sarka | Birthday fic for hildigunnur: Saving Harry Thing

Ratings, summary, disclaimers and so forth can all be found in the post for Part 1

The chairs in the infirmary of the MLE were without a doubt some of the most comfortable in England, Ron reckoned. He was sitting next to Harry's bed, watching his friend sleep the sleep of the just, and thinking.

Pondering, perhaps. Philosophising.

And make no mistake, he had things to think about.

The previous evening was already turning into a blur of emotions and impressions in his head. It was like he could access his memory, but the only thing he could pull out were snapshots: Realizing that Harry hadn't come home and the sheer dread and panic that had filled him at the thought. Running up the hill towards the castle ruins, ruthlessly squashing any thought that did not have to do with getting to Harry, with saving him. Carrying Harry down, through the mayhem, heart thundering in his chest but his main focus still on Harry.

The tiny little voice at the back of his head that had gone "But what if you never see him again? What if you never…" before he'd squashed it.

He couldn't squash it anymore and he didn't even try. He knew what it wanted to say; he knew what it wanted him to say. And do.

There was no looking past it anymore. There was a small but growing part of him that was totally wrapped up in Harry.

He'd tried everything to rationalize it away. He'd put it down as admiration and hero-worship for a long, long time. Over time his excuses had grown more elaborate and more illogical. For a while he'd chalked it up to curiosity.

Curiosity hadn't actually been very far off. Unfortunately, his research had raised more questions than it had answered, and all of the "I wonder how that would feel" variety, so they were not to be resolved by anything but empirical experimentation.

The problem was that allowing the tiny voice at the back of his head to have its say didn't actually solve anything. He just sat there, staring at Harry, watching him breathe in sleep, his mop of hair fanning out over the pillow and his hand tucked up beneath his cheek, thinking, "Oh God, what if I hadn't gotten him back? What if I had never seen him again? What if I'd never had the chance to figure out how I feel about him? How would I have gone on without him?"

And while none of those questions had answers, really, in and of themselves, he had a sneaky suspicion that all of them together would give him, if not an answer, then at least a hint about how he really felt.

But he still didn't know what to do.

+++

He woke up to shouting, and while he was stiff from falling asleep in the chair, he actually grinned once he realized that the shouting concerned the permanent bone of contention around here.

Harry was actually a notoriously bad patient. One had to excuse him, really; he'd spent enough hours in hospitals and infirmaries to last him a lifetime. Harry had walked out of the MLE infirmary against Healer's orders five times, before Shacklebolt had suspended him for insubordination for a month.

Since then, Harry's hands were tied: He couldn't actually walk out because that'd result in an immediate suspension, but that didn't change his mind about the infirmary and he would fight ferociously with anybody attempting to treat him until he was allowed to go home, usually on the condition that he take time off and that Ron watch over him.

Back then someone had actually suggested sending Ron to Healer Academy for a few seminars, just to avoid the whole thing, since Harry was probably the Auror with the most injuries logged. It hadn't been until Ron had made it absolutely clear that he was not going back to any sort of educational establishment that the idea finally died.

Ron was notorious within the Auror squad, however, for being rather well-versed in First Aid and most ordinary cuts and scrapes, and was often approached about anything from hangover remedies to minor concussions by Aurors who didn't want the hassle of seeing the Healers. It was a well known fact that Harry and Ron's cubicle sported the best-outfitted medicine cabinet in the entire Magical Law Enforcement division.

"I can take him home, if he's fine," Ron croaked without opening his eyes, his voice having gone scratchy from sleep.

He heard a collective sigh of relief from the assembled infirmary staff and he couldn't help echoing it; Harry was clearly none the worse for the wear if they were happy about sending him home.

They got the usual lecture from the healers: No strain on his feet. Best stay in bed, or let Ron levitate him to the sofa. Rest, relax, take a few days off. Start with desk duty. Then they gave Ron the instructions for Harry's potions package – by now everybody knew that it was pointless to give it to Harry – and let them use the infirmary Floo.

+++

Of course, the first thing Harry did once they got home was to insist that Ron put him down; he could walk. Ron knew from past experience that if he didn't deactivate the Mobilicorpus, Harry would do it himself, regardless of the fall to the floor. He'd once had to take Harry in for a minor concussion for that very reason.

