Godric's Hollow - Chapter One : Beginnings - H/R - NC-17
Title: Godric’s Hollow
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17

This is my Big Damn Table, turned into a multi-chaptered novella.

One hundred stories inspired by Broke Back Mountain.

Ron looks back on his life with and without Harry.


Chapter One : Beginnings

Beginnings
We spent the summer we were seventeen in a tent together.

A tent in the overgrown garden in Godric's Hollow.

Just Harry and me.

Hermione spent the summer in the library at Grimmauld Place, researching.

Harry felt there was something at his parents' house that the Aurors had never found, and so I helped him search. Of course I helped him.

It was hot, hard work. We dug in the garden; we sorted through the bricks and slates of the ruined house. In the evening we collapsed inside our tent with a butterbeer and a bite to eat. We sat and we talked. About everything. We could always talk about absolutely everything.

One evening, after a day like any other, we were lying on a blanket in the mouth of the tent.

It had been a beautiful, hot day and the clear sky was full of stars. We'd had a couple of beers and were trying to identify the constellations and we were laughing at how few we remembered from Astronomy.

"Hermione would kill me if she knew I couldn't remember any," I sniggered.

Harry turned his head to look at me. "So, you and Hermione," he said.

"What about me and Hermione?" I asked.

"Are you together?"

"I think we will be," I said slowly.

He frowned. "You don't sound all that excited," he pointed out. "You do want her, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes, of course," I shrugged. "But it's not the time to do anything about it."

Harry snorted. "What are you waiting for?" he asked.

"For all this to be over," I said. "We'll live happily ever after once the war is over, but I can't date anyone now. You did the same thing."

Harry nodded, looking very serious. "Yeah," he said. "Too complicated."

"This is simple," I said, raising my bottle for another drink and licking my lips.

"Yes," he said, his eyes on my mouth. "Simple," and he leant over and kissed me.

He flopped back onto the blanket, eyed wide, and his tongue peeped out to taste the butterbeer left on his lips.

"Harry," I gasped and, without thinking, surged up and over him, our mouths crashing together.

No thinking. No thinking. Just his slim, hard body under my hands, and his hands tugging me closer, reaching for my zip. His eyes wide open and staring into mine.

We were silent and all I could hear was my blood pounding loudly in my ears and Harry gasping under me as I touched him.

I touched him. It was so easy. I always felt so clumsy touching Lavender; I didn't even dare touch Hermione.

But Harry.

His skin was so hot under my fingers.

No thinking. No thinking. Just feeling. Feeling him fall apart under my hands.

When it was over I buried my face in his neck and tried to catch my breath.

He grunted and tried to move and I realised he was pinned to the ground. I tried to take some of my weight off of him and looked down, propped up on my elbows.

"I'm not gay," I said.

Harry blinked up at me. "Me neither. A one-off. Nobody's business but ours."

I nodded firmly, and slid off of him, reaching for my wand to clean myself up.


Middles
At first nothing changed during the day.

We worked hard. We talked like always.

Each evening we washed the grimier places we could see, we made something to eat and we sat and talked.

And then.

Each evening Harry was suddenly in my arms, his hands trembling and his mouth needy.

His mouth sucking on my collarbone as he thrust against my thigh.

He really needed this. Needed this release. And he clenched his jaw and breathed harshly as he forced his knee between my legs and ground against me.

And me? I always took care of him. But always in the dark.

Until one afternoon in September.

We had stripped down to our shorts and had been cleaning out the old chimney. We were filthy; covered head to toe in soot.

Harry stood there, the sweat dripping out of his hair and down his neck, leaving paler tracks in the soot, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He ran a sweaty hand over his grimy face and laughed. "I think this'd come off in the river," he said, before striding down the bank, cheerfully stripping off and wading in.

I stood there, watching him. Watching the sun shining through the sodding leaves like the biggest cliché you have ever seen Bloody dappled. Bugger.

He laughed up at me and splashed me and the drops of water hit my grimy chest like pale freckles and I stripped off and joined him in the river. The air was thick with oh-my-buggering-fuck-what-is-going-to-happen, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

He splashed me again as I drew closer, then ran his hand over my shoulder and down my arm. I stood stock still, trying not to breathe as he calmly washed me. So this was just daytime best mates stuff?

