Chapter Text
Theoretically Harry has known for a long time that Ron is bisexual or something.
He’d known since they had been very young and very drunk on whiskey they didn’t even like down in the Hogwarts kitchen on some boring Tuesday night and Ron had rambled about Victor Krum’s legs of all things. Which he could understand quite well...not mooning about Victor’s legs, but because he was a genius quidditch player and even the straightest of blokes probably had to reason with themselves pretty hard to push the Bulgarian Seeker out of their bed.
He said so and Ron had very unmistakeably made it clear it was not just quidditch players but also ordinary blokes, though he was of course very partial to quidditch players.
Harry remembers feeling a bit queasy at the thought of Ron pursuing other boys that were actually in reach instead of fantasising about unobtainable quidditch players but he can vaguely remember awkwardly saying something about Ron being his best mate and that it didn’t matter who he liked before they changed to another topic.
Yes, on a certain level he knew that Ron was bisexual.
However he had spent the last years being pretty much unaware of it. It never came really up with Ron dating Lavender and marrying Hermione and having kids and then dating Susan, Lavender again, Emmie after that, then Josephine...
Harry is sure he hadn’t even thought about Ron’s sexual orientation in years...maybe decades.
In all their years of being best mates Harry had been the undisputed most important man in his friend's life...maybe perhaps except Ron’s own son Hugo. He was absolutely sure to be the most significant dude in Ron’s life and he was really happy with that position.
He didn’t expect things to change between them when Ron transferred to a leading position as a strategist in the British Interwiz team.
Yes, they didn’t work every day shoulder to shoulder any more but they still met after work more often than not when they didn’t meet up with co-workers after work. The first week after Ron transferred Ron looked a lot more happy being now on a position that a had a good chance for promotion. They never talked about it but sometimes Harry felt a bit like holding Ron back when it came to leading positions. If it wasn’t his name Harry’s distrust of other people to do their job properly lead him into the Head Auror position quite early knowing that he could only relax when he was the one doing the job and controlling the teams.
Ron had been his second in command for several years and supported him until he was sure that Harry had found his footing as a Head Auror before he told him he wanted to try furthering his own career.
Harry was happy for him though he did feel a little abandoned at first.
Ron had worked hard and he was an exceptional Auror, so of course he deserved to reap the fruits of his work and get the recognition and pay he deserved.
BUT Harry still kinda missed arriving at work in the morning to a bright freckled face and a paper bag of freshly baked croissants.
During the autumn months things had gotten busy in both the Auror Department and the International Defence Department so they hadn’t seen each other more than when they went to lunch accidentally on purpose at the same time. Harry got a little anxious without his friend's calming influence around but he pushed through and even had done all his Christmas shopping when he entered the Headless Huntsman, a small Wizard pub that is preferred by most of the Aurors because of its location close to the office as well as the usually hotspots of Wizard activity in England.
Just entering the room he saw a few of his co-workers and, since the work atmosphere in their department was rather companionable, it felt right to sit down next to one of his senior Aurors for a little chat and a beer.
The pre-christmas spirit is only timidly noted by a scarcely-leafed holly garland around the entry and, to Harry comfort, no mistletoe. Ever since the year after war and George’s charmed mistletoes those buggers always make him uncomfortable.
Harry is half through his second beer when the door opens and the man he’d waited to see the whole day is lowering his head to not bump it against the door frame as he enters.
He shakes wet snowflakes out of his short red hair and it feels like just by stepping inside the room around Ron seems brighter and warmer than before. For a moment his friend is scanning the tables until he finally detects Harry and grins broadly spreads his arms in a gesture of joy.
Harry waves a little with his bottle and the blokes at his table turn around to follow his gaze. A moment later Ron is surrounded by his ex-colleagues bumping their shoulders together and slapping his back and Ron positively glows because he loves this. Loves attention, loves people see him.
Harry is not sure he likes it when Ron is getting so much attention...he’s not jealous of Ron... He just doesn’t like it when Ron concentrates on others instead of him...never had.
He can still remember very clearly how angry his teenage-self had been at the time they were fighting and Ron had just so easily fallen into the friendship with Seamus and Dean or how his stomach had ached as they weathered the storm of Lavender.
Even Ron’s marriage with Hermione, though a lot more tolerable than the Lavender thing, had sometimes made him feel a little less important and he didn’t like it.