So Ron levitated him over to the living room sofa and put him down as softly as he could. "STAY," he said firmly, when Harry seemed to be about to stand up. "I'll go to the kitchen and get something to eat, all right?" Harry nodded and sat back into the sofa.

When Ron got back with some food on a tray, however, Harry was on his feet. "Harry," he said, exasperated. "One of those days, you know, they won't be able to fix you, and chances are it will be your own fault."

He set the tray down on the sofa table and tucked into his… breakfast? Lunch? A quick check of the mantelpiece clock showed that it was closer to lunch – actually, it was rather closer to afternoon tea. Oh great, he'd slept past noon. He'd never get to sleep in the evening – though it couldn't matter much, since Kingsley's orders had said six days' leave, more if they needed it, and for Merlin's sake, "Keep Potter in bed, even if you have to tie him to it."

Harry's admission on the top of the hill about the state of his feet had turned out to be merely the tip of the iceberg. Ron shuddered to think what the previous evening must have been like for his best friend, even if Harry had seemed to take it in stride. The healers had said, though, that none of the wounds were deep or serious – they were mostly of the painful variety. Easily healed, but harder to forget.

Shuddering, Ron put down his spoon. His cereal didn't seem so appealing anymore.

"Ron?" Harry sounded concerned, and Ron was suddenly angry with himself. He wasn't the one who'd gotten kidnapped and tortured last night. He jumped up from the sofa and crossed over to the fireplace, resting his head on the mantelpiece.

"Ron?" Harry asked again.

"How do you deal with it, Harry? Not twenty hours ago you were being held by an ex-Death Eater! Merlin, when I realized you hadn't come home…" He turned around to face Harry where he sat with his breakfast.

"Well, I guess it's a testament to the strength of human nature. You can clearly get used to anything. Besides, all I had to do was to wait for you to save me," Harry shrugged and smiled at him.

Ron didn't know who to be more angry with; himself for asking the question or Harry for clearly not taking the danger he'd been in last night seriously enough. "Look, I'm sorry I asked," he said, trying not to let his irritation show.

Harry looked surprised. "No, don't be! But what did you expect?"

"I dunno," Ron sulked. "I just don't like that you joke about it." He pushed himself away from the fireplace and walked towards the kitchen.

"What? No!" There was a clattering of plates and Ron had barely made it ten steps when Harry got a hold of his t-shirt and used it as a leverage to push him up against the wall. Ron's conscience had a small pang for Harry's poor, abused feet, but it didn't get the time to develop into concern as Harry was looking searchingly at Ron in a very disconcerting manner and Ron had to focus his attention on not meeting his eyes.

"Ron," he said when the silence was becoming uncomfortably long. "I wasn't joking about it, okay? I waited for you to show up. I keep getting into all these scrapes and situations, and you always have."

"Yeah, well," Ron said once he'd found his voice again, "you have this Saving People Thing and it keeps getting you into trouble. Someone has to get you out of it."

Harry let go of Ron's t-shirt and smoothed it down absently with his fingers. "Yeah," he agreed easily. "Just as well for me that you have a Saving-Harry-Thing."

Ron's heart was beating faster with every passing moment. Harry was close, and he had smoothed down his t-shirt, and he was smiling in a sort of fond way – which was a really good expression on him – and 'Saving-Harry-Thing' sounded uncomfortably close to the thoughts that had been running around in Ron's head all last night and this morning. He felt the blush creeping up his neck and he didn't know what to do and he was all confused now so the only thing he could do was to look down and hope that his blush wasn't too noticeable. "Er, yeah," he said lamely, hoping that this would be it and that he could just go and lock himself in the bedroom and figure out what the hell was happening in his head.

"Ron?" Harry was still standing really close, and he was back to sounding concerned. "What's going on? Are you okay? Ron?"

He knew he was worrying Harry, just standing there and not responding but he felt rooted to the spot; unable to move – he couldn't think what to do, why did his stupid brain have all these stupid ideas but never tell him what to do about them?

"Ron, please look at me." Harry was sounding really concerned now – bordering on frightened, actually.

If it had been anybody other than Harry standing there and asking him to look up, he wouldn't do it, he knew. He'd mutter something about long days and lack of sleep and brush it off as exhaustion. But it was Harry, it was, and he couldn't lie to Harry, it wasn't even an option, and fuck, he couldn't work out what was going on in his head but it was all to do with Harry and possibly being attracted to Harry and maybe even loving Harry, so he swallowed his heart and his panic and looked up, straight into Harry's eyes.

