Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 13. Healing Harry

“How positively Slytherin of you, Hermione,” Ron said, watching as Harry’s head drooped forward, and his hands fell limp at his sides. “Harry’s going to be really pissed when he wakes up, you know.”
“Well… well,” she said defensively, biting her lip, her cheeks going scarlet. “He needs his potions, Ron. I know he’s in pain. He’s just so stubborn, and I knew I couldn’t make him take it on his own, not after what just happened.”
“Maybe, but still…he’ll probably never trust you again after this,” he told her with a shrug, tugging the extra pillows from behind Harry’s head and easing him down onto the mattress, his body totally relaxed in sleep. “He’ll start looking at everything you give him from now on like it came from Fred and George,” he said, and he heard her huff out a breath of indignation.
Pulling the blanket up to Harry’s chin, Ron studied him a minute. He’d lost so much weight, and he was thin to begin with. A year on the lam hadn’t been kind to any of them in that department. They were all thinner than normal, but these last few weeks had been especially cruel to Harry. The bones in his face were too prominent, his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes sunken, appearing too large for his face when they were open. Closed, however, the dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, the creases around them relaxed in sleep made him seem so much younger and untroubled. The cuts and bruises were finally healing, and his color was returning to normal, too, but he still looked so frail.
It was hard to imagine, looking at him now, how much power he actually had. Not physical power, Ron thought. He could take Harry in a fistfight any day. He was quite a bit taller and stockier than Harry. The thing was, that Harry could take a beating and just get right back up again. It probably came from having that whale for a cousin, but Harry was tougher than shit. The damn tosser didn’t know how to quit, it seemed. You’d have to knock him smooth out or he would just wear you down, exhaust you completely and then sucker punch you in the gut just when you thought you’d finally finished him. He was a sneaky little bastard like that.
He had a shitload of magical power, though. Ron had seen it up close. He’d felt it bubbling under his skin while he tried to hold him in the bath. He’d felt it pushing against him again tonight before Hermione had the good sense to cast a body bind curse on him. That much power was what frightened Ron right now. Harry’s magic was out of control at times, dangerous when he was out of his mind, and tonight it appeared to be directed at Hermione. Now that Harry was awake, things were getting even more complicated.
It wasn’t like he assumed Harry would wake up and everything would just go back to normal. They were all still recovering from some really fucked up shit. Harry more than Hermione, and Hermione more than him, but he remembered what Rudolphus looked like in the dungeon so close to him. He remembered the smell of his hair and flesh burning with those unnatural flames. And he remembered the madness in Harry’s eyes when it was over, too. A wildness about them when he’d faced Draco that spoke of his deadly intent. He’d seen that look again tonight as he’d fought to hold Harry down, and it scared Ron shitless.
Harry could’ve killed them all there in the dungeons. He could have killed them here tonight, too, if he’d wanted. But they couldn’t keep him in a full body bind or drugged up forever, and Ron didn’t know how in the hell he was going to keep them all alive while Harry recovered.
Ron didn’t want to admit it, but after the first few times Harry had woken up and gone completely mental, he was starting to think it may have been kinder if they hadn’t found him in time, kinder to have just let him die like he’d wanted. It had been hard as hell to watch him suffer then, in the beginning when he was unconscious, but it was so much worse to watch him suffer now when he was awake. He had moments of lucidity, though, moments when he seemed like Harry again, moments where he knew where he was and who they were.
Hermione had sunk into the chair, looking miserable again. She’d been devastated at Harry’s reaction to her earlier. Leaving Harry’s side, he went to her, pulling her up out of the chair by the hand. He sat down himself and wordlessly pulled her back down onto his lap. She curled into him, pulling her knees up, her socked feet resting on his thigh, and leaned her head on his shoulder, tucked into his neck.
“I don’t know how to help him, Ron,” she confessed miserably, sighing deeply, her warm breath on his throat. He wrapped his arm around her knees, holding her there, and resting his chin on her head.
“He seemed fine, better than usual when I woke him up, but then he just lost it,” she told him, trembling again, on the verge of tears once more.
Running his hand up her back, into her hair, Ron squeezed her neck at the base of her head, rubbing hard on the tense muscles he found there. She sighed again, relaxing into him.
“I know,” he replied. “He’ll get better, Hermione. He will.”
He continued to stroke her neck, then down between her shoulder blades, working the tension out of her.
“Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.”
She was moaning softly in appreciation of what his hands were doing, and he felt himself growing hard at the sound. He knew he was a prat, but he couldn’t help it. He was a teenage boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon, apparently, and the girl he was hopelessly in love with was sitting on his lap.
