on Harry’s arm, fingers gentle as he brushes them across Harry’s shoulder. In response, Harry pushes himself to sit up, teary eyes searching as he watches Ron. He can see the second Ron makes the decision, suddenly finding himself in Ron’s arms.
Harry freezes for a moment, until he melts into Ron’s open arms, allowing Ron to hold him a bit closer as he shifts until his arms are around Ron’s neck. Ron pulls him close and suddenly there is a nose in Harry’s hair, a hand moving up and down his back slowly, gently.
“It’s not you,” Harry mutters, not bothering to pull away. He simply pulls him a bit closer, legs somehow ending up across Ron’s lap. He just wants someone to hold him and Ron is gentle, breath steady. The rise and fall of Ron’s chest has Harry’s own breath slowing down, the tears slowing down along with it. “I missed you.”
“It’s okay. I missed you too,” Ron mutters, breath tickling Harry’s hair with his words. Harry’s thankful Ron doesn’t pull away, simply continues to brush his hand softly up and down Harry’s spin. It’s everything he was craving in this moment, the embrace tender and non judgemental in a way he’s never experienced before.
The fact that Ron simply allows him to cry, allows Harry to stay in his arms is everything more that Harry could never ask for. It allows his heart rate to slow, his hands to stop shaking as he starts to come down from the anxiety of the day, adrenaline of the competition long out of his system.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Harry admits after a while, when the tears have slowed down. He doesn’t pull himself away from Ron, allows his cheek to rest on Ron’s collarbone because he doesn’t want to look into Ron’s eyes. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” Ron promises, hands suddenly soothing over Harry’s hair. “We’ll get through it though. I’m not leaving you again, mate. I’m not making that mistake.” The fierce loyalty Harry can hear in his voice has the tears streaming down his cheeks again. He appreciated Ron so much and he knows that Ron means it.
Shit. Harry really loves his best mate.
“Thank you,” Harry mumbles. It’s a thank you for giving him permission to cry, for being scared, for being anxious. It’s a thank you for holding him when he needs it most, for not pushing him away, for allowing him this space. It’s a thank you for their friendship and support even if the last few weeks have been rocky at best.
If Harry falls asleep in Ron’s arms that day, it is no one else’s business because Ron is warm and comfortable and gentle. He’s everything that Harry has never been allowed and it’s the first moment of peace that he’s felt in months as he drifts off with Ron’s arms around him.
3.
It happens every time he closes his eyes. He can see Sirius slip away from him. He can see Ron, unconscious in the hospital bed, accompanied by Hermione on his other side. He can see the panic and fear in his friend’s faces as they stand by him. They always stand by him. They always get hurt. He doesn’t want them to get hurt.
They’re all there though. They’re hiding as Harry watches from the sidelines, chest aching as the order members throw curses across the battlefield. It’s mixed up then, Cedric’s lifeless face sitting in the middle, so often the center of his dreams until he watched Sirius fall through the veil, watched his friends get hurt. It’s a blend now, Cedric on the ground and Sirius moving closer and closer to the veil.
Harry wants to yell out, stop him from moving, but no matter how hard he tries, Sirius can’t hear him. It’s like he watches in slow motion, feels his heart ripped from his chest again. Over and over and over again. Cedric is lying on the ground, green lights flashing over his lifeless face and Sirius is gone.
That doesn’t even include the fact that Ron is writhing in pain next to him and Harry can’t touch him, can’t comfort him. Instead, Hermione’s there, tears tracking her own cheeks as she yells at Harry, tells him it’s all his fault because she’s hurt too.
Harry doesn’t mean to but he wakes up screaming, breath heavy and tears streaming down his cheeks.
He braces himself for the inevitable complaining. The night before had been the final step in sleepless nights and he hadn’t even been able to place a silencing charm before falling into bed. It’s unusual for him to forget now, especially after the events of the year before, of visions placed in his head and his mates all waking up to his screaming.
