Blood Brothers - H/R - PG-13
Title: Blood Brothers
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13
Words : 2900

For crikkita and copper_beach - who wondered if I could write a Snape/Lupin that was all about the Harry/Ron. Admittedly, the Snape/Lupin happens off screen, because I am teh coward. Oh, sod it – it’s just a Harry/Ron – live with it!

[Note: this isn’t important to the plot, but when I say ‘muffins’, I mean proper muffins, and not American Muffins. I’m not happy about Delia calling them ‘English Muffins’ – when would an American use the phrase ‘American Football? - but will let that pass, because (a) she is not happy about her football team, and (b) Dan recommended one of her recipes in his newsletter. Snape would only eat actual muffins, the sort that the Muffin Man would sell down Drury Lane – which, while we are talking about it, would not have chocolate chips or blueberries in, OK, Shrek fanfiction writers? And now I am worried that you think Mrs Weasley was offering Harry American Muffins for breakfast before his hearing in OotP. And it is worth pointing out that it is not English Muffins that Harry and Ron toast over Xmas hols in first year, it is crumpets in the UK edition. Um, thus endeth the muffin rant, before it ends up longer than the fic.]

Beta'ed by magicofisis, who enjoyed the muffin rant, did a bit of muffin research herself even, which is good to see, but then said something terrible. She found Bob the Builder Muffins and said "I was appalled to see that we’ve exported Bob the Builder – have we no shame?" OK, I just have to Brit-pick this for you all - Bob the Builder is 1000% British - as British as a muffin - we exported him to you and you changed the voice, which is ridiculous, because the sexiest thing about him is Neil Morrisey's voice!!!


Blood Brothers
****
There was something really strange in the air the summer after our fifth year.

We were holed up in Grimmauld Place again – Harry had been dragged there on the day before his birthday, and he was even less pleased to see us than the year before.

I watched him prowling around the house, trailing his fingers over things that reminded him of Sirius. Hermione kept giving me Pointed Looks, but I knew it wasn’t time to talk to him yet.

He would only have lashed out at me, and that wouldn’t have achieved anything. He hadn’t even met my eyes since he arrived; he looked everyone boldly in the right shoulder if he spoke to you. Which was only ever in reply to something you asked him.

And at night he just undressed in silence and flopped into bed, and I could see his eyes glinting in the moonlight for hours afterwards, as he stared at the ceiling. I don’t know how much sleep he was getting. I could hear Dumbledore’s spy muttering in his picture frame late into the night about having to babysit stupid little boys.

I wished there was something I could do to make him feel better. There was some weird kind of distance between us, and I couldn’t work out what was wrong. It wasn’t just Sirius, or the scars on my arms, or the weird comings and goings of the Order.

The Order.

The first time Snape had turned up in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, it had been about a week after Harry’s birthday. And it was the only time I’ve seen Harry show a spark of interest since he got here.

He stood up so fast he knocked his chair over and he hissed, “Get out of my house,” in a strangled voice.

Snape had just raised an eyebrow at him and sat down calmly at the table, helping himself to coffee and watching Harry trembling.

Everyone had just gawped from one of them to the other, until Remus Lupin had gone to Harry’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry had jumped, but didn’t shake him off. “Harry,” he said. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I don’t want him here,” Harry hissed. “If it wasn’t for him, Sirius…”

“Would not have been in time to rescue you and your little friends,” Snape interrupted, calmly eating a muffin.

Harry tried to lunge across the table at him, but Lupin held him back, and Harry finally twisted out of hands, and, with a poisonous look at his father’s old friend, ran from the room.

Snape looked up and met Lupin’s eyes unapologetically, and inexplicably said, “Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs.”

Lupin’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he bit his cheek to prevent himself from laughing at this in-joke. I didn’t have time to wonder about Snape and Lupin having in-jokes, I had to run after Harry.

I started up the stairs two at a time, but had ground to a halt by the time I reached the door to our room.