I was offended.

I didn't have any right to be offended.

I didn't really want him to fancy me, did I?

Should I touch him? I knew how he felt in the dark. If I even washed the soot off him, I'd put pictures to those images burnt into my skin.

And next time I touched him in the dark, I would be able to see his muscles moving under my hands.

"Give us a hand?" he said turning round. He was running his own hands over his arms and chest, and clearly wanted me to wash his back.

I reached out and touched him.

And lost my mind.

I ran my hands down his back and stepped closer and reached around to caress his chest as I kissed his shoulder.

"Ron?" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

What the fuck did he think I was doing?

I was kissing his neck, like I had been doing for weeks.

I was pressing up against him, rubbing my erection against him. Finding he lifted easily in the water.

I dragged him deeper into the river and lifted him, turning him in my arms and holding him tight.

He was shaking, with cold or anger or nerves or passion, I couldn't tell, so I kissed him.

He gasped and kissed me back, desperately, looping his arms round my neck and wrapping his legs around my waist.

I cupped his arse in both hands and pulled him against me, pressing our cocks together. He weighed almost nothing in the fast flowing water and I braced my legs and thrust against him, feeling his fingers digging into my shoulders, hearing him moan into my neck, feeling our climaxes spurt warm between our bodies.

Sinking lower in the water, I held him, as the river washed away our sweat and soot and seed.


Ends
We still never spoke about what was happening.

We still worked hard.

And we still got each other off every night.

And every afternoon.

And every morning.

It felt like time was running out.

That we had to fit in a lifetime of orgasms, an eternity of climaxes, a gallon of spunk.

The summer was coming to an end.

Hermione owled us to let us know that her research was looking good, that she was ready to go after Hufflepuff’s cup.

She thought we should break camp and return to Grimmauld Place in the morning.

Harry owled back an OK and went and lay down on our blanket.

I sat beside him. “Harry?” I murmured.

“Shush,” he hissed, pulling me down.

He was silent and desperate as we kissed, and I could hear tears in the tiny hitched breaths that puffed against my ear as he unbuttoned and unzipped.

I stretched out naked on top of him, sliding one leg between his and rubbing slow circles against his hip.

“Inside me,” he choked, rare words spoken during our frantic sessions.

This was new. And scary. And our last chance.

As if the clouds realised it was our last night, they covered the moon and I could barely see him beneath me.

I scrambled to kneel between his parted thighs and I could feel him trembling as I reached for my wand among our discarded clothes and filled my palm with slippery lube.

He arched his back as I entered him, his breath catching in his throat, and I stroked his trembling muscles with my hands as I thrust inside him.

I didn’t know what I was doing. He was still shaking, his breath now coming in gulping sobs, and he was scaring me.

“Harry?” I whispered, but he shook his head and pulled me down to him, kissing me like a drowning man gasping for air.

I was more scared than aroused, even though his body was hot and slick around me. He grabbed his cock and wanked frantically as he writhed and his spasming climax drew mine out of me.

I rested my forehead on his chest, which still shook as aftershocks hit him, and carefully eased out of him, letting his legs fall.

The cool evening air dried the sweat on my back as he curled on his side away from me and pulled a corner of the blanket over himself.


Insides
Morning came.

We packed and Apparated to Grimmauld Place and Hermione was pleased to see me.

Very pleased.

More openly affectionate than I had expected.

It seemed she thought things had been settled between us, after all.

She snuggled against me on the couch as she talked to Harry, and I was in agony.

I felt physical pain coming off him in waves and there was nothing I could do about it.

She chattered on, not noticing that I had nothing to say.

Her soft curved body nestled against me and my hands itched for sharp hipbones and hard muscles.


Outsides
I swallowed hard, knowing I had to forget all about it, knowing that we had more important things to do.

That we had started doing it because it was simple, because it didn’t interfere with his responsibilities.

Harry looked at us sitting there, and I could see the shutters come down over his face.

She was excited about our Quest, and determined that we should be there for Harry in every way.

I held her that night and kissed her softly and she kissed me back.

And I whispered promises to her.

Promises that I had no right to make.