Story Notes:
Just plain cheesy, cheesy fluff!
Warning for Emo!Harry.
Warning for Emo!Harry.
Harry slammed the front door behind him and started pacing the living room, muttering curses under his breath. An hour ago, he couldn’t have been happier. He'd been sat in the pub with some of his best friends, having a drink and laughing about old times. For just a short time, he’d forgotten about everything else. Why did she have to come in and spoil everything?
Ron entered the flat a few minutes after Harry, and turned to hand his coat on the stand next to the door.
“You all right, mate?” Ron asked, watching Harry pace up and down.
"Do I look fucking all right?” Harry snapped.
“Sorry, I just…” Ron started timidly, but Harry interrupted.
“I’m sick of it… I’m sick of everyone! You all have no fucking idea what it’s like. I’ve spent my whole life putting up with it, and I won’t do it anymore!”
“Come on, Harry, don’t let that Skeeter bitch ruin today.”
“It’s not just Rita fucking Skeeter. It’s everybody! She just put the bloody cherry on top!”
Harry stopped pacing and threw himself into an armchair, grinding his teeth.
“I’m just Harry fucking Potter to everybody, aren’t I? The boy who defeated Voldemort…”
“You’re not, Harry.”
“Don’t talk soft, Ron. That’s all anybody wants to talk about. Five years since I killed him and that’s all anybody cares about. I hate being Harry Potter, I hate it. I wish I’d never been born.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Ron answered quietly. “Now you’re the one talking soft.”
“No, Ron, I’m not. For ten years, that’s all I’ve had. ‘Look, look, it’s him, the poor boy whose parents were murdered. Look, look it’s him, the boy who killed Voldemort. Look, it’s him, Harry fucking Potter.’ I’ve had people trying to be my friend just because they want a bit of gold. I’ve had people throwing themselves at me so they can say they’ve shagged the famous Harry Potter. Staring and pointing wherever I go, eyes fixed on the scar whenever I’m talking to people. I can’t take it anymore!”
Harry buried his face in his hands. Ron moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Not everyone’s like that, mate. I’m not like that.”
Harry snorted.
“Oh, please Ron, don’t give me that shit! You’re just like that. ‘Look everyone, Harry Potter is my best friend. Look everyone, I live with Harry Potter. Look everyone, aren’t I lucky? I get to fuck Harry Potter.’ Don’t pretend that you don’t love lapping up all the attention. You always have.”
Ron pulled his hand back quickly as though burnt.
“I… I never… you... bastard,” Ron almost whispered, before turning around and storming into their bedroom, slamming the door as hard as he could behind him.
He threw himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream at Harry or cry. They’d been friends for ten years, lovers for two, and this was what Harry thought of him.
After a few minutes of lying in silence, he heard Harry moving on the other side of the door and instinctively turned away from it. Harry knocked gently and opened the door.
“Ron…” he began, but Ron interrupted him.
“Piss off, Harry,” he barked.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ron heard him close the door and slump against it.
“I said piss off,” Ron repeated.
“I didn’t mean it, honestly. I’m just angry,” he said. "I'm so angry."
He didn’t sound angry; he sounded hurt. He sounded like he was going to burst into tears. At first, Ron didn’t care; now he was the angry one.
“Oh, that’s all right then,” Ron said sarcastically, sitting up and turning to face Harry. “I forgot, you’re the famous Harry Potter. You can treat your boyfriend, and best friend, like total shit and with a simple ‘sorry’ he’ll come crawling back. Because you’re Harry Potter. I wouldn’t want to miss out on all that wonderful attention I get when I’m with you, now would I?”
Harry sat down on the bed, his head hanging as he stared at the floor.
“I am a bastard,” he said, simply. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. That’s not what I think at all, I promise you.”
He put his head in his hands, his elbows leaning on his knees. As stubborn as Ron was, he didn’t really want to fall out with Harry, so he let himself calm down a bit before speaking again.
“Good, 'cause I never got any bloody attention with you around! I might have loved the attention if I’d got any but, with you around, nobody ever noticed me.”
He moved close to Harry and put a hand on his back.
“Harry Potter was never my best friend. All right,” he admitted, “I thought it was cool for about five minutes when we were eleven years old. After that, the Potter part wasn’t important. My best friend is Harry… just Harry.”
Harry nodded slightly and sniffed. Ron moved his hand back and forth across Harry's shoulder blades reassuringly.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly, and Harry looked up. “You might be Harry Potter to the rest of the world, but to the people who matter that’s not important. Me, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna… we all love you because of what you are, not who you are.”
Harry sniffed again, and looked back at the floor.
“I know,” he whispered, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I know it must be hard,” Ron told him, putting his arm around him and giving him a squeeze. “I’m not going to say that I understand, because I don’t. No one can understand how you must feel; I can’t even imagine how you must feel. I’m still getting used to the fact that people recognise me since they found out that we're together.”
He moved his hand to lightly caress the side of Harry’s face, brushing his hair out of the way. He placed a gentle kiss where Harry’s jaw met his neck.
“After everything you’ve done for the Wizarding World, you should be proud to be who you are… that people want to stop you in the street to thank you for saving us.”
Harry looked up and met Ron’s eyes.
“I didn’t choose to do that stuff, Ron. I had to. Anyone would have done the same in my position. Sometimes, it sounds awful I know, but I just wish that I hadn’t done all that stuff… that people didn’t know who I was… that I wasn’t Harry Potter.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do to change what you’ve done. And there’s nothing I can do to change the fact that people recognise you in the street. But… well, what if I said that you didn’t have to be Harry Potter?”
Harry frowned.
“I’d say, ‘Ron, what the bloody hell are you on about?'”
Ron gulped, unsure if this was the right time, but knowing that there was no way to take back what he’d already said. He took a deep breath and tried his best to keep eye contact with Harry.
“Well, what if you were Harry Weasley?” Ron asked slowly. He saw Harry’s eyes widen and his jaw visibly drop so that his mouth formed a tiny ‘O’.
“What? You mean…” Harry began, but Ron interrupted him by shifting off the bed.
If I really am going to do this, I might as well do it properly, Ron thought, before moving to get on one knee at the side of the bed. He took Harry’s hands into his own and stared at their entwined fingers, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.
“Harry, will you marry me?”
Ron thought the silence that followed his question seemed to last hours rather than just a few seconds. And then, Harry had lunged at him and pulled him into an unbelievable kiss. Lips open, tongues darting in and out, and fists clutching eagerly at clothes and hair. It was a few minutes later that Ron broke the kiss.
"Is that a yes?” he asked, smirking slightly.
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Harry whispered, lips just a breath away from Ron’s. "God, I love you.”
“Love you too,” Ron said softly, and he leaned in to share another passionate kiss with his fiancée.