Senior Auror Baumanis moves to another chair to make room for Ron to sit next to Harry, because of course he’ll sit there...everyone knows Harry and Ron prefer to sit next to each other and Harry feels like he can finally breath freely as the warmth of the redhead’s body next to seeping through his knitted jumper.
He sighs and just opened his mouth ask his friend how he's doing but Auror Ramón was faster.
Harry tries not to be disgruntled.
“Where’s your work wife, Weasley? It’s rare to see you without Bulstrode nowadays.”
“Husband.” Ron corrects with a grin putting his arm on the backrest of the bench settling a his tall body comfortably against Harry’s side.
“Don’t call Miles a wife, no matter how good of an Auror you are, Bulstrode has more experience than you and can make you tap out in seconds, mate.” he adds good-naturedly before ordering himself a beer.
Ron had never called Harry his work wife but he obviously felt very comfortable with his new partner Bulstrode being referred to as such.
Harry feels something terrifying and ancient in his chest bare its fangs and can barely stop himself protesting childishly that he has a lot more experience being Ron’s partner than Miles Bulstrode ever will.
He’s still their boss and he really shouldn't air his dirty emotional laundry right under his subordinates noses. Harry doubts even Ron is aware of how bloody possessive Harry feels about him.
“Maybe he’ll join us later. We went Christmas shopping together. Miles said he still has to run some other errands and I didn’t feel like angry aunties stepping on by feet.”
Harry can barely make out out words through the blood roaring in his ears let alone participate in the conversation.
He had asked him this morning if Ron wanted to go Christmas shopping together and his friend had declined telling him he had other plans. Ron had chosen to spent time with Bulstrode instead of him.
Harry felt like throwing his bottle against his head and scream. This felt almost worse than when Ginny cheated on him back before they broke up when everything was hurting.
He drinks too much and too fast and if he didn’t know Ron was there to have his back he’d have gone home hours ago. It’s not to the point that it’s getting embarrassing but he’s well on the way to being thoroughly slushed.
He shouldn’t, because he’s with his subordinates and it’s not even four in the afternoon, but he really doesn’t want to care about anything any more.
It’s Ron that finally picks up on his mood.
He urges him to finish his beer and invents a family function to make their departure short before apparating Harry to Grimmauld Place. Harry feels lonely and kinda sick when they land staggering on the wet cobblestone road. The children are still at school after all and Ginny had moved out a few years ago.
Nowadays there’s just Harry and Kreacher and though the house-elf has grown to be a little more friendly over the years he’s still a right depressing company.
Ron wordlessly helps him into the house and Harry knows that his friend wants and explanation for his behaviour but exactly at that moment Harry springs into action.
Roughly he pushes his friend against the wall next to the door before bumping their chest together, pulling his head down to his level and attacking his mouth with his own.
There is nothing gently about it. All demanding hands, insistent tongue and nipping teeth he's barely giving Ron a chance to react.
Somewhere in the back of his head the voice of reason, which sounds a lot like Hermione, complains that it’s not okay to kiss Ron without making sure the other wants to be kissed by him.
It only manages slowly to push back the exhilarated euphoria from finally doing what he didn’t even dare to want since he was an ickle school boy and the all-consuming panic of what it means for their friendship.
He leans his forehead against Ron’s and listens to their mingled breath.
He should probably apologise. It wasn’t right. Ron had never shown any kind of indication that he felt in any other way than platonic about him.
Ron hasn’t pushed him away yet though, hasn’t straightened his back yet, so Harry says nothing.
“Harry...” croaks Ron and Harry can feel the puffs of hot air on his cheeks.
“this wasn’t planned.” muttered Harry still pressing his body against Ron who’s just letting it happen.
Ron laughs and it sounds almost like a sob. Sad, exhausted.
“Mate…you’re drunk.”
“Yeah...”
Reluctantly Harry takes a step backwards. The spell is broken and Ron is shifting seamlessly into caretaker mode
Under the scrutinising eyes of Kreacher the redhead helps him out of his coat and shoes. He trudges behind him on the stairs to make sure he doesn’t fall and orders the house-elf to bring a big carafe of water to the master bedroom.
They barely speak another word as Ron helps him change into his pyjamas, makes him take a double dose of hangover potion and performs a tooth brushing charm before he is finally leaving.
At least, thought Harry staring at the ceiling and willing away the prickling behind his eyes, at least he doesn’t hate me.