It isn’t that they’re mean about it. Harry knows they won’t take the micky out of him during the day. He knows they’ll insist it’s fine, that they could never imagine what he’s going through. That doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t feel guilty. The guilt is so much so that it makes bile rise in his throat and anxiety spike because he knows all his friends will check in.
They don’t though. Harry can hear their breathing or snores, but it would seem they can’t hear his heavy breath, couldn’t hear his scream. He’s thankful for a moment, allowing the sob stuck in his throat slip past his lips.
The hand on his shoulder startles him and he shoots across the bed. The edge is much closer than expected though and Ron catches his elbow, frown tugging down his lips when Harry makes eye contact. It makes sense now that he sees Ron why their roommates haven’t heard Harry’s screaming or panic. Ron’s taken to putting up a silencing spell around both of them when he notices Harry forgot.
Harry always feels guilty, especially because Ron will often alter Harry’s spell so he falls under the silence, so he can help Harry through a nightmare. It’s much too often for Ron to be up, but he always seems to be able to alter the spell no matter what Harry does or how powerful Harry may be. Harry may not sleep most nights to avoid the nightmares, but he can admit it’s also so he doesn’t wake up Ron either.
“Mate,” Ron whispers. It’s his sad voice, understanding. Harry doesn’t like it, doesn’t like when Ron looks at him with those sad blue eyes either. It makes them look more gray when he does that, like a storm is brewing, but Harry wants the blue of the sky on a sunny day, warming him up from the inside out.
He hates that he’s hurting someone he loves.
“Go away,” he chokes, because he hates that all he wants is Ron to hold him in his arms again, let him cry until everything is numb, let him curl up against him and fall asleep in that comfort even though he knows he’ll still have nightmares. He only wishes it would chase the nightmares away.
“Oh, Harry,” Ron sighs and Harry goes willingly in his arms as they settle against the headboard, curtains drawn closed. Harry’s crying before he can even press his face against Ron’s chest, hide in the curve of his neck, red hair tickling his forehead.
Ron’s arms are warm and covered, but Harry can see the scar along his wrist, where the sleeve has caught along his forearm. It simply makes Harry cry harder, fingers shaky as he reaches out slowly.
It’s unusual for Ron to allow this, to allow the contact. The scars are still sensitive months later and Harry hates that it’s only made Ron more self-conscious. There are moments he flinches away, especially when someone touches him suddenly. This is different today though, this touch is gentle as Harry barely glides his fingers over raised skin.
The act has Harry simply crying harder, curling up so his knees are to his chest, leaning into Ron’s warm chest. Ron doesn’t move, simply wraps his free arm around Harry’s back, secures him so Harry knows he isn’t going anywhere, that he’s never letting go.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry chokes, earning himself a coughing fit around the lump in his throat. It makes his chest ache and bile rise in his throat. He fights it down as he settles back against Ron, tears still salty on his lips. “I hate that this happened. I hate that people are getting hurt because of me.”
The next moment has Harry blinking in confusion, shifted a bit violently until he’s facing Ron, until Ron can look at him properly. He brushes his finger across Harry’s cheeks, catches the tears and presses their forehead together.
“This is not your fault. This was never your fault. I don’t blame you,” Ron stresses, never breaking eye contact, “Not a single one of us blames you. This is Voldemort. Please don’t think it’s on you.” Ron’s crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t allow Harry to look away. “I need you to understand that this is not your fault.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to respond because his chest hurts, gratitude filling his vians and coursing through his system. Fuck. He loves this boy in front of him with everything he has.
And that’s definitely a new revelation because he’s always loved Ron, but he’s never realized that love was different. He never realized that he was in love.
Ron must take his silence as acceptance because Harry finds himself back in those inviting arms, back in the hold that he craves so much. He finds himself curled under the covers again with his best mate, tears dry on his cheek and warmth in his chest and love in his heart.
It isn’t a dreamless night, but it’s easier to manage when he wakes up to a face full of messy red hair and warmth reminding him that Ron didn’t leave.
4.
It’s over.
