Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Harry Potter universe. Shocking, I know. :-O

Title: Just Good Friends

Rating: T (14+ for safety)

Warnings: Slash, language, silliness and fluff.

Feedback: Would make me deliriously happy!

This is just a short little thing. :) I hope you enjoy it!

Harry and Ron are just good friends.

That being said, no one ever questioned their intimacy or the fleeting looks they gave each other or even the fact they were caught holding hands on several occasions. They were just friends; there was nothing else to it and if anyone thought different, they were accused of over-analysing the situation.

Fourth year was when it had really started. At least, when the mockery started. It was the year the whole wizarding world found out a gangly redheaded boy was The Boy Who Lived's most treasured possession. It wasn't that odd—after all, that Fleur girl had to retrieve her sister from the bottom of the lake. That meant Harry and Ron were like brothers and they enjoyed a most brotherly embrace when they reached the surface spluttering and gasping for breath.

Of course, not all chose to see it that way. Fleur was far from home—perhaps her beau was in France and that's why she had to rescue her sister. The other heroes rescued their girls—Harry saved his boy. Strange. At least, the Slytherins found it strange.

Since that day snarky and somewhat disturbing comments about the two were always on the tip of the Slytherin's tongues. Some of the jokes were almost enough to make Malfoy blush…if he weren't the one saying them.

Ron had stayed up late finishing an essay and was understandably having trouble sitting up at breakfast.

"Honestly, Ronald, why do it to yourself? I kept telling you to do it beforehand! You never listen to me," Hermione scolded from across the Gryffindor table.

To help make her point, Ron kindly did not listen.

Harry noticed Ron was swaying in his seat and took the redhead's head, resting it on his shoulder. He idly played with the soft red hair at his fingertips as he picked at his food.

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy seemed to have developed a terrible hacking cough. Halfway through his fit, he choked something out that sounded suspiciously like poufters.

Amazingly, Harry and Ron ignored him and even formed small smiles on their faces. It was Ginny who stood to protect her friends' honour and proceeded to vehemently defend them with the help of Seamus and Dean.

No one noticed that Harry and Ron were holding hands under the table, and if they had, they pointedly chose to ignore it.

The pair was now constantly in a good mood, even with the Slytherin's taunting them, and it showed. In their last Quidditch game, Ron didn't let a single quaffle in and Harry caught the snitch in record time. More brotherly embracing ensued.

After such spectacular games, people were so caught up in celebrating and singing their renditions of 'Weasley is our King' that no one noticed that Harry and Ron were always the last ones out of the Quidditch showers. They came out glowing with broad, almost dopey grins slapped on their faces. Of course, that must be because they won the game.

Later, at the New Year's celebration in Hogsmeade, the Slytherins may very well have had the happiest moment of their collective lives. Neville had stumbled upon—to his great embarrassment—Harry and Ron in a cupboard at The Three Broomsticks, thinking the door lead to the loo.

The inseparable duo was joined at the mouth. It was hard to make out anything more than black and red hair and the tangle of sweaty limbs. It was Ron who noticed the stares of the open-mouthed patriots of the pub first and Harry stopped snogging the life out of him when he saw those blue eyes widen.

The two finally understood the meaning of deafening silence. Even the Slytherins were too stunned to speak. They slowly disentangled themselves and casually straightened out their dishevelled clothes. Well, their remaining clothes.

After a few uneasy moments, the Slytherins laughed, and Harry and Ron took it as a blessing. They laughed so hysterically, in fact, that only a few cruel comments and words like 'fag', 'shirt lifters' and 'fairies' could be made out.

Of course, the rest of the pub sprang to their defence. It was dark and they were both tipsy—they obviously had mistaken each other for girls.

For some reason, this caused the snakes to laugh even harder.

When the clock struck twelve, Hermione punched a sniggering Pansy Parkinson in the face, George tackled Theodore Nott, Fred smacked Malfoy and Harry and Ron exchanged bemused looks.

"Happy New Year," they murmured to each other and their kiss went totally unnoticed in the brawl.

Weeks passed and the Slytherins were the only ones who ever spoke about the New Year's fiasco. No one even tried to ask them about it—why would they need to? Ron mistook Harry for Hermione and Harry mistook Ron for Ginny. Seemed reasonable.

In Transfiguration, Harry and Ron sat on either side of Hermione as always. They had identical dreamy looks and stared into space. Harry transfigured his inkpot into a soft red teddy with gleaming blue eyes. The thing wore a little maroon jumper with a big 'R' on it.

Seamus, Dean and Neville ignored the fact Harry would cuddle up with the bear at night. They also ignored the fact he would refer to it as 'his Wheezy.'

Years passed. The inevitable, the final battle had come and everyone fought passionately. When Harry had finally done it—they had finally done it, the boy fell to the ground, unconscious.

They had thought he was dead. Ron fell to his knees and clutched his friend's body to him, whispering watery "love you"s and "please don't be dead" while he placed fervent kisses anywhere within reach.

When Harry was recovering in St. Mungo's, Ron stayed by his bedside the whole time like a good, loving friend would. No one was there to witness the tender moment they shared when Harry finally woke.