If they were still at Hogwarts, he’d be trying to drag her into deserted classrooms and abandoned corridors between every lesson, stealing touches and kisses and moments with her when he could. As it was, he wanted to take her in every room of this house. In the bathtub, on the kitchen table, on the floor, up against the wall, right now sitting in this chair. It was a constant buzzing in his head when she was close to him, and if they were normal teenage lovers, he knew that’s exactly what he would do. But they weren’t. Everything was different for them. They’d been through too much to be that carefree. They had too much responsibility on them still, and they had so much further to go before they were through.
Ron envied their counterparts at Hogwarts, whose biggest concern was being caught after curfew, snogging in a broom closet by Filch, a professor, or a Prefect. They still had two more Horcruxes they had no idea how to find and the snake before Voldemort himself, and it sure felt like they were sliding backwards instead of going forward right now.
Worse, he didn’t know if he even believed what he was telling Hermione about Harry. Ron felt his hope dwindling. He didn’t know right now if Harry would ever get better, if he could ever gain back all that he lost in Malfoy Manor and be strong enough to fight Voldemort. But then he remembered that he’d lost his hope in the dungeons, too, there in those last hours. He’d been sure it was over for all of them when they had brought Harry back in, beaten all to hell, after the fight or whatever they heard in the corridor outside. A whole room full of Death Eaters surrounded him like an honor guard, practically carrying him into the room.
Ron knew then that they were going to kill Hermione and him, knew their time was finally up. He could see their fate it in the eagerness of their faces. They were going to kill both of them and make Harry watch. He was certain of it. He just didn’t know the cruel games Bellatrix wanted to play before she finished them.
Squeezing his eyes closed at the memories, Ron tried holding them back. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to see the images played back for him in his mind over and over again, to feel the fear, to remember how it felt to watch Harry take Hermione. He didn’t want to hear her crying, to remember the feeling of the Cruciatus curse coursing through him and boiling the blood in his veins. He didn’t want to see Harry screaming anymore; to see his whole body glowing as Greyback held him. But he did.
Watching through the distortion of the shield Harry protected them with, he saw again the wave of energy explode out of him like a bomb, knocking everyone down around him, knocking them unconscious. The force of it was so strong that it bounced against the shield he held over Ron, kicked up a cloud of dirt from the floor, and rattled the chains holding him to the wall. Then the whole room was engulfed in flames, including Harry himself while Ron watched in terror.
He’d been wrong then, wrong to lose hope. It wasn’t Hermione and him that were finished that day. Harry wasn’t finished. Ron had underestimated him. The Death Eaters had underestimated him. Bellatrix should’ve knocked him out cold when she kicked him in the face and broke his nose and jaw because Harry had gotten back up again, just like he always does, and landed the mother of all sucker punches. Rudolphus and Macnair and Dolohov didn’t live to regret it, he thought with satisfaction, but Avery and Greyback and Bellatrix did, and they would surely never forget it, either. Ron certainly wouldn’t. Not until the day he died.
Ron could feel his chest tightening at the thought, his eyes stinging from the memory, the oppressive fear melting off him. And he knew then that Harry would get better again, that they would get past this because Harry wasn’t finished.
Hermione sighed again, turned her face into his neck and kissed him. He let his head fall back against the chair, relaxing into it, and she ran a hand into his hair. Instantly his thoughts were completely focused on her again, the horrors of the dungeons banished to the back of his mind, left to torment him another day. Right now he wanted to concentrate on the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her lips against him, the tingling of his scalp where her fingernails scratched lightly. HHe gripped her tighter, his fingers flexing automatically on her back as she slid her mouth over his neck, not caring any longer if Harry was burning the whole house down around them. It could wait, he decided. A bloke had priorities and Harry wasn’t it right now. Not any longer. Not for the rest of the night if they were lucky, thanks to Hermione.
Without a word, never taking her mouth from the cord of his neck, she pointed her wand at the door, and without even looking at it, she locked it with a quick flick of her wrist. Ron groaned, his trousers pinching him painfully from his growing erection. It was practically an invitation to grope her, and he was more than willing.
Pulling her legs down, he shifted both of them so that she was straddling him now, eager to rub himself against her. He ran his hands up her back, and then back down to her hips, gripping her as he pressed himself up into her.