Harry feels nauseous as the crowd descends, cheers of happiness and tears of joy surrounding him. The problem is that Harry is going to throw up. He can’t be in the middle. He can’t have people touching him, thanking him. He can’t do this and with all the effort he can muster, he shoves his way through the crowd, elbowing with unnecessary force.
The dread is like lead in his stomach, like he can’t believe this is over, like he’s waiting for the next step to happen. It doesn’t make sense that the battle he’s been fighting for the last seven years - actually, the last seventeen years - is suddenly over. It only took one last battle, one last moment with Voldemort.
He throws up when he finally manages to get to a hallway by himself, heaving over the fallen deprise. There isn’t much to throw up in his stomach, more bile than anything and it burns his throat, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He chokes as he heaves again, coughing violently as he tries to catch his breath.
The noise from the great hall is distracting, much too close for Harry’s liking. He manages to swallow down the burn in his throat, whipping the bile from his lips and chin with his dirty shirt sleeve before he pushes away from the wall. He’s unsteady as he assesses where he is.
It takes him a long moment to figure out where he is. It isn’t just the fact the castle is destroyed, but he can’t seem to focus enough to sort out all the input around him. The thought of the battle, a consistent reminder with the noise, is still making him feel nauseous and he stumbles down the hall and up forgotten stairs.
The portrait is long lost, the fat lady probably cowering somewhere away from the battle. It’s left the door swung open, which is fine by Harry as he stumbles into the common room.
It’s surprisingly untouched, the battle focused more in the main hall of the building and outside on the grounds. The reminder of his school years spent in this very room has his heart heavy. There’s even a fire in the fireplace, memories of nights spent curled up with Ron and Hermione studying. It only makes the sadness settle, reminds him that not only is the one thing he’s been fighting for for seventeen years over, but so is his school life. He’s losing everything, losing his purposes to the celebration downstairs and he hates himself for even thinking that.
He’s not breathing, chest aching as he stumbles up the stairs. The tears are dirty against his cheeks as he falls toward the couch, bile souring his mouth once again and he vomits on the rugs that hold such fond memories.
He doesn’t let it throw him off as he stumbles toward the stairs. He has to use the wall to hold himself up, stumbling on the stairs until he’s reached what would be his dormitory this year. It’s nearly bare now, only two beds occupied, but not recently enough to actually hold any semblance of the joy and excitement that make the place feel like home for so many years.
Harry groans as his stomach churns. He catches himself before he can vomit again, rubbing at his mouth angrily until he falls into what would have been his bed this past year. It’s warm and inviting and everything he had craved when he first went on the run. He can remember nights staying up with his dorm mates, playing games and drinking the fire whiskey they still don’t know how Seamus stole. He remembers curling up in his bed with Ron, holding him close and feeling safe.
He should have never left Ron downstairs. He should never have stumbled away from the one person who knows exactly how to ground him. It’s especially apparent when he dry heaves over the side of his bed, whole body aching with the movement because there’s nothing left to throw up. It merely leads to him coughing again and crying as he curls up around his pillow.
It hurts as he allows himself to come undone, to fall apart.
That is until he feels a hand on his shoulder.
He’s still raw from the fight, shooting up in bed, wand at the ready. It takes him way too long to realize he has his wand pressed against the same neck he wants to press his nose into. The second the realization that it’s Ron hits, he drops the wand, left to get lost in the covers as he falls back into the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Fuck, Ron,” he breaths, because even his pressence is reassuring.
They aren’t in battle anymore. He doesn’t have to watch his back every fucking second of every fucking day. He can live now. The problem is that he isn’t sure he knows how to do that.
“Harry,” Ron breaths, digs a knee into the soft fabric as he reaches forward to hold Harry. He pauses though, assessing before he continues, “Can I hold you?”
Does Harry look so bad that Ron thinks he needs an invitation? He knows he’s banged up, but he wants Ron’s arms around him more than anything. He needs Ron’s help because he can’t get his heart rate to calm down and Ron’s always known how to help.