In his life, Ron had lived a few moments that had been longer than they'd had any right to be, and he knew that the time until understanding dawned on Harry's face should be measured in heartbeats – and just because he managed to get something like sixty heartbeats into the pause didn't mean it was long – but it felt like eternity.

"Oh," was all that Harry said, his face a picture of shock as he took a step back in surprise.

"I'm… I'll just…" Ron said, taking advantage of the extra space to turn and move away, his face burning.

A hand slammed into the wall in front of his eyes, blocking his escape route. Ron let out a startled sound and turned back towards Harry, who was wearing an unreadable expression and was suddenly a lot closer.

"You're not going anywhere," he said softly.

"I…" Ron said and shrank against the wall. Oh, Merlin, was he angry? He was probably angry. Who wouldn't be angry? He was probably furious. "I'm… I'm sorry, Harry, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me…"

"Ron, shut up," Harry said, but Ron was in full swing now and would not be derailed.

"… you're my best friend and I've no idea what I'm thinking anymore and this won't change anything between us, I won't let it, and I'll move out if you want me to because…"

Oh Morgana, this couldn't change anything, he couldn't have Harry angry with him, he just didn't know who to be if Harry wasn't his friend…

"Ron, shut up," Harry repeated, and if Ron hadn't been too preoccupied he would have detected the note of amusement in his voice, but…

"… because I'm probably never going to be able to be normal around anybody you're dating and I can manage if I'm not living here… I mean there's Conrad and who knows…"

He couldn't get any further because Harry leant in and kissed him. On the lips.

It was rather nice.

It also had a rather interesting effect on his knees. Hermione had never done anything that made his knees turn into jelly. And then it hit him that he was actually kissing Harry Potter and for three seconds he realized how Ginny must've felt for most of her life.

His head was more or less spinning when Harry leaned back and smiled.

"Sorry 'bout that, but it was starting to look like the only way to shut you up," he said, half apologetically.

"I'm sorry," Ron offered. "I don't know what I was thinking. Look, I understand if you don't…"

"Ron," Harry sighed. Then he leaned into Ron, and Ron wasn't entirely sure what was holding him up – it was either the wall or Harry or both, because it certainly wasn't himself and the way Harry was standing they were more or less flush up against each other. "Do you remember when I told you I was gay?" Harry breathed into his ear, and damnit, that was an interesting sensation that sent shivers of something down Ron's spine.

Ron just nodded. He was beyond trusting his words at this point. "Remember when you asked me how long I'd known and I said two years? And you were really angry for not telling you sooner?" Another nod.

"Do you know why I didn't tell you until two years after I realized it?" Harry whispered. He'd brought his hand down from the wall and both his hands were resting on Ron's hips now. It was odd, but somehow it was… interesting.

"No," Ron whispered.

"The reason I didn't tell you was because it took me that long to come to terms with the fact that you were off limits."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Harry sighed. He was inching his hands down, very slowly, and Ron wasn't sure if he should be concerned about that, or the fact that Harry's head had seemingly taken up residence in the crook of his neck.

"But you're not off limits any more, are you?" Harry added. His breath ghosted over Ron's throat, and he fought not to shiver.

"I… no," Ron whispered. His hands had – seemingly of their own volition – encircled Harry's waist and were tracing random patterns on his back. Ron wasn't sure how to feel about limbs being this independent.

Harry made a sound that Ron thought probably roughly translated to 'good'. He didn't quite manage to think about it much, though, because at that point Harry had leaned down a little and gave the juncture of his neck and shoulder a good and thorough kiss.

"Mmmmmh, Ron?" he asked, once he looked up from the kiss.

"Yeah," he panted, trying not to betray that he could be undone by so little, but fearing that he was probably failing.

"As much as I fancy the pants off you in any situation, is there any chance we could move to a bedroom? My feet hurt."

"Oh, Merlin, sorry," Ron said. Thoughtless, he was thoughtless.

"Stop saying you're sorry," Harry instructed. "I'm not sorry; why should you be? And they're my feet."

They were in the hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms before Ron had any time to have reservations, and Harry just looked at him and smiled and said, "I'm going to be selfish and say I want you in my bed, do you mind?" and Ron forgot why he even ought to have reservations.

