HarryxRon Oneshots!

The weight of another

Sometimes all it takes is for another to take the weight off your shoulders for a while..

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Harry shut the door to the boys' dormitory with a loud bang! and stomped his way into the room. His head was spinning, his blood was boiling, and all he wanted to do was scream at the top of his lungs. But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed to. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One – he couldn't have feelings, not this strong and not this late in the thick of it all. Sixteen years old and the world was weighing on his shoulders. A man, no different then he in many ways, seemed indestructible. Yet his weaknesses were beginning to blossom, and it was up to Harry to seek them out. It seemed that Harry could never catch a break. Since the day he was born it seemed he was marked for destiny, and on that fateful Halloween night that mark was etched into his very skin. For eleven years he suffered mental abuse, and just when it seemed that things were going his way, he was thrown yet another curveball.

I'm still just a boy, Harry thought, as he plopped himself onto the edge of his four-poster bed. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Tears started to bubble, and Harry bit his lower lip to contain himself from crying. Don't cry, he pleaded with himself. For the love of god, don't cry. The door then opened with a small creak. Harry quickly wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand for loose tears and straightened himself on his bed. Poking his head through the door, Ron peered inside.

"Oh, Harry," he muttered, his voice low and gruff, just like his appearance seemed to be. 

Ron had grown considerably since Harry met him five years ago on the Hogwarts Express. His ginger hair was the same color, but it was shaggy and short. His face had matured and his arms and chest and expanded from playing Quidditch. Ron had become a man right before Harry's eyes. He wondered if he looked any different to him.

"Hi, Ron," Harry said, managing to crack a weak smile. 

Ron stepped into the dormitory, taking a look around the room, mainly to avoid eye contact with Harry. Finally, he did.

"I saw you storm up here," he said, looking a bit sheepish. 

"I just wanted to know if you were all right." Harry swallowed.

"I'm fine, Ron, really," Harry assured. "I've just got a lot going on right now." Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the next. 

Since their fourth year at school, Harry tried to understand what life must be like for Ron having him as a friend. Ron could never possibly understand what Harry was going through, but he certainly tried. Harry wondered how different things would have been if he hadn't befriended Ron that memorable autumn afternoon. Would he have still been friends with Hermione? Would he have been friends with Seamus? Dean? Or would he have been all alone; even more alone than he was now?

"Well, um, okay then," Ron muttered. "I'll just leave you to your thoughts then." He turned to leave, but Harry stood abruptly from his bed.

"Don't!" Harry exclaimed. Ron's head snapped to Harry. He shook his head.

"Don't leave," Harry begged. "I could really use someone to talk to right now." A glow seemed to light up Ron's face at the prospect of helping

Harry, who gestured for him to take a seat next to him on his bed. Ron did so, his thigh inches from Harry's. As the two boys sat there in silence for a while, Harry couldn't help but feel awkward. Ron was his friend, his best friend – so why was he all of a sudden feeling hot? Why was he suddenly beginning to feel butterflies in his stomach? Ron waited. Harry was the quiet type – always keeping his emotions to himself before he exploded. He just hoped he wouldn't explode on him like he had in the past. Ron found it difficult to understand the way Harry worked, but it didn't matter.

He needed Harry, just as much as Harry needed him, and sometimes it was hard for Ron to stop putting Harry's needs before his own. Sure, Ron was selfish a majority of the time – being the youngest boy made him the center of affection towards his mother – but with Harry it was always his well being before his own. Maybe it was because the wizarding world depended on him, or maybe it was because Ron cared too much for Harry.

Yes, it was hard for Ron to stop feeling those urges for Harry. His untidy black hair, his crooked grin, those piercing emerald green eyes – he was all the rage in the diaries of young witches (and wizards too, no doubt). And deep down inside (way deep down inside), Ron couldn't help feeling that Harry felt the same way about him too.

"Dumbledore's set me a task," Harry finally blurted out. Ron snapped back into reality. Right – Harry was upset about something.

"What's the task?" Ron asked, inching ever so slightly towards Harry. Harry looked down at the thin space between their thighs. He swallowed.

"I can't tell you," Harry said, which was the truth; Dumbledore had said to keep it a secret between the two of them. Ron nodded his head.

"Oh, okay," he muttered. "So that's what's bothering you then?"

No, Harry thought. You're getting awfully close to me and it's making me feel... Harry recalled his first kiss not so long ago. It was underneath the mistletoe with Cho Chang, a pretty Ravenclaw girl a year ahead of Harry. She was nice, but she wasn't "the one". And it wasn't because she was a bad kisser or a bad listener or the fact that she still wasn't over her deceased boyfriend; it was because when Harry got back to the Common Room and he told Ron and Hermione about his kiss with Cho, Harry couldn't get the image of Ron's face out of his mind.

Crestfallen, hopeless, heartbroken.

It haunted Harry for days, weeks, months, until it was the only image that popped into his head before he closed his eyes and went to sleep (after rolling over and looking at a snoring, sleeping Ron in the bed next to him). Had Ron wanted to steal Harry's first kiss?

"Ron," Harry whispered, his voice low, shaky, and unsure. 

Ron's heart began to beat faster, the wheels turning at a rapid pace in his mind. He was sure of it, Ron knew, that this was it – that this was the point in time when everything would fall into place. That those feelings they had buried deep down inside, that they had ignored for so long, were finally going to come up.

"You shouldn't bottle up your emotions, Harry," Ron said, his thigh now pushed up against Harry's. 

Harry tilted his head up so his gaze could meet Ron's, and his emerald eyes collided with Ron's crystal blue ones. Ron placed his hand gently on Harry's strong jawline, feeling underneath the stubble that was beginning to grow. Harry was a man now, just like he was, and he had grown up to be absolutely breathtaking. Harry could take it no longer, and stretched himself up to crash his lips against Ron's, his hand gripping at the back of his neck. Ron's eyes flew wide open in shock at Harry's daring move, and felt his tongue flick Ron's lips as permission to open his mouth.

And Ron did.

It was unlike kissing a girl, whose lips were soft and porcelain and must always be treated delicately. With Ron, Harry could be rough and aggressive, biting Ron's lower lip and tugging at the ginger hairs on his head. Grunts and soft moans were appreciated and desired when kissing, and demonstrating one's masculinity and gentlemanly behavior at once was a welcomed challenge. Ron tried not to crush Harry with his weight when it came to the point that Harry was on his back, his head resting against the pillow he slept on.

Harry became frustrated with his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose, and when he made a disgruntled hmph! Ron was more than happy to take them off his face and rest it on his bedside table. Harry smiled up at him, one hand still gripping at Ron's hair.

"You alright there?" Ron questioned, giving his best friend a goofy grin. Harry rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Yes, but I'm restless," Harry smiled, raising his eyebrows up in a suggestive manner. Ron laughed and leaned down to kiss him.

Sometimes, all you need is your best friend to take the weight of the world off your shoulders.