If you don't like slash... THEN DON'T READ THIS STORY!!!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry and Ron... or Hermione... or Voldy... or the Death Eaters. That singular joy belongs only to the great and powerful J.K. Rowling.
Ron had a sense of dread about tomorrow's battle. Harry had sulked all day, speaking very little and only when spoken to. He usually tried to cheer others up, help them through the grief of losing a loved one, let them things could only get better from there… but not today. Today Harry locked himself in the tent he shared with Ron and indulged in Firewhiskey. Ron finally got in and found a sorry sight indeed.
Harry was obviously drunk. Not to the point where he couldn't function, but he was drunk enough. He opened a bleary eye at Ron, and he slowly sat up. He wore only boxers, his hair looked worse than normal, and his glasses were on the floor across the room; he looked awful. Suddenly, he began to cry. Ron sat on the bed beside him to comfort him.
"I can't do this anymore, Ron," he cried, "I don't wanna fight anymore. I don't wanna kill anyone else. I'm sick of this fucking war. I'm sick of it!"
He fell into a fit of sobbing, his face in his hands. Ron placed a hand on his back and almost withdrew it immediately. The leanness had left his body, leaving him pale and thin, his shoulder blades protruding slightly; Ron could feel some of his vertebrae. He felt a tear run down his cheek and watched as it hit Harry's back.
As though that were a signal, Harry threw his arms around Ron's waist and sobbed into the crook of his neck. Ron did his best to comfort the weeping boy when he felt that Harry had stopped the worse of the sobs. Then before he could say anything to stop it, his best friend was kissing his neck. He knew it was wrong, but it felt so good. His eyes fluttered shut, and a small moan escaped his lips. Harry pulled away a few moments later. Both boys were breathing a little heavier. Ron stared steadily into Harry's unfocused eyes.
"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't help it," he said thickly, "Do you hate me?"
Ron pulled off his T-shirt and replied, "Of course not."
He leaned in and pressed his lips to Harry's. Their lips parted to allow the other's tongue in.
This isn't right, Ron thought as Harry removed his jeans, I shouldn't be doing this. My best mate shouldn't be kissing me! I shouldn't like it!
He broke away from Harry and sat up, but Harry followed him. He gently caressed the redhead's freckled cheek, kissed him, and laid him back down. He placed gentle kisses on the pale chest and abdomen until he reached Ron's boxers. Slowly, he pulled them off.; Ron started breathing slightly heavier. Then… he did it.
Ron made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan and his hips jerked forward. Harry's tongue was all over his cock as Ron moaned loudly. He grew bored with doing it just before Ron came; it hit Harry's stomach. Both boys panted heavily before kissing again.
"I love you, Ron," Harry whispered.
"I love you, too, Harry. I love you."
Harry smiled down at his unlikely lover and said with a small slur, "Roll over."
Ron felt hands on his hips guiding him. He could feel Harry on his back, the tip of his cock just touching him. His tension mounted.
"Harry, just fuck me already. Just do it. Don't make me wait an-"
Harry entered him, and he screamed quickly. He felt Harry's thrusts and moaned for each of them. It was slightly painful but still very arousing. They rolled onto their sides, and Harry wrapped a hand around Ron's dick to make him cum. Ron could only moan louder. He couldn't count the number times each boy came, but each one was… amazing. He wasn't even sure how long they did it for. He just knew it was amazing.
Ron placed his head on Harry's chest after all was said and done and listened to his heartbeat. He felt Harry's fingers in his own ginger hair, twirling it, running through it. Ron felt perfectly at peace and uneasy at the same time. Would Harry remember fucking him? Would he be upset? Would he do it again? Harry was quite drunk, after all. However, before the answers to any of these questions were found, he fell asleep.
He awoke the next morning to a yell and being pushed out of bed. He let out a small "oof!" as he hit the floor but got right up. Harry looked scared and angry.
"Ron! What the hell happened?! Tell me right fucking now what we did!" he shouted.
Ron hesitated before recounting the previous evening's events. Harry's eyes got wide. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Why didn't you stop me?" he said tearfully, "Or… tell me no? You… you just let it happen."
"Harry… you were piss drunk, and you're stronger than me. I couldn't've stopped you," Ron replied softly, "I… I don't blame you."
His eyes averted; Harry asked, "Do you regret it?"
"Neither do I."
"I think we should get dressed."
Each boy began pulling on his clothes as a girl's voice called them.
"Honestly!" Hermione said loudly, "You two picked a day to sleep in! Voldemort's army's been spotted. They're fully ready for battle! They'll be here within the day! Hurry up!"
The next few hours went by quickly, far too quickly. Battle was upon before they knew it. Ron was sending and deflecting spells faster than he could think. Out of the blue Death Eaters began screaming wildly and began fighting more fiercely. Someone on Ron's left shouted, "He's dead! You-Know-Who's dead!" Then he saw him.
Harry was facedown in the grass, a pool of blood spreading around him. Ron ran over to him as fast as his fatigued limbs would allow him and collapsed beside him. He could still hear ragged breath coming from Harry's broken body.
"R-R-Ron… R-Ron… don't-don't l-leave me. P-p-please.."
Ron was about to open his mouth to respond, to tell Harry he would be fine, that he would not leave him, when he felt something hit his back. It cut through his flesh and pierced his chest. He collapsed facedown beside Harry, dead, gripping the boy's hand tightly.