The door into Harry's bedroom closed behind them with a very final sort of 'click', and Ron suddenly remembered all the reasons why this was a bad idea, but Harry didn't exactly give him any time to think on it; he pulled Ron back towards the bed and they fell into it in a tangle of limbs that neither of them had any interest in sorting out.

Ron realized that he was lost the first time he heard Harry moan his name. They had both managed to get rid of their shirts, and Ron had discovered a particularly sensitive spot on Harry's neck that made Harry shudder, every time.

After that, their movements became more urgent; Harry's hands dipped beneath the waistband of his pants and he almost levitated off the bed as Harry wrapped a hand around his cock and moved it in slow, shallow motions, trying to get his pants unbuttoned with his other hand.

"Damn," he said, and Ron moved his hands away from their exploration of Harry's backside to unbutton his own fly, and then Harry's for good measure.

Harry repaid the favour by means of a wicked twisting of his wrist around Ron's cock, making Ron buck and moan, and then decide to get even. He sneaked his hand down Harry's belly, stroking his fingers over the trail of rough hair before dipping lower, finally finding what he was looking for. Harry's eyes flew open, and then fell shut as Ron flicked his wrist a few times.

"Oh, God, Ron, don't stop," Harry moaned against his shoulder, and Ron decided he wouldn't dream of it. It only took him a few more twists before Harry was bucking and moaning and coming into his hand and Ron was sure that he hadn't ever seen anything quite as lovely as Harry's face when he came.

"I didn't expect that," Harry said, a few moments later, slightly bemused and out of breath. Then he rolled over onto Ron and pushed his shoulders into his pillows. "Lie back," he whispered, and Ron did as he was told because Harry was kissing him hard on the mouth and it seemed like a really good idea to do anything he said.

Then Harry moved to lick his way down Ron's neck and kiss down his torso and Ron got some idea of what he was planning – it was all he could do not to come in his pants at the mere thought of it. Harry moved southwards, hands pulling a little at his jeans, so Ron lifted his hips and let Harry pull them down to his thighs. Ron was harder than he'd ever been, and when Harry finally took the head of his cock into his mouth, he couldn't stop it; he bucked and came with a shout.

"Oh god," he whispered once his breathing and heart rate had evened out and he trusted himself to speak again. Harry smiled, then stepped off the bed and pulled Ron's pants all the way off, and then his own.

"Bathroom," he said, before disappearing out the door. He was back almost instantly with a wet washcloth which he used to clean up Ron's hand and himself, before dropping it unceremoniously on the floor and lying down with his head on Ron's shoulder.

Ron couldn't help noticing that they fit rather well together. He was taller, but having Harry on his shoulder like that gave him the opportunity to curl an arm around him and hold him.

"Mmmm," Harry sighed into his chest. "Wanted that for longer than I can remember."

Ron didn't know what to say to that so he tightened his arm around Harry instead and tugged him closer to his chest.

+++

Ron woke up the next morning when a ray of sunlight crawling across the bed moved to shine straight into his eyes. He was disoriented for a few minutes – the walls were a different colour and there was someone in the bed with him – and then he looked down and saw Harry's head resting on his shoulder, his dark hair hopelessly tousled and his mouth slightly open as he slept, and remembered yesterday.

They'd slept together. Now they were an old married couple, including the intimate bits. And if the heat pooling at the bottom of his belly was any indication, there would probably be more intimate bits to come.

He felt a blush rising in his cheeks at the thought and wondered how his body parts could be so at odds with each other, as his cock was definitely taking an interest in the mental images. He shouldn't blush, he thought. This was what he had wanted, wasn't it?

Wasn't it? He'd never really allowed himself to think about it. He'd squashed any thought that went anywhere past observing Harry. It was only when Harry had been rescued that he'd started to think this through, and he hadn't ever made it anywhere close to the end. And then Harry had more or less jumped in front of his train of thought, and he had no idea where it was going anymore.

What if this wasn't what he wanted? What if it wouldn't work out? What if, oh Merlin, what if this was just lust? Did people ever go back to being friends after having had sex?

"Mmmmh, Ron," Harry mumbled from his chest. "Stop freaking out."

"How…"

"My head's on your chest, nitwit. Your heartbeat woke me up." There was a smile in the voice now and Harry's hand was moving in small circles on his belly, essentially petting him.

"Oh," Ron said. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing." Harry sighed, lifting his head and meeting Ron's eyes. "I'd rather be here when you panic to tell you to stop, you know. And really, stop. Because now that I have you, I'm not letting you go, so you might just as well give up gracefully." He leaned down and kissed Ron's breastbone, before laying his head back on his shoulder.