“Mmmmmm,” he moaned, closing his eyes. It felt so good to be this close to her, to feel the friction he was creating between them. “I love you, Hermione,” he breathed, and she rolled her hips in response, still kissing her way up his neck towards his ear, leaving his neck damp from her tongue. He shivered when her breath ghosted over it, and she ground herself into him again.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned, lifting his head suddenly and capturing her lips with his in a fierce kiss, grasping the back of her head with one hand to hold her in place while still holding her hips to him with the other and arching up into her. She opened her mouth on a moan, and he slipped his tongue inside, sliding it against hers, trying to control the frenzy that was building in him as he devoured her mouth.
Grasping the hem of her shirt, Ron pulled it upwards, needing more, needing to feel the softness of her skin against him, and they broke apart when he went to pull it over her head. Good God, she was beautiful with her hair wild all around her, her lips swollen and red, her eyes dark with lust, both of them panting with desire.
It was still early in the evening, the light in the room dim, casting long shadows on the floor, but he could see her so well, see so much more than he’d been able to before, their previous lovemaking occurring under the cover of darkness. Her skin seemed so dark against the white fabric of her bra. He stared at her, drinking her in as she slid her hands behind her back, causing her breasts to swell over the cups of her bra as she undid the clasp, and he marveled at how easily she did it. He’d struggled with it every time he’d try to undo the damned thing so that he was sure the designers were having a laugh at how frustrated it made him.
It felt like everything was moving in slow motion, and he was trying to commit each detail to memory as one of the straps slid down her shoulder. He trailed a finger slowly down her chest from her throat, down between her breasts as she watched him, her hands still behind her back, hesitating, embarrassed maybe. Pinching the fabric with his thumb, Ron pulled the bra down from the middle, sliding it slowly down her arms, sliding it off her, exposing her breasts to him. She pulled her arm through the strap and let it fall to the floor.
He stared at her then, seeing her fully for the first time since that terrible day in the dungeon. But this time was only for him. This time she was in control. This time she was giving herself to him, not having it taken from her, not being forced. She was so perfect, so beautiful, and he reached up and cupped her, running his thumb over her nipple, watching as it puckered, he tip hardening under his touch. Her nipples were so responsive, and he was completely obsessed with them.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in awe, and then he leaned down to taste it, exploring the feel of it on his tongue as it continued to harden, the skin tightening when he swirled the tip of his tongue around the dusky center. She moaned again, arching into him when he sucked it into his mouth, pulling hard while he rolled the other nipple between his thumb and finger, kneading the flesh.
Hermione was rocking her hips over him, and he was feeling frantic again, his head buzzing with desire for her. Her hands were in his hair, holding him to her breast while he suckled her. Then they were on his shirt, trying to pull it off him. He reluctantly released the suction of his mouth against her, letting the swollen nipple fall from his lips, already missing the contact with her as he reached over his head and yanked his shirt off before tossing it to the floor to join hers.
Then they were kissing again, passionately, her breasts crushed against him. He could feel her nipples, still hard, damp from his tongue, against his bare flesh. Groaning into her mouth, he clutched her back, trying to pull her even closer to him.
Ron was so hard it hurt. He wanted to be free of the jeans that were constricting him, to feel her around him. Shaking all over with need, he growled at the vivid image of the picture they made together like this in his head. Then she was pulling away again, climbing off of his lap to stand in front of him.
Grasping his hand, she made to move to the bed, but he held her by the hand, resisting the pull. That wasn’t what he had in mind tonight. He didn’t want to worry about how much they were disturbing Harry, trying to go slowly, quietly. He needed something more tonight. She needed more, he thought, to make her come because he knew she hadn’t yet. So he pulled her back to him, to stand between his legs as he scooted to the end of the chair.
Looking up into her face, his hands fumbled with the zipper on her jeans, feeling like everything was slowing down again as he peeled the denim down her legs. Neither of them spoke, both staring at each other as she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her knickers, almost completely bare in front of him in the fading light. Then he slid his hands back up her thighs, running his fingers tantalizingly along the elastic of her panties from the back of her thighs around to the front. She sucked in a breath, shaking all over, still holding his eyes.
Sliding his fingers under the elastic at each hip then, he hooked the fabric with his fingers and pulled, dragging them slowly down her legs, revealing her most intimate parts to him, until they too dropped to the floor and she stepped out of them. Still, he held eye contact, gazing up into hers, which were nearly black, round with anticipation and maybe a little fear.
He ran his hands up the back of her thighs, over the firm globes of her arse. His movements were slow and deliberate, trying keep her from panicking and bolting away from him. He couldn’t let her get away now. He was too far gone, acting on instinct alone. His entire being focused on her as he pulled her towards him until he pressed his mouth against her soft curls. Clutching her backside tighter, his fingers digging into the flesh, he squeezed as she made to move away from him with a gasp.