“Please,” Harry cries, that single word mumbled by the tears streaming down his cheeks. Ron is quick to find his usual spot against the headboard, pulling Harry to his chest. This allows Harry to press an ear against his heart - thank Merlin Ron is alive, thank Merlin he’s able to hear this beautiful heart beat - and listen closely. The rise and fall of Ron’s chest is steady and warm and everything Harry wants for the rest of his life.
“It’s going to be okay, Harry,” Ron whispers, pressing a nose into his dark hair even though he must be disgusting. He’s sure he still has vomit on his face, probably mixed in with all the blood and dirt on his shirt. “We’ll figure this out.”
Harry doesn’t know how Ron always seems to know what to say. He doesn’t understand how Ron always knows how to help. It only has Harry crying harder, holding on tighter because he could have lost him and he’s so thankful that he didn’t, that he can hold Ron without worrying about losing him.
5.
Harry normally doesn’t mind training. It’s the most he’s learned in a long time in terms of defense against the dark arts - which is what being an auror basically is - and it’s refreshing because he’s good at it. He doesn’t have to worry about all the classes he’s shit at and can just focus on this.
The problem is that they’re starting legilimency and occlumency.
It reminds Harry of one of the worst years of his life. It reminds him of Snape rooting around in his head, Voldemort implanting visions, pain flaring across his scare. The worst of it is that it reminds him of losing Sirius, nightmares that started to fade years ago - replaced with bigger and scarier nightmares as he fell more into war - when he opened up to Ron and started allowing himself to feel without feeling guilty.
The biggest problem is that the memories are preventing him from properly defending himself and memories flooding out of his brain, memories he doesn’t need his coworkers to ever see. The dark ones far outweigh the light ones to the point where other trainees aren’t allowed to train with Harry, who is somehow stuck with their superior fucking reading his mind.
Harry is also trying to prevent his coworkers from finding out about his bloody feelings for his best friend. It’s easier to cover it up with the pain, because the happy memories these days all center around spending time with Ron. It doesn’t even matter if the memories include other people because Ron always seems to be the center. He let one slip, a fond memory of Ron laughing at something Charlie was saying, and he was never doing that again. Those memories were too close to his heart.
The problem is that today the dark memories that he pulls aren’t his usual. He tries to keep it light, tries to keep memories of the cold nights on the run or the heat of the battle, but today he watch Sirius die, feels Voldemort get into his head, aches at the loss of parents, the pain he felt when he saw the Weasley’s lose a son. It hurts today and he’s tired from days of bad memories keeping him up and he suddenly can’t hold them out.
The second his superior releases him he crumbles to the ground, panic gripping his heart. The nausea stirs his stomach and he can see Sirius on the ground under his hands, can feel the anger seeping into his veins because he’s so fucking weak. He fought voldemort. He defeated Voldemort. He stopped Voldemort from getting into his head even with their connection, but suddenly he’s crumpled on the ground by his superior and having a panic attack.
He’s so fucking weak.
Ron is there though, hand pressed to his shoulder. Harry is sure Ron would wrap him up in his arms if there wasn’t an audience, every single person in their training suddenly preoccupied with staring at Harry, staring at the fucking weak screw up that can’t even fight off a bit of legilimency.
“I’m taking him home,” Ron informs, because Harry is shaking now. It’s like every single one of his bad memories is flashing before his eyes and he hates how many there are, hates that he can see the war, the battles, the pain, but also the loss, the abuse, the loneliness. He can’t even focus on the conversation, only catching little snippets from Ron’s end, because Harry’s always listening to Ron. “You have no idea what he’s been through - bloody legilimency - like he hasn’t been through enough - bloody fucking pricks - it doesn’t fucking matter - we’re leaving.”
Harry doesn’t fight the hand Ron wraps around his elbow, helping him off the ground. Harry keeps his head hung low, thankful when Ron’s arm wraps around his waist and pulls him away from the show - the one he was at the fucking center of - and helps him to the little office for trainees.
