Chapter Text
‘It smells like some sort of citrus fruit and tulips, and cold air in a forest.' The class was assembled around Professor Slughorn's table, Hermione slightly bent over the cauldron. She had her book and notepad clasped to her chest tightly, like they were rooting her to reality.
Ron didn't even have to step in front of the potion to pick up on the scent. He was looking at the floor—anywhere but the people around him, trying to keep his expression concealed. Of course, he loved the familiar smell that amortentia had to him, but it also confirmed one of Ron's biggest concerns.
‘Mr. Weasley,’ Professor Slughorn called on him.
His head snapped up. ‘Yes, Professor?’ He desperately hoped that he didn't look as mortified as he was.
‘Tell us, what do you smell?’ He absolutely did not want to. Swallowing, he took a step forward, just for show, slightly inhaling the fine vapor coming out of the cauldron.
‘It smells like the outdoors, autumn leaves perhaps, like a burning candle and... and...’ his shampoo - Ron wanted to say. ‘Like warm sand.’
He wondered for a second, if maybe, he should have lied and chosen some kind of flower to make it less apparent that he was describing a - at least to Ron himself - rather masculine scent.
The professor nodded and continued with his class. Ron couldn't concentrate. It wasn't the scent alone making him fidgety, but rather the illusion it created, that he was holding him in his arms, being able to bury his nose in the soft layers of the other boy's clothes. He could feel his pulse all over his body. In his fingertips, his throat, his chest. Ron slowed his breathing, hoping it would calm him down so no one would notice.
Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other, slightly bumping into Harry next to him. His best friend didn't seem to struggle with the scent of the person he desired most. His eyes were closed for a moment, black hair falling over his lids like feathers, taking a breath in, smiling.
Ron had to look away again.
While they were brewing the potions, Harry did not once take his eyes off his potions-book. Ron tried to copy his steps, leaving him with a more or less decent product. Slughorn gave him an A, saying, that the potion would likely produce the desired effect when used.
He took his time cleaning up, secretly filling the potion he had brewed into his water bottle. Until the end of the day, he carried it around with him, managing to not make anyone wonder, why he wasn't drinking out of his otherwise very frequently used bottle.
He had never been good at expressing his emotions, except for fear, maybe. A lot of them just happened inside him, without ever getting out. But there came a point when this mishmash of emotions formed a clear picture. The jealousy finally made sense. He realized when he was fourteen. Of course, he always liked Harry, but this time around it was different than usual. He was never envious of Hermione, or Ginny, or the other boys in their year, when they talked to his best friend. Yet, when Cedric Diggory came around, there was this twinge in his chest, this uncomfortable nagging that just wanted the handsome Hufflepuff to leave Harry alone. When Cedric died, Ron was petrified, he got to hold Harry in his arms, yes, but this wasn't how he wanted it. He felt awful.
Then came Cho. Ron saw from the beginning, that all they shared was their grief over loosing Cedric, but he chose not to say anything. It wasn’t the right time. And so, it continued. It never was the right time. And as weeks and months melted into each other, Ron kept his feelings for Harry to himself.
Ron was aware that his actions were selfish and dumb as he grabbed the photo they had taken last year in the DA. Ron knew Lavender liked him, almost everyone noticed. So, covering every face but hers on the photograph and bringing the bottle to his lips, he tried to convince himself that what he was about to do wasn't as cruel as it sounded. With the potion running down his throat, he stared at her face on the photo, while pointedly ignoring the smell.
Being in love with Lavender was easy and soothingly numbing to his brain. Each morning, he drank a bit of the potion. During the day, he didn't think much, letting himself be dragged around by his excited girlfriend. And even though he noticed Harry's gaze in the great hall, the common room, and during their classes, Ron didn't bother to linger on them. He had Lavender—he wasn’t longing anymore. But in the evenings, when the effect wore off, everything came flooding back, making tears well up in his eyes and reminding him, that his best friend was the only one Ron truly loved.
Three days before Lavender broke up with him, Harry found Ron crying in their dorm bathroom. He hugged him without knowing what was going on, running his hands over Ron's back in a soothing motion, unaware, that he was only making things worse.
‘Will you tell me what is going on?’ Ron was face to face with Harry, whose gaze lay on him with a weight, that made it clear how much his best friend cared - how much he wanted answers.