There was a long silence before Ron finally found the courage to ask what he wanted. "How do you know this is a good idea, Harry?"

Harry chuckled. "I think it's a bloody brilliant idea, Ron. But I know what you mean. Just… sometimes you have to do things without knowing how they're going to turn out. You're worth it."

It felt like his chest was tightening around his heart and it was a little bit harder to breathe. "Okay," he whispered, pulling Harry closer with the arm that was wrapped around him.

And then, just because it seemed like a good idea and because he could, he leaned down to give Harry a kiss.

+++

"You didn't have to bring me breakfast in bed, you know," Harry said, though he was wearing a satisfied smile that told Ron he didn't exactly mind the pampering.

"Actually," Ron smirked, putting the breakfast tray down to the floor and sitting next to Harry, "I am under orders to keep you in bed, whether or not you like it."

Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. How long?"

"Six days."

"Six days!" Harry whined. "You can't keep me in bed for six days!"

Ron gave him a smile of the predatory sort and a rather lustful appraising look. "Wanna bet?"

Harry stared back, his mouth open in shock as he finally caught on to what Ron was saying. Then he grinned slowly. "That must be some stamina you have, then," he said, sending Ron a 'come hither' look that was impossible to misunderstand.

Ron all but pounced. Their lips met, Harry leaning towards him until he was in risk of falling off the bed, so Ron pushed him back, breaking their kiss to crawl up onto the bed and settle on top of Harry.

"Oh, this is so much better than I imagined it," Harry sighed, as Ron left a trail of kisses down his jaw and towards his ear.

"You thought about this a lot, then?" Ron breathed into the crook of Harry's neck, testing out Harry's little trick from yesterday.

Harry gave a breathy moan and Ron felt hands slide beneath the waistband of his pyjama pants, cupping his arse.

"God, Ron, I've wanked myself to sleep thinking of you for years."

Harry's words went straight south and Ron felt almost dizzy with arousal. "Thinking about me how?" he asked, moving his mouth to Harry's throat, fully intending to kiss every inch of Harry's skin and deciding that it would be a good place to start.

"Like this," Harry exhaled, his grip on Ron's arse tightening a bit. "With me. Kissing me. Touching me. In me."

Ron froze.

It felt like moving his head and looking up to meet Harry's eyes took an eternity. Like time had stopped. Maybe it had.

Harry's eyes were clouded with lust and he moved a hand up to trail the backs of his fingers over Ron's cheek. It was an impossibly tender gesture, and Ron's breath caught in his throat at the look on Harry's face as he did it. "Whatever you want," Harry whispered. "But there's no hurry. We have six days, remember?"

"I don't…" Ron choked out, feeling light-headed with want, "I don't know what to do."

"I'll tell you."

They held each other's gaze for a long time, not moving, Ron's heart fluttering wildly in his chest. He wanted. He wanted this. He did.

Oh Merlin. Sometimes you have to do things without knowing how they'll turn out, Harry had said.

He leaned forward to kiss Harry – hard, long, and demanding – before leaning back up and nodding tersely. He wasn't sure he could speak at this point. It was a marvel that there was any blood left to operate his brain, considering how achingly hard he was.

Harry's hands, still cupping his arse, changed tack, and started pulling down his pyjama pants. "You'll have to take mine off," he said, and Ron peeled off the layer of fabric easily, Harry helping by lifting his hips a little.

And then there was nothing between them but air, and Harry moved into his arms to remedy that, leaning up for another one of those absolutely scorching hot snogs that they were doing so well. When they broke apart – air was, unfortunately, a necessity – Harry leaned back and snagged a tube of something from the night-stand.

"Lube makes things easier," he said softly, picking up Ron's hand and squeezing a little gel onto his fingers. "You have to stretch me or it'll hurt."

"I don't want to…" Ron started.

"You won't. I trust you." And as if to compound his words, he just laid back into the pillows and let his legs fall apart.

"Oh Merlin," Ron said, stars dancing across his vision, blood thundering in his ears.

And then he did exactly what Harry told him to.

Despite his entire body feeling like it was on fire, he couldn't focus on that – if he did, he'd go mad with the want. He focused on Harry instead, how Harry was breathing and panting and moaning, arching up off the bed to give Ron better access or a better angle. How Harry's feet scrabbled for purchase on the sheets, how his knuckles were white from gripping the pillows, the sheets, the headboard… How Harry looked at him.

