Title: A Pocket of Time (1/3)
Pairings: Harry/Blasie - Harry/Ron
Summary: Harry is preparing to spend Valentine's Day with his boyfriend. However, things don't always go as planned.
Warnings: Um, Slash.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of JKR. I make no money playing with them.

The Kiss

The door to the dormitory opened and slammed shut, producing a breeze that swayed through the red drapes on Ron's bed. Ron parted the drapes with his bare foot and saw a ruffled-looking Harry storming through the room.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry mumbled, falling into his bed fully dressed. "Go back to sleep."

Sighing, Ron got out of bed, waved at Neville to lie back down, and went over to join Harry on his bed.

"Another row?" Ron asked, attempting to sound sincere.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the headboard.

"What was it this time? Did you not chew your food up to Slytherin's standards at supper?" Ron didn't even try to hide the disdain in his voice.

"No." Harry sighed. "I don't want to talk about it." He slid down and positioned himself with his back to his friend.

"Don't worry. You'll make up tomorrow," Ron said, kneading his fingers into Harry's upper arm. "Maybe," Harry whispered.

Ron bit his lip and continued comforting Harry by rubbing his back. He didn't return to his own bed until he felt Harry's breathing lessen and heard quiet snores escaping from his mouth.

Without someone to comfort him, sleep didn't come easily for Ron. His mind wandered and weaved through memories of happier times, before Blaise Zabini seduced his best friend.

Zabini glared at Harry at breakfast the next day, but Harry just ignored him. Ron, however, responded with several rude gestures. It may have been considered childish by some, but he felt a whole lot better.

"Another break-up?" Hermione asked Ron later, gesturing towards where Harry was sulking in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I'm really tired of it, Hermione," whined Ron. "That bastard treats him like shite and Harry takes it!"

"And you are there to pick up the pieces," she concluded. "It's not fair to you, Ron."

"I'm his best mate. That's what I'm here for," Ron said pointedly.

"Best mate," Hermione repeated dryly. "Yeah, that's it."

Ron had grown tired of Hermione's implications eons ago and didn't even bother trying to dispel her belief that he was secretly harboring feelings of love for Harry. One, because Hermione wouldn't change her mind once she was sure about something; and two - because she was right.

"Yes, that is it!" replied Ron sarcastically. "I'm just supposed to ignore how miserable Zabini makes him! What was I supposed to do when he left Harry the day before Christmas to go on holiday with Malfoy? Leave him all alone here in the castle to brood?"

"Yes," hissed Hermione. "Harry doesn't feel the full effect of what Blaise does to him because he has you to stop him from feeling lonely. He and Blaise get into a row. Harry gets all moody and then you smother him with affection and love. If I didn't know Harry better, I'd say he knows exactly what he is doing!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ron grumbled.

"Have you ever told Harry you disapprove of him dating Blaise?"

"You know I haven't."

"Why not?"

"I don't have to. He knows."

"No, he doesn't." Hermione sounded exasperated. "You, of all people, should know how Harry is about emotions and feelings. He just doesn't read them well." She looked at Ron intently and sniggered.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What was that for?"

"Neither do you," she responded.

Ron gave her a nasty look and stood up.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"To talk to Harry," he replied.

Hermione clucked her tongue to show her discontentment.

"You could be more supportive, Hermione," Ron said sharply. "You're his friend, too!"

"I'm not the one he wants fawning all over him," she countered.

"Bugger off," Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry raised his eyes from the magazine he was reading as Ron approached. He flashed a smile and a rush of hormones turned Ron's brain to mush.

"Oi, mate." Ron nudged Harry's feet over so he could sit on the edge of the chair.

Once his brain put him back in control, he spoke. "We've got Quidditch practice early tomorrow. You'd better get some rest or Ginny will have both of our heads."

Harry grinned at the memory of the last time the Seeker and Keeper had overslept for practice. Ginny had flown to their bedroom window and hit them with a spell that doused them both with buckets of ice water.

