Harry Potter's Bloke
Title: Harry Potter's Bloke
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 4600
Rating: NC-17

Written for wave three of the Third hprwfqf.

POST-WAR 07. When Harry comes out of the closet all the Wizarding World assumes that he and Ron are a couple, even though they aren't...aren't they?

Betaed, ever so quickly, by belovedranger - I don't know how she is so fast – she lives in the past – she's seven hours behind me – she gets it done well before I even send it to her!


Harry Potter's Bloke
****
How great was having our own place?

The war had been over for a couple of years, and Harry and I were in Auror training.

They'd decided they didn't need NEWT results, but Hermione, being Hermione, went back to school.

So she was a year behind us, which was brilliant; offering to lend her my notes never gets old.

Anyway.

As soon as we started training, we got a flat, together, me and Harry.

And you know, that makes it all worth while; everything we went through was worth it, to see Harry that happy.

Seeing him enjoying his work, watching him training, seeing him arguing with Seamus at the pub, seeing him sprawled in boxers and a t-shirt at the weekend, when Hermione popped in and nagged us to tidy up.

I know I can't take all the credit, but giving Harry a normal life meant the world to me.

We'd go to the Burrow for Sunday lunch and my brothers would pick on him like he was one of us.

Not Ginny, so much.

I always thought they'd get back together, but, well, ask Hermione; I'm really not very good at things like that.

And my mum mothered him and he liked it, I know he did; he put up with a lot more hugs than the rest of us did.

And it's not just for the chance at being squished up against breasts, if you pardon the word in that context.

Because Harry, being Harry, no matter being the Chosen One, could be squished against any number of breasts, if he'd wanted to.

He wouldn't be able to move in the Three Broomsticks for plunging necklines.

But, apparently, he didn't.

Apparently, and don't get Ginny started on this, he's gay.

I tried to imply, without actually saying anything, that I'm there, if he wanted to talk about it.

Not my strong point, emotional stuff.

But taking care of Harry is, so I'd do my best, if he ever mentioned it.

Luckily he hadn't, not since he told me and Hermione, together, and then the world.

His speech about it wasn't all that impressive, nothing over emotional; he's still a bloke.

Certainly nothing like the speech Hermione gave me afterwards; she hadn't even started interrogation at work, yet, but blimey, she was scary.

Just because I had always taken the piss about spew, she assumed I'd be the same way about homosexuals.

Absolutely barmy, that girl.

How is her ridiculous battle to 'free' creatures who don't want to be freed the same as not allowing Harry to bring a date back to the flat?

I didn't care who Harry is shagging, as long as he's happy.

And she doesn't understand how blokes tease each other, anyway.

She hates it when I call Harry a pouf, but he gives as good as he gets.

At first he went to Muggle clubs, a lot – well, there simply aren't enough shirt-lifters to have their own wizarding premises – it's practically unheard of to be as open about it as Harry is – what with all the Pureblooded breeding obsessions, and stuff, well, I reckon a bloke just gets married, anyway, and takes care of other things in secret.

But Harry wasn't prepared to hide, not after everything he'd done for the Wizarding World; they could just stuff their prejudice.

He'd sleep with whoever he wanted.

Anyway, he doesn't shag often.

I don't keep track, or anything.

It's just that I noticed he didn't bring blokes home, and he rarely stayed out late.

I thought he just wanted to keep that part of his life separate from us.

Which was fine.

Because, and please tell Hermione this, I was not being anti-anything when I said I'm glad he doesn't bring blokes home.

I didn't bring women home, either.

Yes, OK, Hermione; what women?

I liked it being just the two of us.

I liked taking care of him.

I liked cooking dinner.

I liked Mum coming in and tidying up, while we're at work.

I liked meeting Seamus for a drink and an argument about Quidditch.

I knew Harry'd meet someone serious, one day, and we'd deal with that when we got there.

<'))))><

Now, I know I'm being unfair, but I never quite trust Seamus, when it comes to sexual matters.

I'd trust him with my life, but I always think he's pulling my leg, when it comes to sex.

I never believed him about half his conquests, at school, and, come to think of it, it was Seamus who told the rest of us what two blokes'd get up to, together.

In bed.

To be fair, it turns out he was right, but I didn't believe him, at the time.

I'd accepted the stuff about blowjobs, because I was pretty keen on the idea of anyone's lips wrapped round my bits, but once he got onto the subject of arses, he lost me.

Neville's eyes had grown as big as Galleons, and Dean had scoffed.

Harry had stayed pretty quiet, I guess, but I don't think that was some sort of self-defence thingy – he never joined in that sort of conversation.

I had left it to Dean to argue that arses were not sexy.