My mind was racing. For the first time in years, I didn’t know how to approach Harry. Things were strained between us, and I didn’t want to make things worse.

And, for some strange reason, half of my brain was worrying about what Snape had said to Lupin. Not what he had said, although that was strange enough. How he had said it. Why he had said it. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that had got to me so much.

I mentally shook myself, took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob.

Harry was sitting on his bed, staring at a piece of Sirius’ sodding mirror that he was twirling between his fingers.

Balancing it on one jagged corner on the palm of his other hand.

Which was bleeding.

Fuck.

I crossed to his side and knelt before him. He didn’t react, but he let me carefully take the mirror away and drop it on the floor.

I took his bloody hand between mine and held it tight and he stared at our clasped hands and finally looked up at me.

“It’s not Snape’s fault, and it’s not your fault.” I said and Harry flinched. “Really, it’s not.”

He looked so lost, so small and I was angry that he had to go through this, that everything was dumped on him. I tugged on his hand and he flowed off the bed and crumpled up in my arms.

I held him tight as he buried his face in my neck and wound his hands in my t-shirt and just clung to me.

Harry’s blood was all over my shirt, but it was on my hands too, and I had one buried in his hair and one rubbing circles on his back.

In a way it felt really odd. It seemed to break through the strange barrier I’d felt between us, but it wasn’t something that we’d done before.

But on the other hand, I remembered something Hermione had said. Much as she – and my mum - mothered Harry, he has never had a mother; never been held like this when he was in pain. And I thought of all the times I’d been held by my mum or dad – or Bill or Charlie – when I’d hurt myself when I was small.

Or when Fred or George had hurt me.

And it broke my heart that Harry had always been alone.

I tightened my arms around him and rested my cheek on his hair. “Oh, Harry,” I whispered and he stiffened and suddenly pushed against my chest, moving out of the circle of my arms.

He shook himself and made a visible effort to pull himself together.

“It’s OK, Harry,” I said, letting my hands fall into my lap and rubbing at a streak of his blood on my knuckles.

“No, I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he trailed off, looking confused.

“Really, it’s OK.” I didn’t know what to do to show him how much he meant to me, that I’d do anything for him.

So I picked up his bleeding hand again and turned it over on my knee, staring at the jagged cut on his palm.

“Ron?” he asked uncertainly.

Looking round us on the floor, I reached for the sharp piece of mirror and tested the point on my thumb before running it across my own palm, duplicating Harry’s wound.

“Ron!” he gasped.

It was then, being me, that I realised I should probably have said something before making this dramatic gesture.

“Um,” I said eloquently. “You never have to be embarrassed in front of me, Harry. I want to do something to show you. Like, we could become Blood Brothers.”

And I held out my bleeding hand.

“Oh, Ron,” he said, kneeling up and clasping my hand in his, our bloody palms sliding over each other. “You’re more than a brother.”

“You mean more to me than any of my brothers,” I said solemnly. “More than anyone.” And I used my free hand to pull him close again and we hugged, fiercely.

****
Harry didn’t come down from our room until dinner, but he was slightly less wild-eyed than usual, and I was pleased I seemed to have made a difference.

He even met my eye a couple of times and smiled at something that Ginny said, but then Snape turned up to speak to my dad and Lupin and Harry’s eyes bored into Lupin’s back as they left the kitchen.

After we’d eaten, Ginny and Hermione and I went up to the drawing room, but Harry carried on to our bedroom and slammed the door.

Hermione collapsed onto a couch and sighed. “I thought he was a bit better at dinner,” she said.

“Yes, well done Ron. What did you say to him, this morning?” asked Ginny.

“Well, I didn’t say much,” I muttered. “We, um, did a sort of Blood Brothers thing.” And I held out my palm, with the healing cut across it.

“Wow!” said Ginny.

“But Ron,” said Hermione, “that is Blood Magic. I read about it. It’s not just like when Muggles do it; you’re really bonded together now – forever.”