"The last time was your fault." Harry pointed a finger at Ron and winked.

"My fault?" exclaimed Ron, feigning shock.

"Yes, mate, your fault," said Harry. "You're the one who insisted we play that silly drinking game Finnegan dreamed up."

"That's right, is it? I don't remember casting the Imperi - "

"Harry! Are you in there?"

Ron flinched at the sound of Zabini's revolting drawl echoing through the Common Room. He looked up to see Seamus bursting through the portrait with an angry look on his face.

"Harry, Zabini is outside looking for you," Seamus announced tersely.

Harry bolted from his seat and strode towards the portrait. Ron noticed Seamus' puzzled expression and gave him a look that said, "I don't get it either."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Seamus walked away, muttering something about inspecting Harry for the Imperius Curse.

Ron picked up the magazine that Harry had left on the chair. His face screwed up in frustration when he saw the article Harry was reading: 'Voldemort lives – The Boy Who Lived is a fake!'

The Wizarding world had been at odds since Voldemort's downfall. Half of them worshipped Harry like some god and the other half refused to believe that Harry had fought Voldemort and won.

Ron had no doubt what had happened, not because he was there, but because Harry had told him so. Only four people knew exactly how Harry killed the Dark Lord: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore. The lack of information to the general public is what sparked these types of articles. Harry didn't want anyone to know how he did it and Ron sure wasn't going to tell anyone. Not even his parents.

There were plenty of news stories that made Harry look like a hero, but he avoided them like a hex. Ron couldn't understand why he insisted on tormenting himself with only the negative press he received.

Standing up with a stretch and a yawn, Ron rolled up the magazine and stuffed it in his pocket. He rejoined Hermione on the couch and picked up his book to study, glancing at the entrance to the Common Room every so often.

"If he wasn't back in five minutes, than they've made up," she said smugly.

"Hermione, for once, will you please pretend you don't know everything?" Ron snapped."Fine," she replied curtly, slamming her book shut for emphasis. "I'm going to bed."

At the bottom of the stairs, she added, "Don't wait up all night for him."

"You just can't stop yourself," Ron called out after her as she stomped up the stairs.

Slowly, the Common Room emptied until Ron was the last one left. The quiet and the warmth from the fireplace quickly lulled him to sleep.

"Harry, stop, that tickles," Ron said groggily, between unmanly like giggles.

"Wake up, Ron." Harry squeezed Ron's shoeless foot.

Ron opened his eyes with a yawn and looked up at Harry, who was grinning down at him. As Ron became aware of his surroundings, he also became aware of something straining against the fly of his trousers.

Ron sat up quickly and crossed his arms over his lap.

"Must've dozed off."

"Good look for you." Harry sat down next to Ron and pointed at the top of his head.

Ron's hand went up and felt his fiery strands of hair standing straight up. Harry reached over and patted at Ron's bed head.

Ron grabbed Harry's wrist. "S'okay. I'm just going to bed anyway."

Harry was so close that Ron's senses went on overload, causing a chain of bodily reactions to surge through his body. His heart skipped a beat as he looked at the yellow specks sparkling in Harry's emerald eyes. His fingers clamped on Harry's wrist, and he felt their combined pulses beating together. His own pulse quickened, and goosebumps rose up on his neck as Harry's warm breath tickled his cheek. But then a faint smell of cologne and sweat, a foreign scent, reached his nostrils. His instincts screamed – NOT HARRY - and his gut twisted in a knot.

"You're in a better mood," he muttered, leaping up.

Harry's eyes lowered. "Yeah, you were right. We worked things out."

"Good," Ron said in a voice slightly higher than his norm. "Going to bed."

Ron couldn't get away from Harry fast enough. Something deep inside him was in a rage, yelling at him to fight for what he wanted and what he believed rightfully belonged to him. Harry was on his heels demanding to know what was wrong. Ron ignored him and went straight to the sanctuary of his bed.