Anyway.

I was still pretty sceptical, when Seamus had details of a new experience for us, but he was always a laugh.

Until, one evening, when we were meeting him in the pub and I had blacked Harry's eye during training and he'd begged off and had an early night.

I'd happily told Seamus the story, barely exaggerating my prowess in hand-to-hand combat, but he hadn't believed me.

"You can tell me if yer've had a lovers' quarrel," he said, downing the last of his beer and getting up to get his round in.

"What?" I said to his empty seat.

"What?" I said, when he returned, five minutes later.

"What?" he said.

"Who've I had a lovers' quarrel with?" I asked.

He looked confused. "Harry," he said.

"How could I have had a lovers' quarrel with Harry?" I asked. "I hit him during training."

"You don't have to tell me all the kinky details," he said, smiling wickedly. "But you can, if you like. Harry always was the chink in my straight armour. You, not so much."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Seamus?" I'd demanded.

"You and Harry."

"Me and Harry, what?"

"Trouble in paradise?" he suggested. "It's a good thing, I reckon. Dean thinks you're a bit of a doormat, actually. And, yeah, we know it's Harry, but it's not healthy to wait on him all the time, no matter how good he is in bed. And feel free to justify your doormathood in terms of his god like sexual prowess."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Seamus?"

"Well, this is the first time you and yer man have had a row," he explained. "Since you got together."

"We…" I blinked in confusion. "Firstly, we did not have a row; I hit him during training. And, secondly. Secondly. Secondly, Seamus, Harry and I aren't a couple."

"Sure, you are."

"I think I'd know," I pointed out.

Now Seamus looked confused. "You live together," he said.

"As mates," I said. "We always said we'd share a flat. You shared a place with Dean until he was annexed by Hannah."

"But Harry…"

"It's not my fault you fancy Harry," I said. "Although thank you for the ammunition."

Seamus waved that away. "Oh, who wouldn't fancy Harry?" he asked. "He's all noble and troubled and dark and gorgeous. But he came out and made a big thing about he wasn't gonna make any further comment on who he was with, or anything. And then you moved in together."

"Like we'd always planned," I said. "You knew that."

"Oh," he said weakly.

"Seamus," I whined. "Have you been telling people that me and Harry are a couple?"

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"Good."

"What's the point?" he asked. "Everyone knows you're a couple."

"Seamus!" I wailed. "There is no way everyone thinks we're a couple."

"Terry Boot," he said.

"What about him?"

"He was after you all through school; you haven't heard a dicky bird from him since Harry came out."

I grunted. If I remembered correctly, Seamus' unwanted lessons on anal penetration had been sparked by Terry's crush on me.

"Sophie Perks," he said.

"What?"

"At the bar; Sophie Perks, total slut. Try and pull her."

"Seamus, I don't think that'd help."

"Pull her, Weasley."

Seamus shoved me out of my seat and towards the bar.

I wandered over, feeling slightly spell shocked.

Standing beside Sophie, I waited for Madam Rosmerta to notice me.

"Hi," I said.

"Hey," Sophie said, automatically smiling and twirling her hair round a finger. "Oh."

"Ron," I said, holding out my hand and trying not to feel too rejected by the 'oh'.

"Sophie," she said. "And I know who you are."

"I knew being a war hero had to be good for something," I joked. "Impressing pretty girls can't be bad."

She laughed and I was encouraged. "Very impressed," she said. "But what a waste."

I blinked at her pretty pout. "Wasting my time, am I?" I asked. "D'you have a boyfriend?"

"Very funny," she said. "I'm not going after Harry Potter's bloke."

She sauntered off with a smile and a waggling bottom, and I went back to Seamus.

"She thinks I'm Harry Potter's bloke," I said weakly.

"Well, there you go," Seamus said bracingly.

"No," I protested. "Not there I go. I'm not Harry Potter's bloke. I can't let everyone think this. I have to sort this out."

<'))))><

I didn't dare go home.

Knowing Harry, he wouldn't have realised what people were saying about us, or, surely, he'd have sorted them out.

It was a bit late, but I dropped in at the Burrow.

Mum and Dad had gone to bed, but Bill was up, rocking a small Weasley to sleep.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Look, this is embarrassing," I started.

"Hey, what are big brothers for?" he asked cheerfully.

"Help?" I asked hopefully.

"Humiliation," he corrected, with a wide smile.

I snorted. "Look," I said. "Here's the thing. I saw Seamus tonight and he reckons that 'everyone knows' that me and Harry are a couple."

"Thank Merlin!" Bill said dramatically, collapsing over the table and making the baby squawk.

"What?" I asked.