‘I fucked up,’ Ron confessed, wanting to, but holding himself back from burying himself in Harry's embrace again. His whole body trembled when sobbed one last time, before handing Harry half of the truth, without him having to ask for it again.
When he had finished, he was in Harry’s arms again. Black hair tickling his cheek. ‘I don’t know what made you do this and you don’t have to tell me now. Just be honest with her from now on. I’ll have your back.’
Ron wanted to tell him everything in that moment. He was sick of keeping things from Harry—sick of not telling the boy he loved more than anything, that he loved him.
He kept his promise and didn’t drink the potion the next day. Instead, he dumped the remaining contents of his bottle down the drain and washed it thoroughly. At lunch, he sat with Harry instead of Lavender, trying his best to duck from the daggers she was shooting his way. He didn’t talk to her for two days, and when he gathered all his courage to do so on the third, she slapped him, leaving a red mark on his cheek for the remainder of the day.
Lavender never found out the whole truth of their relationship.
Then, Harry started obsessing over Malfoy, and the familiar twinge crept back into his bones. Of course, he knew it wasn’t like that, but he still feared it might be. Malfoy was tall, slender, with elegant features and icy eyes. If you kept his personality out of the equation an outwardly beautiful wizard.
They were sitting in the library, passing the time until their quidditch practice by studying, or in Harry’s case – staring at the marauders map – when Ron asked him. Best friends did talk about who they fancied after all.
‘Do you think Malfoy’s goodlooking?’
Harrys eyes snapped up in surprise, furrowing with repulsion when he processed Ron’s question.
‘No, why would I?’ He folded the map in half. ‘He might have some objectively handsome qualities, but nothing more.’
Ron nodded. He thought the same.
‘If you’re asking me if he’s my type – he isn’t.’ Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
‘I didn’t, but good to know.’ Ron dipped his quill into the ink pot and continued writing his lazy summary on the potion they would have to brew in the next class.
‘I mean, I do like it when the other person is taller than me,’ Harry continued, ‘and blue eyes – but to be fair, I think Malfoy’s eyes are more greyish than blue.’
‘Cedric didn’t have blue eyes.’ As soon as the words passed his lips, Ron wanted to scold himself. What point was he trying to prove?
Harry chuckled softly. ‘He didn’t. But I also never fancied him.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I admired him, yes. Never in a romantic way though.’ Harry’s gaze darted to Ron for a split second, before wandering out of the window next to them. ‘How about you?’
Ron flinched. ‘What about me?’
‘What’s your type?’ He chuckled. ‘God, I feel like a gossiping teen, asking like that.’ Ron laughed with him.
‘Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve only ever liked someone.’ He could feel his cheeks starting to burn. Harry grinned at him, expectantly – curious for more information. ‘Uhm so, he’s shorter than me,’ Ron started, meeting his best friend’s sparkling eyes. ‘And he has a really beautiful smile.’
‘Are you still in love with him?’ He could see what Harry wanted to ask him. Did you take the potion to forget him?
‘Yeah.’
Harry nodded. He probably thought that he understood what Ron was going through.
‘Well,’ Harry said in an entirely different tone, trying to lighten up the mood. ‘I sure hope you’re not describing Malfoy either.’
Ron was taken completely off guard.
‘What, no? Malfoy might be a tad shorter than me, but his smile is more like an ugly smirk. And besides, I am not at all into blondes, quite the opposite, actually.’
‘Oh Merlin, is it Dean?’ Harry teased, leaning forward to grin at Ron.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to answer or not. What he was certain of was, that he didn’t want Harry to find out—not yet at least. But their conversation wasn’t uncomfortable, especially since they hadn’t been able to joke around with each other like this in a long while.
‘Bloody hell, Harry. Stop making assumptions.’ He huffed with a smirk. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘But I want to know.’ Harry grinned.
Ron also leaned forward, now being face to face with Harry, grinning at him and challenging, why he should tell him, when Harry seemingly wasn’t telling him about his crushes either. Harry’s cheeks flushed red ever so slightly.
Before Harry was able to say something, Hermoine came around the corner. She was clutching a stack of books, stopping in her tracks when she noticed the other Gryffindors.
‘Shouldn’t you two be at practice?’ She looked between her friends.
Ron looked at his watch, at Harry, nodded, and started shoving his materials into his bag. Without another word, they hurried to the quidditch pitch.