He could see Harry through the slit in his curtains, standing there, looking helpless and confused. Ron's rage deflated, and with a heavy sigh, he pushed the curtains aside.

"Nothing's wrong, Harry. Go to sleep. Early day tomorrow."

Quidditch practice was normally tough, but the last one before the Hufflepuff game was completely exhausting. Ginny was relentless and had told Harry and Ron repeatedly that it was her goal for the two of them to leave Hogwarts with the House Cup.

Ron hung around the locker rooms after practice, waiting until he thought he was alone. He straddled a bench and began rubbing lotion on his sore shoulders.

"Let me help you," said a voice from behind him.

Ron turned to see Harry, already freshly showered and changed, directly in front of him.

Ron tried to act nonchalant. "Thought you had a date?"

"Later," replied Harry, taking the jar of lotion from Ron's hand.

"Don't," Ron protested. "It's ok, I'm fine."

"Rubbish. You're not limber enough to reach all of the sore spots." Harry rolled up the sleeves of his robe and rubbed the lotion between his hands.

Harry touched Ron's shoulder blade, causing him to flinch.

"Sorry. Didn't know you were that sore," Harry said, misinterpreting the reason for Ron's reaction.

Harry began to massage his fingers into Ron's shoulder blades. Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He tried to focus only on the warming liquid that was easing his sore muscles, and not on who was doing the massaging.

"Thanks," Harry said suddenly after a few minutes of silence.

"For what?"

"For being so supportive about me and Blaise."

"I'm not." Ron scowled. "I'm your friend. It has nothing to do with him.""Oh."

Ron stood up abruptly, leaving Harry's hands hanging in mid-air."Thanks," said Ron, picking up the jar and twisting the lid back on.

"So, do you want to talk about it?" Ron purposely stood with his back to Harry as he put on his t-shirt.

"It was really daft," said Harry. "I was just being overly sensitive."

"Were you? Or is that what he told you?" Ron was working at the clasps on his robes like they were a complicated puzzle.

"He said I was a poor kisser."

Ron spun around to face a blushing Harry. "Huh?"

Harry laughed nervously. "It was silly for me to get upset. He said he was only teasing."

"That was a terrible thing to say!" Ron exclaimed. "Why do you… Never mind."

"What were you going to say?" Harry asked in an eager voice.

"I'm sure you're not a bad kisser, Harry."

"I'm not so sure. I've only kissed two people. One cried while I was kissing her and the other… well, he said I was, so…"

"Harry, it's rubbish! Zabini was only playing to your insecurities." Ron took a step forward.

"You're only saying that to make me feel better. It's not like you know for sure." Harry met Ron's stare.

Ron saw a pleading and sad look in Harry's eyes. Before the blush creeping up his neck had a chance to reach his cheeks, he took a deep breath and leaned in towards the lips that he had been yearning to kiss for three long, agonizing years.

When their closed lips met, Ron stepped forward to straighten out his stance, adjusting his head downward in attempts to stay attached to the shorter boy's lips. At Ron's movement, Harry parted his lips. As their tongues tangled together, Ron's heart caught fire and pumped boiling blood through his veins.

Ron kept his hands at his side, afraid to move and cause the surreal moment to end. His breath hitched in his throat when Harry leaned in closer. Harry firmly clutched two fists full of his sleeves and let out a silky, contented sound that vibrated through his mouth.

"Don't come down here!" a voice boomed from the door. The friends jumped apart as Ginny came crashing into the locker room with an irritated look on her face.

"Harry, your boyfriend is out there waiting for you," Ginny's voice dripped with venom when she spoke the word boyfriend.

Harry removed his fogged-up glasses and wiped them on his robe. "T-t-thanks, Ginny," he stammered.

"I better go," he added, putting his glasses back on. After a timid glance at Ron, he turned on his heels to leave.

Because Ron wanted the moment to end on his terms, not Zabini's, he ignored the fluttering in his stomach, seized Harry's shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "That was brilliant. Maybe you're just kissing the wrong person."

End of Part One