"Dad won't let anyone say anything," Bill said. "He says you're coping with stuff in your own way, and it's complicated, being Harry, and with the way he announced everything to the world. So we have to just be supportive until you come to us. Which you have, so we can stop walking on coals. You have no idea how hard this has been for the twins, a year and they haven't taken the piss, even once."

"You all…" I trailed off, stunned.

"You should have had more faith in us, kiddo," Bill said gently. "We love you, and we love Harry. You need us onside, if you have any problems with people. Mum and Dad are completely fine; me and Charlie, too, well, you know him, even shagging a dragon wouldn't shock Charlie, and Fleur doesn't see what the big deal is; you will get grief from the twins, of course, but it's just because they love you; and Ginny has been amazing, she is desperate to tell you she still loves you and mushy stuff like that."

"But… Bill," I stammered. "I'm not…"

"Not loveable?" he suggested. "There is evidence to the contrary."

"Not with Harry," I said firmly. "Not with Harry and not gay. How the fuck does everyone think I am?"

"Not…. you're kidding me."

"Why would I kid you about something like this?" I snapped. "I had no idea what was going on until Seamus mentioned it, tonight, and then some girl wouldn't let me try and chat her up because I'm 'Harry Potter's bloke'."

"I… I don't know what to say," Bill stuttered. "Harry told the world that he was gay, and that he wouldn't answer any further questions, and then you moved in together."

"We always said we'd live together."

"And you never bring a date anywhere; you come here together."

"Like we have since we were twelve!" I shouted. "It's a family thing."

"Shush," Bill hushed me. "Look, you live together, you work together, you go out together. And Harry's gay. What were we supposed to think?"

"That I'd tell you if we were together?"

"You've never said you weren't," Bill said weakly.

I blinked at him. "I have to issue a list of people I'm not sleeping with?" I asked.

He waved that away. "OK, I'm sorry. We were wrong," he admitted. "Although, on the plus side…"

I raised an eyebrow.

"…look at how supportive we've all been."

I snorted.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked.

"I don't know!" I moaned. "Don't say anything to anyone, until I've talked to Harry, OK? I may have to shag a woman in the middle of Diagon Alley, before anyone believes me, but I'm gonna sort this out."

<'))))><

It was far too late for a social call, but Hermione hadn't met us for a drink, so I knew she'd still be up working.

When I Flooed into her flat, she was curled up with a large book and a mug of cocoa, her hair twirled up on top of her head and secured with a quill.

She squeaked and kissed me on the cheek and asked me what was wrong.

"Why should anything be wrong?" I asked.

"Because I know my Ron," she said, snuggling up beside me.

"Right," I said. "So what do you tell people who ask if me and Harry are together?"

"Oh," she said.

"People do ask you, then," I accused her.

"Yes, they do, and I tell them that it is none of their business," she said, with dignity.

"And they take that as a yes," I said.

"It's none of their business," she repeated. "Harry made it clear he wouldn't answer any questions about his sex life, so how could I?"

"But what about my sex life?" I asked. "I don't mind anyone knowing who I'm shagging. I wanted the girl I tried to chat up at the Three Broomsticks to think I was available, not 'Harry Potter's bloke', I wanted my fucking family to think that I was shagging every bird I can lay my hands on, not that they were all proud at how I was managing the notoriety of being with Harry."

"Oh, who said that?" Hermione breathed.

"What?" I asked, annoyed. "Bill went on about how supportive they all were, and that they'd waited for me to come to them with the news."

"Oh, that's lovely," Hermione beamed.

I glared at her.

"I don't want them to be supportive; I'm not with Harry," I snapped.

"Well, I can see your family getting the wrong end of the stick is a problem," she conceded. "But it's not as if they disowned you, and why on earth would you want them to think you were 'shagging every bird you can lay your hands on', anyway? Your mum would kill you."

I snorted.

"And who cares what strangers think," she pressed on. "That is why I am so proud of Harry, coming out the way he did."

"Does Harry know everyone assumes we are together?" I demanded.

She frowned. "Well, I'm sure no one dares ask him about it; and your family were being all patient and supportive, so they wouldn't have mentioned it to him, and I guess our friends just assumed you were."

"Seamus thought we were together," I grunted. "Though on the plus side, that's why Terry has stopped stalking me."

"Oh, bless him," Hermione said fondly. "He was in quite a state."

"You spoke to Terry about my mythical gay sex life?" I gasped.

"He'd just come to terms with losing you to womankind," she said, biting her lip and I rolled my eyes. "He was really hurt that you were gay, after all. Took it quite personally, that you didn't want him."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! No one is allowed to discuss my arse with Terry!"