Harry is much too out of it to gather anything, aching at the sudden loss of Ron’s hand on his elbow, grounding him, keeping him up. It’s so bad he ends up crumbling to the ground again, caught only before his knees can connect with the hard ground.
“Come on, Harry. Let’s go home.”
Harry doesn’t really know how they get home. He simply lets Ron lead him through the miserty with his head hung and finds himself in the floo in their living room, Ron stepping in behind him before Harry can even question where he is. It’s easy to trust Ron, to allow himself to wallow and ache. He knows Ron will always have his back, has learned that Ron will always be there for him, giving him his space to grieve while supporting him in any way he needs. It’s one of the many reasons he loves Ron.
Ron leads him to his bedroom with a hand on his back, tugging off his sweater and helping him out of his shoes. Harry doesn’t register most of it, simply allows Ron to arrange him into his own bed, reaching out to grab his wrist when he goes to slip away. “I’m going to put on some soup and I’ll be right back, mate.”
Harry doesn’t want him to go, but he doesn’t want to be too needy either so he allows his own hand to drop onto the bed.
He isn’t sure how long Ron is gone, lost in his own memories until Ron’s head of red hair appears in his vision again. He reaches forward to touch Harry’s cheek, but stops before he can, a frown tugging down his lips. “Can I hold you?” Because he always checks in when Harry is like this, knows when Harry needs to be asked as compared to when Ron can simply just hold Harry.
Harry’s voice doesn’t work though so he simply nods, a sigh of relief leaving his lips when Ron’s arms circle his shoulders, pulling him close so Harry can curl up to his chest just like this. It’s his usual place, Harry’s favorite place. It provides him comfort, grounding when he’s lost in his own head for far too long.
“It’s going to be okay, Harry,” Ron mumbles, because he knows exactly what Harry needs to hear. “It’s been a hard few days. Legilimency is fucking hard and I know you haven’t been sleeping. It’s okay to need comfort sometimes. It doesn’t make you weak. None of this makes you weak.”
Harry appreciates the words, knows they’re true. The problem is that they’re only true to a point. He’ll never be able to become an auror if he can’t master legilimency and occlumency, if it makes him crumble to his emotions every time - even if it’s taken days of constant legilimency for this to happen.
He doesn’t say anything as he finally allows himself to work through some of his technique’s, the mind healer’s words working to help him calm down. It’s easy to focus on it when he has Ron’s security wrapped around him. It’s enough to allow him to focus on the present, blink away the nightmares and realize just how tired he truly is.
“Please don’t go,” Harry whispers as his eyes drift closed. He focuses on good memories like he learned, burrowing into Ron. “I love you,” he breathes when he finally lets himself sleep for the first time in days, having been too scared to allow the memories to invade his dreams, but knowing now that Ron will help fight those memories because Ron is in all of his happy ones.
+1
They separate them. It’s this whole thing in the office that becomes a fight. Ron and Harry work well together. Anyone who’s seen them in the field can vouch for them. There are actually people in the office that do just that. It isn’t enough thought and somehow Harry finds himself with a fresh faced newbie that he has to babysit and nights alone for the first time in months. He hates it.
He especially hates it when Ron is sent on a long term mission. The pair have been together nearly a year when the separation happened and Harry finds himself in a cold bed more often than he likes. This mission in particular is probably the worst. It’s the longest separation the pair has ever experienced, a month rolling around with panic keeping Harry on edge constantly.
It leads to a lot of sleepless nights.
It doesn’t help that Harry isn’t allowed information. There is this whole confidentiality thing, the less people who know the better. It’s a top tear mission - Harry is actually quite proud of Ron for getting such an amazing opportunity - and it’s only a need to know basis. That leaves Harry with a lot of brush offs and unanswered questions.
That is until he hears the murmurs in his office.
He thinks he may be hallucinating at first. It’s been a long few weeks without Ron. If it isn’t the worry keeping him up at night, it’s the nightmares his brain is supplying, much more creative than Harry would ever claim to be. There was actually a point a week ago that he was taken off field mission, only allowed on patrol. Harry hadn’t even argued, simply said it would be good training for the newbie and went off to wallow in his office for a while.