Holding her in place, he breathed in deeply, flooding his senses with the smell of her arousal, with her essence. She was trembling all over, whimpering above him as he stuck out his tongue. Desperate to taste her, he ran it across her folds, parting them with the tip, feeling the warm wetness of her center as he gathered it on his tongue. She jerked, crying out when he slid over a tiny nub near the top, her hands suddenly back in his hair, clutching him to her.
Fuck! His jeans needed to come off right now! He was straining so badly against them it felt like they’d shrunk two sizes, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted more of her. Rolling his tongue around, he found that spot again, growling in the back of his throat when she granted him that same delicious reaction. He’d found a new obsession; something he liked even more than her breasts, a taste he liked more than anything he’d ever tasted before.
Lapping at her with his tongue, Ron rubbed against her with his nose, sucked on that magical little spot, that fantastic nub of hers, until she was shaking uncontrollably. Keening above him, she tugged painfully at his hair until she couldn’t take it anymore and pulled his head away from her.
“I need,” she breathed, panting hard, looking desperate. “I need you.”
Ron stood up quickly, happy to oblige, desperate himself as he slid his own jeans and boxers off with shaking hands. Then he pulled her flush against him. Finally, finally feeling her bare skin against his own fevered flesh, he ground himself against her in a frenzy. He needed her, too, badly, more than anything.
Stepping backwards, he pulled her with him as he sat back in the chair. She came with him automatically, straddling him, sliding her hands behind his neck. Both of them were so ready that he only had to hold his cock steady as she lifted her hips over him. Taking him into her, she surrounded him finally with that delicious heat. They both cried out as she sank down onto him. Feeling like he was deeper inside her than he’d ever been, Ron thought he might explode before they even moved.
Then she did move, rocking her hips against him, and his eyes rolled up in his head. He clutched at her hips, his mouth open, but no sound or breath came out, until he saw stars. It was even better than the image he’d conjured in his mind. It felt so fucking fabulous for her to be setting the pace, for her to be riding him, fucking him with almost no effort at all on his part except the straining in his thighs as he arched up into her and the muscles in his arms as he held her by the hips, pulling her back into him every time she rocked back.
He knew he wasn’t going to last long. He could already feel it building in him, though she was still rocking agonizingly slowly over him, so that he was whimpering, begging her without words. Pleading with the hands gripping her waist, he tried to pull her into him harder, faster, crazy with the desire to slam himself into her.
She pushed away from him then, her hands braced on his shoulders, arching her back, and he’d had enough. He slid his hand from her waist, licked his thumb and middle finger and pressed them between their joined bodies, searching for that spot.
“Oh, GOD!” she yelped, letting him know he’d found it. She rocked over him again, shaking all over as he pressed against it hard, letting it slide between his slick fingers, pushing against her as she ground herself into him. And she was moving faster then, finally, mercifully, her lip pulled between her teeth, her eyes closed, moaning desperately.
He wanted to take her nipple into his mouth again as he watched them swaying with her movements, but she was pushing against him, and he couldn’t reach them. So he grasped one hardened nipple with his free hand and tugged, his other still pressed against her core, and then it was her turn to whimper, her turn to beg. His body stiffened, arching up into her, giving her as much access as he could when her movements became more erratic. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders as her mouth fell open. Her face went red, and then with a strangled cry, she came. Her whole body was shuddering, her inner muscles gripping him rhythmically, and he exploded inside her, yelling his own release.
“Holy shit,” he panted, going limp in the chair when they’d both stopped spasming. “That was incredible!”
His heart was beating wildly in his chest. His ears were ringing, and he felt light-headed from the sheer force of his orgasm. Hermione, too, looked shocked as she fell onto him, both of them gasping for breath, their bodies slick with sweat, utterly exhausted.
Stoking her back lazily as their breathing returned to normal, he pulled strands of damp hair from her neck as he went soft still nestled inside her. He held her while she lay on top of him until he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she finally stirred, glancing up at him.
“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she confessed on a whisper, color blossoming across her cheeks.
“Me either,” he replied truthfully. “That was better than the first time…which was fucking fantastic!” he said earnestly, and he felt her shaking with suppressed laughter.
“We need to get up,” she said then, yawning. “I’m about to fall asleep here.”
“I don’t mind,” he told her, stroking her back again, though he was feeling uncomfortably sticky, and he could stand to take a piss. Still, he’d stay right here all night if that’s what she wanted. But she was already sitting up, crawling off him to stand on unsteady legs.