"He's the only person I deliberately mislead," Hermione admitted.

"Mislead how?" I asked.

"I let him believe you were together, and that none of us had stood a chance against Harry. He thinks I'm pining for you, too."

"Oh, dear god."

"Ron, none of this matters," she said severely. "What are you going to say to Harry?"

"I'll tell him that the world has gone mad, and that if he knows about it, I am gonna kill him, and that he has to make another statement about stuff," I ground to a righteous halt. "Unless you volunteer to shag me in the middle of Diagon Alley and convince everyone I'm straight."

"Good try."

I snorted.

"Ron, you have to be careful about what you say to Harry."

"I've had this lecture before, Hermione," I interrupted. "He knows I am OK about him being gay."

"You are OK in abstract," she said firmly. "He hasn't brought any men home, to press the point. This is the first time you have been directly exposed to it, and you are not coping very well."

"Exposed?" I scoffed. "We're not talking a bloke in his boxers at the breakfast table, we are talking my mother thinking I am gay."

"And still loving you," she said.

"Yes, everyone loves everybody, isn't life wonderful?"

"Well, yes," she said. "Isn't this what we fought for?"

"Don't start that," I protested. "I didn't fight so I could belong to Harry."

"OK," she said. "Firstly, you have always belonged to Harry, so I am not even going to answer that one. And secondly, that is exactly what we fought for. The Death Eaters' fascist rubbish about purity of blood and intolerance of differences and…"

"I know," I said, throwing my hands up in defence. "Blimey, Hermione, stop the lecture."

"And thirdly," she said severely. "What women?"

"What?"

"Harry came out a year ago, and you want the image of shagging every bird you can lay your hands on, yet it took you this long to actually chat one up and find out that you are taken."

"Women complicate matters," I said darkly. "Look what happened when we tried to be together. I like things how they are."

"Simple," she said.

"Yeah."

"Your flat."

"Yeah."

"Your jobs."

"Yeah."

"A bit of Quidditch."

"Yeah."

"Cooking and cleaning and taking care of Harry."

"I know where you are going with this," I pointed out.

"You know what?" she demanded. "Sometimes I am tempted to say yes."

"What?"

"Yes, you are a couple. You adore each other, you do everything together, you don't let anyone come between you, Harry is as much a part of your family as Fleur is, they all accept him as your partner."

"But he's a bloke," I said.

"Why does that matter?" she said, slapping me on the back of the head. "Who d'you love most in the whole world, Ron?"

"You and Harry," I said sullenly.

"You love him."

"Yes."

"You'd do anything for him."

"Yes."

"You take such good care of him." She sighed. "I'm not being mean, Ron, really." She hugged me. "I love the two of you best in the whole world, too, and I want you to be happy. And I want you to think very carefully about how you really feel about him before you go home."

<'))))><

It was well past midnight and Harry had gone to bed early, with a headache, so I was safe flooing home as quietly as possible.

Of course, he was curled up on the couch, waiting for me.

"Hey," I said, sitting down at the far end of the couch. "What happened to the black eye and the early night?"

"I slept a bit," he said, stretching like a cat. "And you weren't here when I woke up."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I had a drink with Seamus, then popped into the Burrow, and then had a chat with Hermione."

"Oh, right, OK," Harry said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes and looking about twelve and making my heart ache.

What did I really feel for him?

I had no idea.

And not because I was useless with this sort of thing.

Because he was my Harry, and you may as well ask me how I really felt about my right arm.

Or my heart, if you were being really, really sappy.

Because I couldn't separate him from me.

Did that mean I was in love with him?

Did that mean I'd rip the head off some bloke who he brought home for the night?

I sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I… I had a few odd conversations, tonight," I admitted. "What impression do you think you gave, when you announced you were bent, were not prepared to answer any questions about it, and then moved in with me?"

"That I'm finally in charge of my own life," he said firmly, with huge Hermione-echoes.

"I tried to chat up a girl tonight, and she laughed at me," I said.

Harry frowned. "You're not that bad at flirting," he said encouragingly.

"She laughed at the idea of her 'going after Harry Potter's bloke'." I explained.

Harry's eyes opened wide.

"And Seamus says that everyone thinks we're a couple; and Bill says that my whole family are being all supportive about us, but not saying anything about it until we're ready to talk to them."

"Oh, Ron," he breathed, looking a rather unflattering grey green colour. Unflattering on him, and unflattering to me. "I am so sorry. I had no idea."

"You really didn't know?" I said.

"Well," he said slowly. "Not about your family, and Seamus, and random women. Sometimes I may let someone think it, if I don't want him making a pass at me. Just that I'm living with someone."

He winced.