“I know that, Hermione. But it’s Harry. Nothing’ll come between us anyway.”

“Yeah, but Harry doesn’t know that, does he?” Ginny pointed out. “He’ll think it’s like a Muggle thing. Just a game.”

I blinked at her. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Hermione and Harry were brought up by Muggles – that they didn’t know things that Ginny and I had grown up with.

“You have to tell him,” Hermione said.

I sighed. That’d go down well. Just when there was this strange tension between us, I have to go and complicate things by joining us together, forever, without telling him. Top of Harry’s list, that. Not telling him things.

“Now,” Hermione said.

I got to my feet and reluctantly climbed the stairs to our bedroom. Having to face a sulking Harry for the second time in one day. As I stood by the door, I heard something from the next floor up and, peering up the staircase, I thought I saw Snape disappearing into Lupin’s room, but this sounded unlikely. I’d never seen him come upstairs. He attended meetings and this year he sometimes stayed to eat.

Thinking about it, he wasn’t so bad this summer, without Sirius to cross swords with. He and Lupin were quite polite. And then there was that muffin thing this morning,

Shaking my head to dislodge this odd train of thought, I entered the room again.

Harry was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hi,” I said, crossing to sit beside him.

He grunted in reply.

I wondered how to bring up the Blood Brothers thing, without it sounding like I knew things he didn’t, but he spoke before I could.

“I don’t want to talk about them,” he snapped.

“Them?” I replied. “Them who?”

He gave me a “stop being stupid, Ron” look and sighed heavily. “Remus and Snape.”

I must have looked as baffled as I felt, because he rolled his eyes. “Look, it makes me sick, I don’t want to think of them.”

“It’s just Order stuff,” I said, shrugging. “He’s probably gone by now.”

Harry snorted. “He’s upstairs. With Remus.”

I pictured the black robes I had seen swish through Lupin’s door. “Are you sure? But why?”

Harry gave me a look he usually reserved for Slytherins and spat, “Because they are together.”

“Together upstairs?” I asked stupidly and Harry looked like he could strangle me.

He sat up. “To-ge-ther,” he enunciated carefully. “A couple; an item; dating; seeing each other; sleeping with each other; fucking.”

I knew my eyes had grown bigger with each simile, and I squeaked when Harry finished with a snarl.

“Are you sure?” I asked again.

“Yes!” Harry snapped.

“Since when?”

“Last year. This time last year.”

“But how?” I asked, baffled.

“I don’t know; I don’t want to know. Remus told me about them last week; I don’t want to think about it; it makes me feel sick.”

It wasn’t like Harry to be this judgemental, and it made me feel uncomfortable for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Sick?” I echoed. “Be… because it’s two blokes?” I asked and Harry flushed, his eyes sliding away from mine. “Is this a Muggle thing, Harry?”

He blushed harder. “No, not because they’re…. it’s… they’re blokes. Because of who it is.”

Oh, Merlin. Lupin. It must be because of Lupin. They were very close. What if… could he be jealous? Maybe Harry had a crush on Lupin?

“Is it because of Lupin?” I asked, carefully.

“No!” Harry said indignantly. “It’s because of Snape!”

“You fancy Snape?” I said without thinking.

Which was worth it, actually, because the look on Harry’s face was priceless. He must have opened his mouth six times to try and speak, but nothing came out.

“What?” he finally shouted.

“I thought maybe you’re this upset because you’re jealous, and maybe you’re interested in Lupin, but you said it was Snape.”

“I… Snape… jea… are you insane?”

I shrugged.

Harry took a deep breath. “I am this upset,” he said, very carefully, as if I was a complete idiot. “Because Remus, who I care very much about as a friend, and who is the only family I have left, is involved with someone that I loathe and distrust. OK, Ron?”

“OK. Well, that’s obvious. I just thought there was something more to it than that.”

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. “You are so annoying sometimes, you know? I don’t know how Hermione puts up with you.”