“Woah,” he said.
Sniggering, he grasped her hand to steady her, but she batted him away and staggered to the bathroom. Pulling himself out of the chair with a groan, Ron gathered up their discarded clothes, throwing them into the chair.
“I’ll take the middle tonight,” he announced when she’d returned. “Just to make sure everything’s okay with Harry in the morning.”
Hermione stood there staring at him a moment, the corners of her mouth turning down, but then she finally nodded.
“Good,” he said, relieved that she didn’t fight him on this.
He didn’t want to worry about it all night. Grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms from her bag, he headed to the bathroom.

Ron opened his eyes the next morning to find Harry staring at him. He was lying on his side, facing Harry, and Harry was on his back, his head turned to Ron, watching him sleep. Running a hand over his face, Ron yawned hugely. He hadn’t slept at all well. Being in the middle sucked, he decided. You couldn’t stretch out, and there was always someone pressed against you, their knee in your back or their arm thrown over your chest.
Peering at Harry, Ron tried to decide if he was really awake, if he knew where he was, how pissed he might be, or if there was any crazy in his eyes. After a moment, he decided there wasn’t.
“Hey, mate,” he greeted him.
Pushing himself up by the elbows, he then turned to check on Hermione. She was still asleep, facing away from him, her bushy hair fanned out around the pillow. He stroked it once, pulling it off her face and turned back to Harry.
“You ready to get out of this bed today?” he asked on a whisper.
Harry nodded his head, clearly eager.
“Yeah, I bet you are. Let me take a piss, and then we’ll get you up, okay?”
Harry nodded again, pointing at himself.
“You need the bathroom, too?” he asked.
Harry nodded his head vigorously, looking relieved that Ron had understood him, but then winced. His head must be hurting, Ron thought, but good luck getting him to take another pain potion after last night.
“All right, let me go first, if you can, and then I’ll help you, okay? Unless you want me to just use the spell?” he asked, but the look on Harry’s face clearly said how he felt about using the spell to empty his bladder.
“Give me a second then,” he said, smiling.
Though getting out of the bed proved a bit more difficult than he’d imagined because he didn’t want to disturb Hermione, so he ended up crawling over Harry to get off the bed. Being in the middle definitely sucked, but Harry didn’t appear to mind too much having Ron crawl all over him, even with a full bladder and a throbbing headache. Still, Ron hesitated at his side when Harry turned his head to stare at Hermione. He seemed surprised to find her there, but not frightened yet.
“Okay?” he asked worriedly.
Harry turned slowly back to him, staring at Ron a moment before nodding his head.
“All right,” he said, though he still hesitated. “I’ll be right back.”
He hurried to the bathroom. He didn’t want to leave Harry alone with Hermione asleep on the bed any longer than he had to. If Harry was going to freak out, he wanted Hermione to be awake and armed. Ron didn’t pull the bathroom door closed either, and he was back in record time.
Harry was still lying there, watching Hermione, but the room wasn’t on fire, no one was screaming. So far, so good, Ron thought, as he hurried back to them. Harry turned his eyes back to Ron, and he was glad to see that there was still no crazy in them, that he still seemed lucid right now.
“All right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get you up then.”
He pulled the blanket off Harry’s legs.
“We’re gonna do this real slow. I don’t want you doin’ another header like yesterday. Okay?”
Harry gave him a quick thumbs-up. Probably tired of nodding, Ron assumed. Together they worked to get Harry upright and sitting sideways on the bed with his legs dangling off the side. He was swaying a bit, still wincing with pain. Ron stood between his legs, his hands on Harry’s shoulders while he waited for Harry to steady himself.
“You ready?” he asked, leaning down and pulling Harry’s hands around his own neck.
Lacing his fingers together, Harry shifted his weight on the bed while Ron slid his hands under Harry’s arms, trying to find a spot to grip him that wouldn’t hurt.
“Okay, here we go,” Ron announced as he pulled Harry forward, sliding him to the edge of the bed so his toes touched the ground, and then lifted.
Harry’s fingers dug into the back of Ron’s head as he tried to steady himself on legs that wobbled dangerously, biting his lips in pain. The color drained from his face, so that Ron thought for a moment he would pass out and they would both hit the floor. Standing there for several minutes, their chests pressed together, Ron let Harry get his land legs and catch his breath. Then Ron slid his hands to Harry’s waist and turned himself so they were hip to hip, trying to shift Harry’s weight so they could move towards the bathroom together.
