A/N. This is the first story I've ever uploaded to (and only the second fanfic I've ever written). It's Ron/Harry slash, so don't like, don't read. I'd very much like reviews, but I'm also really insecure about my writing, so please be gentle *bats eyelashes*.

English is not my native language and I do not have a beta (yet…) so there might be some grammar mistakes. Hopefully Microsoft Word's spelling check has taken care of all the spelling mistakes, though.

Disclaimer: All the lovely characters belong to JK Rowling, I'm just having some fun with them.


Ron Weasley didn't know which was worse: realising he was gay, or realising he was in love with his best friend.

He had started suspecting that maybe girls didn't do the trick for him in his fifth year at Hogwarts. He had realised that more often than not his eyes started wandering when he was in the shower after Quidditch practice, and he quite liked what he saw.

At first it had freaked him out and he had tried to convince himself that it was just a phase; that it would pass with time if he just ignored it. It hadn't disappeared, though. Slowly he had come to terms with the fact that maybe he was attracted to boys as well as girls.

By that time he was still convinced he fancied girls too. He was in love with Hermione, wasn't he? And he'd had that fling with Lavender Brown. Never mind that he had tried his hardest to avoid her company towards the end of their so called relationship - last time he checked she still counted as a girl and he had snogged her brains out on several occasions (even though he had to distract himself with thoughts of Quidditch during, to keep his attention away from the fact that Lavender's tongue felt like a dead slug in his mouth. He also tried to ignore that he actually knew what having a slug in your mouth felt like, due to the slug-vomiting incident back in his second year at Hogwarts).

But then there was that faithful day, the final battle, and he and Hermione had kissed and he had felt nothing.

No, that's not entirely true. He had felt fear and sorrow and the dread of not knowing if he would even see her alive again, but there had been no fireworks, no dizziness, no tingling. And wasn't there kind of supposed to be, he had thought to himself.

When the battle was over and things slowly (oh so slowly) started go back to normal, he had thought about it some more. And the more he thought about it, the more it dawned on him: he really didn't fancy girls at all. In the midst of all the chaos and mourning and everyone trying to find their way back to some kind of normal life, the realisation that he, Ron Weasley, was gay didn't seem to be such a big deal. Hell, if his friends and family had faced the Dark Lord and lived, they could face him being gay and live through that as well.

So he had just told people, and no one had really cared. Sure, Hermione had started crying and calling him nasty words, but a week later she had asked him for forgiveness and said that she didn't mind him being gay, what she did mind was him not being in love with her. And Ron could understand that. He was kind of sad himself that he could not be in love with her, she was his best friend and she was bloody brilliant, but what's a gay bloke to do?

Harry had been surprised at first, but then he had just shrugged and said: "whatever floats your boat, mate" and that had been that. Fred and George had teased him mercilessly, as he knew they would, but it was alright, he knew that they didn't really mind either, they just couldn't pass such a golden opportunity to make jokes at his expense. His mother had mentioned something about grandchildren, but he had just simply reminded her of her other six children and she had settled for that. His dad had reacted with an: "I did not see that coming" and had not mentioned it since. So yeah, no one really cared that he had decided to switch teams, but what surprised him the most was that neither did he. In the grand scheme of it all, it just seemed unimportant.

It would all have been dandy if he had not started paying attention to how strange his body was reacting whenever Harry was around. Whenever Harry was expected to the Burrow (and he was there quite a lot these days) Ron would feel almost giddy with anticipation. And once Harry was there, the redhead felt happy and calm just by being near him, talking to him, playing a game of wizard's chess with him or practicing his quidditch skills with him in the Burrow's back yard.

There was nothing new about these feelings, really. Harry had always made him happy, and he had simply put it down to the sheer awesomeness of the fact that somebody like Harry, who could be friends with whomever he wanted, had chosen him, Ron Weasley, to be his closest friend. And it was true, Ron couldn't really get used to the fact that the dark haired boy found him, and continued to find him, to be a person worthy of his friendship.

But in the light of his recent realisation, Ron started to wonder and worry that maybe there was something more to it than that. He started noticing that his heart seemed to skip a beat whenever the bespectacled teen touched him, that his cheeks felt warm and flushed whenever Harry said something nice to him and that he had sudden urges to reach up and touch the dark unruly hair that Harry constantly tried to tame, just to feel whether it was soft or not. With a sinking feeling to his stomach Ron had yet another realisation: he was in love with one of his best friends. Just not the one he had primarily imagined.

The Hogwarts express jerked suddenly, snapping Ron out of his thoughts. He looked around the compartment. Hermione was reading a book, her brows knitted thoughtfully, indicating deep concentration. Luna and Ginny was on the floor, playing with, and fawning over, Luna's new dragon-winged and fire-breathing fluffy white kitten ("My father brought him home for me. Isn't he a beauty?" Luna had told them, and for a short moment she had reminded Ron very much of Hagrid. He refrained from telling her that, though, as he had a strong suspicion girls didn't like being compared to half-giants with wild beards and a drinking problem). Ron kept himself at a safe distance from Mr McMuffin, as Luna had named him, but Ginny had been instantly charmed.

Ron's eyes wandered over to where Harry was sitting, the dark haired head resting against the window of the train, eyes fixed somewhere in the distant, his breath forming small and quickly evaporating clouds of mist on the glass every time he breathed out.

Harry had been different since the battle. He put on a happy facade around everyone, laughing along with the jokes and engaging in silly conversations, but Ron could see his heart was not in it. He and Hermione had tried to talk to him about the battle, but the dark haired teen just brushed them off, saying everything was fine, now that Voldemort was gone, and they really shouldn't worry about him. But worry they did, even more so when Harry refused to talk to them. Ron was hoping that going back to Hogwarts to make up for their lost final year would bring the old Harry back. The one who didn't get a pained expression in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. So far, it didn't seem to work though.

Ron sighed heavily, making Harry turn his head towards him, flashing a small smile that just for a moment reached the bespectacled boy's eyes, making them glitter and Ron's heart skip a beat. Ron suddenly lost track of all his previous thoughts and returned Harry's smile while inwardly cursing at his heating cheeks.

Yeah, it was definitely worse being in love with your best friend.