“Hermione?” I asked, wrong footed by the apparent change of subject. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Harry gestured vaguely. “Well, you and Hermione…” he said.

“You’ve lost me again, Harry,” I said.

“Here we go again,” he muttered. “Another couple that I just don’t get, OK? How does Hermione put up with you?”

“Me and Hermione aren’t a couple!” I gasped. “What are you talking about?”

“OK, not an official couple,” he said. “But you’ve tiptoed around each other long enough. You obviously fancy each other.”

“Fancy Hermione?” I squeaked. “I don’t fancy Hermione!”

“You don’t?” he asked, clearly taken aback.

I thought about it. “Well,” I said slowly. “I guess I always thought I thought I fancied Hermione. But apparently I don’t.”

Harry blinked at me.

“I think I just assumed I did,” I explained. “But now that you have called me on it, I can see that I don’t.”

“I think she is waiting for you to realise you do, rather than realise you don’t,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, dear.”

He gave me a rather calculating look. “So, you don’t fancy Hermione?” he clarified and I shook my head. “And you are OK about Remus being with a guy, although not that it is Snape?” I nodded. He looked rather shifty. “So, what would you think if I was to tell you that I fancied a guy?”

I felt my heart descend into my socks. This must be what had been weird between us. Harry fancied some guy and he was worried about telling me. Harry was gay and he was worried I’d disapprove. So, why did I feel so awful? All I had to do was tell him that I didn’t disapprove, and we would be fine. That’s all. So, why did I feel… jealous?

I realised I had been silent for too long, and that Harry was edging away from me looking crestfallen. “Why?” I asked. “Is that the sort of thing you’re likely to say?”

Harry laughed, slightly hysterically. “Can we start this again?” he asked.

“Yes, sure,” I nodded.

“Ron. I fancy a bloke,” he said solemnly.

“OK.”

“And the bloke that I fancy,” he swallowed, hard, “is you.”

He looked very nervous, and literally poised for flight, but suddenly my heart wasn’t in my socks anymore. Suddenly I didn’t feel awful, dreadful, jealous. Suddenly I felt fantastic. Suddenly I realised that the weirdness between Harry and me was that I wanted him. Fancied him. Wow. I smiled at him.

“Me?”

“Is that OK?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s really very OK, actually.”

His eyebrows shot up and disappeared into his hairline. “Seriously?” he croaked.

I nodded, frantically.

He smiled. And smiled. And smiled. And leant forward.

“But,” I said, leaning backwards, and he stopped smiling.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

“No! No, no, no! I meant more of a ‘wait’ than a ‘but’,” I explained.

He raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“Before, um, anything,” I gestured vaguely. He looked rather alarmed and I wondered what he thought I’d been miming. “Look, I came in here for a reason, and I know what you’re like if people keep stuff from you, and I want to say it before you do, um, anything. OK?”

He looked worried, but nodded.

“It’s the Blood Brothers thing,” I said. “Hermione says it’s different for Muggles, so I have to tell you what it means for Wizards.”

“OK,” he said.

“It’s not just a game, Harry. We’re bonded together, now. Forever.”

“What?” he whispered. “Bonded in what way?”

I reached out my wounded hand and he clasped it in his, our fingers interlaced. “Our Magic will sort of look out for each other. I will always know if you are in danger, and you me.”

“Will this put you in danger?” he asked, his fingers tightening around mine.

“In what way?”

“Oh, how about when I face Voldemort? Will you being linked to me put you in danger?”

“Only because I’ll be standing beside you, Harry. The bond won’t change what I’d do for you, it’ll just give me a sense of how you’re feeling.”

His breath hitched. “And does that just work on danger?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean, what happens if Blood Brothers are more than friends?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I admitted, “I’ve never heard anything about that.”

“Well, how am I feeling now?” he whispered.

I smiled. “Uh, randy?” I guessed, not really needing to use the bond at all as he leant closer.