They made their way there slowly. It took forever, so that they were both breathing hard and sweating. Harry was panting in pain by the time they finally stood in front of the toilet, what little strength he had, now depleted.
“I think it would’ve been a lot easier to use the damn spell, Harry,” Ron told him, blowing out an exhausted breath and wiping his brow.
They shuffled around, Ron trying to figure out how to hold Harry steady and give him a bit of privacy at the same time. Finally settling on sliding his arm around Harry’s chest and turning sideways behind him, Ron braced his fatigued friend against his side.
Poor bloke, he thought. This had to suck for him.
When Harry had finished, Ron turned again to face him so that he was pressed against Harry’s back. Then he leaned them both down awkwardly to flush the toilet and close the lid. Turning Harry in his arms, Ron deposited him on the toilet and sat down against the edge of the tub, both of them thoroughly worn out.
“All right,” he said, still breathing hard. “Hermione says you’re getting a bath and a shave and then going downstairs today, but she’s going to have to hover you down because I don’t think we can make it together, and I sure as hell can’t carry you down the stairs. I think I might be sore from this later as it is.”
Ron turned on the taps to fill the bath, and then went to work removing the bandages from Harry’s back and wrists.
“Try and keep this arm out of the water, if you can,” he suggested, nodding to Harry’s left arm, where the most severe wounds were still trying to heal. “The other one isn’t so bad, so use that to wash yourself.”
Rolling up the bandages, he tossed them in the trash. Harry didn’t respond. He simply stared at his arms, then around the room, at the tub, and back to his arms again. Remembering, Ron thought. He was remembering what he’d done to himself the last time he’d walked into this room, viewing the evidence, reliving the memories.
“Come on. Let’s get you up and in the tub.”
He tested the temperature of the water, trying to keep Harry from dwelling on those memories. Standing, he pulled Harry to his feet by the upper arms, as he had done yesterday morning when Dobby had scared him off the bed, then pulled him into his chest so that Harry’s chin rested on his shoulder and Ron’s arm was around his back. Harry was nearly lifeless in his embrace again; worn out from the trip or paralyzed by the memories of this room or both. Ron didn’t know, but he decided that a bath would do wonders for him. So without thinking or feeling weird about it, he slid his free hand into the waistband of Harry’s boxers and slid them down over his arse.
“NO!” Harry croaked, the terrified sound cracking and breaking over his damaged vocal chords. Stiffening up at the intimate contact, he fought to get out of Ron’s grasp, trying to push him away.
It took Ron totally by surprise, and then he could’ve kicked himself for being so stupid, for letting his guard down, for not thinking of how Harry would react after what had been done to him.
“I’m sorry, Harry…I’m sorry!” he yelled, still fighting to hold him, to hold them both upright in the small bathroom. “It’s just me…It’s Ron.”
But Harry was still struggling against him, fighting to get free, shaking all over in fear.
“Ron?” Hermione called from the bedroom. “Is everything all right?” she asked in concern.
“Yeah,” he called back, pushing Harry back down onto the toilet seat. “Don’t come in!”
With one hand bracing Harry against the back of the toilet, he turned to face the door because he knew she was coming anyway.
“Don’t come in, all right?” he warned, terrified himself now that this thing was about to escalate out of control again.
“Are you sure?” she asked, and she was much closer to the door, standing just outside it, he knew, probably with her wand drawn.
“Yeah…yeah,” he answered, panting. “I just did something stupid.”
He turned back to Harry, who was gripping the arm Ron had pressed against his chest with both hands, that terrifying wildness back in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, mate,” he apologized soothingly. “That was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry... I’m so sorry.”
They were frozen like that for a few moments, Ron afraid to move. He could feel Harry’s heartbeat thrumming wildly against the hand he had pressed to his chest. Then slowly, Harry’s grip on Ron’s arm relaxed, and his whole body sagged. Ron blew out a relieved breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and he sank to his knees in front of Harry.
Sitting like that for a long time, both of them tried to calm down while Hermione continued to stand outside the door. He’d put the crazy back in Harry’s eyes with his own stupidity, but luckily for him, Harry hadn’t decided to set him on fire for it, yet. Still, it was a near miss, and Ron knew it.
“You okay, Harry?” he finally asked.
Harry blinked a few times, still drawing in deep calming breaths, and then nodded his head.
“I’m really sorry,” Ron apologized again. “I’m a total idiot. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Standing, Ron ran both hands through his hair, feeling weak now after the adrenaline rush, trying to shake the tingling out of his limbs. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, or if it had come from Harry.