They never let each other out of their sight after that.

A year later, with the help of Fred and George—who's joke shop was doing phenomenally—Hermione, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Harry and Ron were able to rent out a large apartment. Their new home's first decoration was a red-furred, jumper-adorned teddy that sat on the mantle with its happy, unblinking blue gaze.

It was their first Christmas at the apartment and everyone had come over, including the entire Weasley gang. However, it was a quiet affair. They spent most of the time reminiscing, talking about work and dreamily watching the tiny snowflakes float down from the white abyss.

At the end of the gift opening, everyone had a jumper from Mrs. Weasley.

"Ron, didn't you get a present for Harry?" Arthur asked.

Ron smiled coyly. "Of course I did!" He gave Harry a look and the raven-haired boy had inexplicably turned pink. "I just left it upstairs. I'll go get it." With that, he got up and headed for the stairs.

"I'll help him," Harry said and also rose to his feet, hurrying after the redhead.

They didn't come back downstairs for quite some time and when they did, Harry was wearing a maroon jumper with a large yellow 'R' while Ron wore a blue one with an 'H'. No one brought this to their attention. Of course, there was a simple explanation for the mismatched clothes and the explanation probably wasn't interesting enough for an enquiry, so why bother? No point in being nosey.

They assumed whatever gift Ron had for Harry was given.

Now, months later, the few of them were sitting at the dinner table, eating and talking animatedly.

It was Neville's turn to cook and every so often they would hear his voice nervously squeak from the kitchen, saying things like "everything's fine" and "there's no reason to come in". This was normally followed by billowing smoke and the sound of the rushing tap.

Halfway through the meal, Harry blushed madly and dropped his fork. He didn't make a move to pick it up and simply stared ahead of him, open-mouthed.

"You okay, Harry?" Dean asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

Harry squeaked. "Er…indigestion."

This answer seemed to satisfy and they all returned to their conversations. Harry glared at Ron from across the table and Ron retorted with a look of feigned innocence.

Ron reached over for a bottle of Butterbeer, bending over the table in the process. He just lay over the table for a moment before slowly settling back into his seat. He kicked his head back to drink, exposing a smooth throat and a bobbing adam's apple. Some of the liquid trickled out from the corner of his mouth and traveled over the curve of his chin, down his neck and, finally, into his shirt. No one noticed that Harry's breathing had become somewhat erratic.

Ron severed his sausage. It was strange, but he had become somewhat addicted to the food—ate it three meals a day. Like a good friend would, Harry made sure there was always some in the fridge for his best mate.

Ron—usually a fast eater—ate slowly now.

The bespectacled boy stood abruptly. "I need to go. I mean, we need to go."

"Up for a game of chess?" Ron asked with a raised eyebrow that only Harry seemed to notice.

"Yes," Harry nearly hissed.

"That can wait," Seamus said. "Ya di'n't ev'n finish yer dinner."

"No, it's fine," Harry said. "I'm not all that hungry…and I'm really up for a good game."

"Alright," Hermione said after a moment. "I'll wrap up your leftovers."

"Thanks," they both chorused and dashed upstairs as quick as they could, Ron giggling all the while.

Some time later, they cleared the table and extinguished the fire in the kitchen. Praising Neville's hard work, they all tottered into the living room and settled around the telly Dean insisted they have. It was actually Ron who loved the thing the most—besides Arthur. He would stare adoringly at the moving pictures and couldn't tear his eyes away—even in commercials.

A few minutes later, Hermione looked up from her book when she heard a strange creaking.

She was the smart one—of course she had her ideas. She even entertained the idea of the two being together—they would make a tooth-rotting-ly sweet couple. However, she dismissed the idea as girlish fantasies. The noise from upstairs could be attributed to any number of things.

After a few more minutes, the creaking noises were accompanied by muffled…moans? She glanced around—was she hearing things? Had the others heard?

Everyone else had furrowed eyebrows but seemed to concentrate on what they were doing, anyway.

A few more minutes later and there was a banging noise and then a loud THUD.

"Honestly, who makes that much noise playing chess?" Ginny asked, irritated.

No one spoke. Hermione smiled to herself, thinking girlish fantasies could come true, sometimes.

"Do you…think they're fighting?" Neville asked.

"'Course not," Seamus said. "They're best mates."

Hermione suppressed a giggle. She had the right to be giddy—this would be so much fun! No wonder the two kept it a secret…although, come to think of it…it had been pretty obvious.

More odd noises drifted downstairs. "That's it!" Ginny huffed. "If they're going to fight, they could at least use silencing spells! I'm going upstairs and breaking them up." She stood.

Hermione gave her a wary look over the book she held. It was gone in an instant and replaced with a secretive smile. "Okay, Gin. Go break them up."

"I plan to." She strode over to the staircase. As she ascended the steps, her mind couldn't help flitting back to that New Year's party a few years ago. It seemed pretty obvious, but… Nah, she was just looking into it too deeply. There was no point in over-analysing.

After all, Harry and Ron are just good friends.