"Ron," Harry moaned, and loosened his grip on the sheets to lift his arm and pull Ron in for a long, slow kiss. Harry kept pulling and pushing and manoeuvring Ron until suddenly Ron was settled between his open legs, arched over him, still kissing him.

Harry broke the kiss and smiled at him. "Want you," he said and settled his hands on Ron's hips, pulling him closer.

Then Ron was just there, and Harry was still looking into his eyes, still pulling him closer with his hands and Ron pushed a little bit and felt Harry tense and then relax beneath him. He pushed in – slow, slower, excruciatingly slow – because it was tight, and hot, and incredible, and his head was swimming, and he was still looking into Harry's eyes, watching them flutter closed, feeling like he was sinking into Harry in all ways possible.

"Ron," Harry moaned, drawing out his name, and Ron was still looking at him and his face was probably the most arresting sight he'd ever seen. Then he opened his eyes and smiled at Ron. "Move?" he whispered.

So Ron moved. Harry threw his head back and let out a long groan, then wrapped his legs around Ron's hips and started to move with him, his hands stroking in circles on Ron's back. Ron leaned down and kissed Harry anywhere he could reach, trying to remember to move because this was just too incredible for his head to work properly.

He could feel something uncoiling at the bottom of his spine and he knew he wouldn't last much longer, so he readjusted his weight to one hand, insinuating the other between their bodies to wrap around Harry's cock.

He had to fight not to come from just the sound of the moan that Harry let out. Harry's movements were becoming more erratic, his breathing an uneven staccato, his head thrashing on the pillows.

Then Harry's legs tightened around Ron's hips, there was a warm wetness between their bodies, and his body tightened around Ron and Ron's world narrowed to nothing but delicious friction and heat and want and Harry, and he was falling and coming at the same time.

They collapsed into a heap of sweaty limbs and heated skin, breathing unevenly, listening to each others' hearts slow down.

"Harry," Ron said once he trusted his voice again. "I am definitely not letting you leave this bed for the next six days."

Harry chuckled. "You know, for the first time, I don't really mind."

+++

They woke up to a high-pitched but a decidedly unladylike exclamation from Hermione.

"Pull up the sheets or something," she shouted, when Harry laughingly inquired if she'd really said what he thought she'd said. "I'm coming back in there!"

They scrambled for the duvet, still giggling, and had just about managed to untangle it from their legs and pull it up to cover themselves when Hermione came in again, walking straight to the window and opening it as wide as it would go. "Well. It is obvious why you two haven't been in touch for the past three days," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, attempting to look contrite but failing. It was kind of hard when your ex walked in on you sleeping starkers with your best friend in a room reeking of sex.

"For Merlin's sake, don't be. I've been waiting for the two of you to figure it out for years." She rolled her eyes at them and sat down on the corner of the bed.

"Uh," Ron said. There wasn't anything else to be said to a statement like that. He shot a look at Harry, who was looking about as puzzled as Ron felt.

"I brought Chinese food – it's in the kitchen," Hermione went on. "I would probably have brought more food if I'd realized that you'd be stocking up on energy for strenuous sexual activity." She winked. "And if either of you asks me if I'm fine with this, I might need to strangle you with my bare hands, capiche?" She stood up, dusted down her skirt and left the room, smirking all the while, leaving Harry and Ron to scramble into some clothing to follow her.

Chinese food was nice, and it was nice to talk to Hermione and hear some outside-world gossip, even if Hermione kept up a rather relentless stream of jokes at their expense. "I'll see myself out," Hermione said after a few hours – when all the Chinese food was definitely finished and they'd exhausted most topics of discussion. "Oh, and I'll report to Kingsley that Harry's staying in bed, as per doctor's orders, shall I?" She was still giggling when she stepped into their Floo – they could hear her from the kitchen.

"So," Harry said, once they'd heard the whoosh of flames that meant that Hermione was definitely gone. "Go back to bed?"

"Oh yeah," Ron laughed. "We still have two days left."

---END

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sarahblack.livejournal.com

Oh yay! There was more! :D

Harry and Ron are very cute together. I loved Hermione's reaction to finding them in bed too. Very IC. Hee hee. :)

From:

Birthday fic for hildigunnur: Saving Harry Thing - part 2

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