“You think you’re ready to try again?” he asked after a few more minutes. “Before the bath water gets cold?”
Harry glanced up at him and nodded, looking weary. Ron nodded back, feeling just a drained. Grasping Harry’s upper arms again, Ron pulled him to his feet. Then he turned him so he could step into the tub. It took several tries for Harry to lift his leg over the side. The hardest part was trying to ease him down without dropping him or going in with him, but they finally managed. Harry actually sighed when he sank into the water, which was still steaming. Closing his eyes, he laid his head against the back of the tub and relaxed his bruised body.
“You know, Hermione and I have gotten so used to doing things for you. I guess we just keep forgetting to ask,” Ron told him after a few moments of staring at Harry. “You not being able to talk is getting bloody annoying, too.”
He grabbed the soap and a fresh rag.
“We’ll need to get you some parchment and a quill.”
Harry nodded at him in agreement, his eyes still closed.
Ron got on his knees beside the tub and lathered the rag up with soap then placed it in Harry’s good hand.
“Here,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m not washing your junk for you. You can do it yourself, or I’ll call Dobby if you want…”
Harry’s eyes flew open, looking alarmed for a moment. Scowling at Ron, he shook his head, and then tugged the rag out of his grip.
“Okay.” Ron smiled. “I’m going to leave you alone for a bit then, and then I’ll be back to wash your hair, okay?”
Harry nodded again, then closed his eyes and sank back into the steaming water. His color was returning already, Ron thought as he watched him a moment, then went to face a waiting Hermione.
“I’m sure you heard most of that,” Ron said quietly to Hermione when he stepped into the bedroom.
“I woke up when you both started yelling. What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied with a sigh. “I just screwed up again.”
He pulled her into his arms. She looked gorgeous, wearing his shirt from last night, her face still puffy from sleep.
“Did you sleep okay? I feel bad now for making you take the middle all this time. It’s bloody awful.”
“I don’t mind, actually,” she admitted, going a bit pink. “I kind of like it.”
“Hmm.”
Grinning, he bent down, pulling her earlobe between his teeth.
“Should I be jealous?” he whispered into her ear.
He felt her shiver, and his cock jerked, going hard again in an instant. She was wearing nothing much more than his shirt, and he was in his pajama bottoms, his chest bare. Pulling her into him, he ground himself against her, wishing they had more time. Wishing they could take the opportunity while Harry was in the bath to be alone together on the bed, or maybe to throw Harry out of the bath and climb in together instead, but she was already pushing him away from her. Her small hands braced against his chest. He sighed again, placed a quick kiss on her lips and released her.
“Where’s your bag?” he asked. “I need to get Harry a change of clothes and his razor. If he’s going downstairs, he needs something more than just his boxers. Some pajama bottoms at least.”
She pointed to the side table.
“Get his toothbrush, too. His mouth must be tasting awful by now,” she said. “I’ll take the downstairs bathroom today then, I guess.”
She stared at him again, suddenly serious.
“Are you sure he’s okay?”
“We’ll be fine,” he assured her. “We’re working it out.”
When he’d finally returned to the bath, Harry was wide awake again, looking more like himself than Ron had seen him. He knew the bath would help, knew the heat would feel good on his aching body. Harry was wiping the rag along the side of the fresh scar on his left arm, being careful not to touch the red puckered flesh.
“I reckon Hermione’s right about your hair,” he told him. “It’s filthy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it lay that flat before, unless it was soaking wet.”
Dropping the fresh towel and clean clothes onto the back of the toilet, he asked, “You ready to get it washed?”
Harry nodded his head lazily.
Ron lathered Harry’s hair up and rinsed it out twice because it was just so filthy and matted. He could feel the dirt from Harry’s scalp gritty under his fingernails. He tried just using the pads of his fingers to work the soap in, but Harry seemed to like it better when Ron scratched at his head with his nails, and so he did. Harry had his eyes closed and was actually whimpering as goosebumps rose up his arms and chest. He hissed a bit when the soap hit the fresh cut on the back of his head, and Ron ran his fingers over the still sizeable knot gently. Madame Pomfrey was going to be pissed at that when she saw it today, but maybe they would get points for having Harry all cleaned up and downstairs.
Perhaps, if Harry was lucky, she’d give the all-clear and let the poor bloke have a sandwich, or a dozen. He was desperately skinny. Ron could count every one of his ribs, and his shoulder blades jutted out from his back, looking painful. Harry wasn’t going to recover his strength on chicken broth alone, Ron thought. If Harry was awake when his mum stopped by, Madame Pomfrey’s wishes be damned! She’d make sure Harry got something solid in his stomach if she had to chew it up herself first.