"Well, that's different," I said. "If I was there, I'd pinch your arse to get rid of unwanted admirers."

He smiled.

"But your family," he moaned. "Oh, Ron, that's bad; I know that's the last thing you'd want."

"What is?" I asked, slightly wrong-footed.

"Well, you're this," he gestured at me. "Red blooded type bloke type thing."

I laughed.

"Is that really how you see me?" I asked. "'Cos I do all the cooking," I counted off on my fingers. "All the cleaning that Mum doesn't do."

"Seriously," he said. "I'll do whatever you want to sort this out; it really isn't fair on you."

"Especially if I don't even get so much as a kiss for my efforts," I pointed out.

"Not funny, Weasley," he said, frowning. "You know I'd never make a pass at you."

"Well, that's flattering," I said. "D'you know Hermione told Terry that neither of them ever stood a chance with me, once you showed an interest."

He smiled weakly.

"But apparently you'd never make a pass at me."

He frowned. "Well, no, because you're…"

"Hideous," I suggested.

"No, you're…"

"Completely asexual?"

"No," he said firmly. "You are the most important thing in my life and I would die rather than fuck things up with you."

He looked utterly miserable.

"Harry, there is nothing you could do that would fuck things up with me," I said.

He shook his head. "Can we drop this, please?" he asked pitifully.

"No," I said. "Hermione reckons we're already a couple, except for the sex part."

"Well, I don't want to know about Hermione, but I would hope that sex would be a huge part of a relationship," he huffed.

"But you don't bring blokes home," I said.

"I haven't met anyone I'd want to bring home."

"But you…" I mimed something that he apparently found scary, rather than sexy, because he flinched.

"Sometimes," he said flatly. "Yes, I have done… stuff. But it's never… it's not worth..."

"Sounds like it'd be better with someone you actually care about," I said.

"Drop it," he said, in a low voice.

"Hermione… who knows us better than anyone in the world… our Hermione thinks we could be a couple."

"Fine!" he shouted. "They are never you, they could never mean as much to me as you do. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Pretty much," I said calmly.

"They haven't been with me for nine years and put up with me and taken care of me; they weren't my second when they were eleven years old; they aren't passionate and stupid and gorgeous; and I just sit here, in our flat, waiting for you to fall for women with huge breasts that I cannot compete with."

I'm afraid I laughed.

"What's so funny?" he asked, pitifully.

"Sorry," I said. "Just the mental image of you competing with huge breasts."

He grunted.

"Look," I said. "We have everything else; I really can't imagine ever meeting someone I care for more."

He shrugged one shoulder.

"And you, um… want me."

"But you don't want me," he said quietly.

"Then I'm an idiot," I said. "Seamus said 'who wouldn't fancy Harry? He's all noble and troubled and dark and gorgeous'."

Harry snorted.

"I reckon I just never believed Seamus about all the arse stuff," I said.

"Christ, Ron," Harry moaned.

"No, wait, look. Seamus told us all that stuff to wind me up about Terry, of course I didn't fancy the idea. What use would I have for Terry's arse?"

"I'm not having this conversation," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and collapsing back against the couch.

"But the arse isn't the point, is it?" I asked, moving closer and fiddling with a hole in the knee of his jeans.

He made a strangled noise.

"It's the person; being with the person," I sighed. "Look, I'm not good with this stuff, but even I can see that if we did… together… it'd be the… closeness. Being that close to someone. A girl, or a… bloke. Harry, I'd be inside you."

His eyes flew open.

"Or… you inside me," I said. "I… I… don't know what I'm talking about."

"You inside me," he whispered.

I flushed scarlet. "Yeah," I croaked.

I moved closer and touched his hand.

"Ron," he said. "This… this is really… what I want…"

"Then you'd better show me what to do," I whispered.

<'))))><

I watched him sleep, his hair plastered sweatily to his forehead, not because of nightmares, but because we had had sex.

Fucked.

Together.

I knew what he looked like as I pressed into him; the feeling of him trembling beneath me; the smooth, hot tightness of being inside him.

I'd watched his face as he came.

And now his hand was gently curled on the pillow between us, his lips curved in a half smile.

Look at how happy I'd made him.

I slipped out of bed and padded, barefoot, into the lounge.

Hedwig was busy dismembering a mouse and gave me a filthy look while I scribbled on three scraps of parchment.

"Just take them to Seamus, Bill and Hermione," I told her. "You needn't wait for a reply."

They would understand.

Don't bother doing anything about it; apparently I am Harry Potter's bloke.

I went back to his bedroom, and slid into bed, beside him.

Where I'd wake up in the morning, and every morning.

How great was having our own place?