It wouldn’t be the first time he thought he heard some news about Ron, but this is apparently the only time that he’s not making it all up in his own head.
“Did you hear? Weasley’s case was successful,” someone murmurs, gossiping around the office. How the hell do they even know that? Harry should be the first one notified if Ron’s back. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t heard anything.
“Aurur Potter,” Robards calls, eyes narrowed. Harry’s head is sticking out of his office, eyes focused on the two gossiping about his Ron. The head of the department easily takes his attention away, green eyes snapping up to meet Robards. “In your office.”
“Um-yes, sir,” Harry mumbles, because now he can feel the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. It makes him a bit nauseous, but he easily pushes that aside in order to appear professional in front of his boss.
“Potter, this stays between us,” Robards narrows his eyes sternly and Harry nods in agreement, “Auror Weasley is back. He’s at St. Mungo’s. From what I understand, it’s just a few scrapes, but it’s protocol that he goes. He’s in the auror ward but you didn’t hear it from me.”
Harry’s shock only lasts a moment before he’s stumbling toward the door, calling out, “Thanks, sir,” over his shoulder. He tries to tone it down in the halls, but he’s practically running through them at top speed until he’s at the nearest floo.
The green frames don’t deter him as he steps out on the other side, ignoring the calls for him to slow down as he reaches the auror ward. It’s a quick spell to get into the ward and only a quick smile at the receptionist before he’s shoving the door open to Ron’s room.
He pauses in the doorway to get a good look. He doesn’t appear to be on his deathbed, but that doesn’t mean anything in their profession. Harry can only clock a few cuts and bruises on his bare torso, the healer tending to them. There’s a few stray cuts across his face, like he was hit with some debris and a bruise around his right eye. Harry never thought he would be so relieved to see Ron with only a few cuts and bruises because his mind had supplied far worse for him in these last few weeks.
It takes a moment for Ron to notice, frowning down at the cut the healer is tending too, but it’s like he’s drawn to Harry, blue eyes blinking in surprise when he turns to look at the new person in the room. The smile is like slow motion pulling up his light, lighting up his eyes and it’s the most brilliant thing Harry has ever seen in his life.
Fuck. He loves this man so much.
“Thank, fuck,” Harry sighs, rushing forward. The healer barely had time to pull back before Harry’s in Ron’s arms. It nearly knocks the breath out of Ron, a wince leaving his lips. Harry is about to pull away when Ron’s arms wrap around his back, a soft laugh leaving the lips pressed into Harry’s messy head of hair.
“It’s good to see you too, love,” Ron smiles and it settles every bit of anxiety Harry’s had the last few weeks as he holds the love of his life in his arms again. He burrows right into his neck, allows himself a breath even if Ron does need a shower desperately, and starts to cry.
Harry barely registers the tell tale sign of the door closing, the healer stepping out of the room to give the two of them privacy. Harry is bloody thankful for that as the tears stream down his cheeks, pulling away just so he can look at Ron again, make sure he’s real.
“Oh, Harry, I’m fine,” Ron smiles, hands moving to cup Harry’s face, thumb brushing the tears away gently. “What do you need, love?”
“Just hold me a bit, please,” Harry mumbles, breath catching in his throat at Ron’s brilliant smile.
“Always,” Ron breaths, helping Harry shuffle around so he is situated between Ron’s legs hanging off the edge of the hospital bed, arms around his neck as Harry holds him as close as possible.
“I love you,” Harry whispers into his neck, pressing his cheek against the warm skin. This is home, right here in Ron’s arms. This is all the comfort he will ever need.
“I love you, too,” he whispers into Harry’s hair, holding him tight. Harry allows himself a deep breath as he takes all the comfort he can from Ron, all the comfort Ron’s told him time and time again he deserves, all the comfort that has allowed Harry to know what love is all about.
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