When he’d rinsed Harry’s hair for the second time, he was looking pleasantly drowsy again. He’d probably make it downstairs just in time to fall back asleep, Ron thought. He’d been in the bath a long time, though. The water was growing cold.
“You finished?”
Harry nodded, though he didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave the tub. He’d probably fall asleep in it if Ron would just leave him the hell alone. Pulling the plug, Ron helped a reluctant Harry to his feet, then grabbed the towel and wrapped it around him before helping him back down onto the toilet seat. Using Harry’s enchanted razor, Ron spent quite a while then shaving off two solid weeks’ worth of beard from Harry’s battered face, which for Harry was quite thick and full. For him, it would still be embarrassingly sparse.
Finally, he helped Harry into a fresh pair of boxers and his pajama bottoms, having to pull the drawstrings tight to keep them on his hips, but still they hung dangerously low. When Hermione came back upstairs, Ron was contemplating putting a t-shirt on him as he watched Harry, a hand at his hip to steady him while he brushed his teeth at the sink. Not understanding why he suddenly felt Harry needed more clothing, Ron didn’t know why he seemed indecent in nothing but his pajama bottoms when he, himself was dressed exactly the same way. It was more clothing than Harry had worn in over a week.
“Good, I’m glad you’re back,” he said as Hermione poked her head around the bathroom door, her hair damp, smelling of shampoo and soap, her skin pink. “I’ll need your help getting him down the stairs.”
Seeing that everything was under control in the bathroom, and that Harry was dressed somewhat, anyway, she came in.
“Don’t you look handsome?” she told Harry, surveying his reflection in the mirror and stepping into the small room.
Harry turned slowly, his back against the sink, gripping it with both hands as she stepped closer to him.
“Been missing these, I bet.”
Smiling, she held Harry’s glasses up. But he leaned backwards when she went to slide them on his face, looking alarmed again, and they all froze. Ron frowned as Hermione’s face fell, and her arms dropped back to her sides.
“Give us a minute, Hermione,” he suggested quietly, tugging the glasses from her fingers.
She nodded. Her breath hitching, she turned on her heels and fled from the room. Ron squeezed his eyes shut and closed the bathroom door behind her. Then he turned back to Harry, who flinched when Ron reached for him, leaning further back against the sink in fear.
“Look, mate. I know you’re having a really hard time right now with what happened at the Malfoy’s,” he began, pulling Harry back down to sit on the toilet. “I know. But Hermione doesn’t blame you for what happened… she loves you.”
Kneeling on the floor in front of Harry, Ron pulled Harry’s chin up to force him look at him because he was staring resolutely at the floor.
“I don’t blame you either,” he told him, staring at the fear in Harry’s eyes. “What happened in that damn place to you, and Hermione, and me wasn’t your fault. No more than it was mine or Hermione’s. But she’s trying to hold herself together right now, too, and I swear to you, I will kick your arse if you don’t get your shit together and stop hurting her. You understand?”
Harry was shaking all over as they stared at each other, looking devastated and confused. Tears welled in his eyes. Then, after a long moment, he nodded.
“Please don’t give up on me,” Harry finally whispered on trembling lips, looking utterly miserable as he continued to stare at Ron; Ron reading his lips as much as hearing the whispered words.
Sighing heavily, Ron closed his eyes, then leaned into Harry and pressed his head into his shoulder.
“Damn it, Harry,” he said in exasperation. “We’re not leaving. Not now, not ever. Okay?”
After a moment, Harry slid his hand to Ron’s neck, into his hair, holding Ron to him. They sat like that for a while, Ron on his knees in front of Harry, his hands resting on Harry’s waist with his head pressed against Harry’s shoulder while Harry stroked his neck. Then Ron’s stomach growled loudly.
“Right then, let’s get some breakfast,” he said into Harry’s lap when Harry’s stomach responded with an even louder growl. “I’m starving.”

~ . ~

This one was for Ladylala04, who was looking forward to Ron's perspective, and though I hadn't planned for it to be so, that's what it became. I hope you enjoy it.
I would like to thank everyone who reads and reviews this story. We're in uncharted waters here now since I had planned to end this fic two chapters back. I don't really know where it's going either, but I'm really enjoying writing it, and I get so excited when someone reviews it. Your encouragement has been wonderful. So thank you.
G.
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What it comes down to

Chapter 13. Healing Harry