Knock, knock, knock.

Ron had hesitated before knocking and now cringed in front of his bedroom door at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Who's there?" The muffled voice that answered sounded absolutely miserable.

"S'me, Harry."

"Go away."

Predictable. Ron huffed as the usual thoughts ran through his mind: It's my room, too, You can't stay in there all summer, and Stop pushing everyone away! He nearly turned to leave, but something stopped him. Screwing up his courage, he barged inside, slamming the door behind him, and hoped Harry wouldn't hex him into next week.

Harry raised his head from the pillow. From his too-red face and the wet trails on his cheeks, Ron could see that he'd been crying. Suddenly reminded of the time he caught Seamus wanking in the showers, he nearly fled, but he steadied on, perching on the edge of Harry's bed. On the plus side, Harry's wand was nowhere in sight.

"Thought I told you to go away."

Ron remembered something Hermione had said. "It's all right to cry. Healthy. Part of the grieving process." Ron knew Harry missed Sirius desperately.

Harry made a strangled half-laugh, half-cry.

"What?" asked Ron indignantly.

Tilting his head and meeting Ron's eye, Harry said, "You sounded like Hermione just then." His voice seemed rougher and deeper because he'd been crying and Ron's stomach did a flip. Now, he was suddenly reminded of the time Neville caught him wanking in the showers.

Not breaking their eye contact, Ron asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," said Harry shortly, burying his face into the pillow again.

"No?" Ron's hand hovered an inch or two over Harry's back, sensing the heat radiating from Harry's body. Not fully understanding what he was doing, Ron lowered his hand and began slowly rubbing Harry's back. "Nothing at all?" He barely recognised his own voice, now rough and deep as Harry's.

Harry didn't flinch or pull away; he merely made another strangled noise and asked, "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Dunno," answered Ron honestly. He slipped both of his hands underneath Harry's t-shirt, massaging in broad, firm circles. When he heard Harry whimper, his cock gave an interested twitch. "Do you want me to stop?"

Harry turned, resting his cheek on the pillow. "No," he said again, his breathing erratic.

"Okay, then." Ron sounded far surer of himself than he felt. He traced patterns on Harry's back, then slid his hands out to rub the back of Harry's neck. Hesitating for a moment, he crawled onto the bed and nudged Harry over, so he could better reach Harry's ankles and calves, then moved upward to softly stroke Harry's thighs. Harry's thin body was more solid than it looked and Ron felt a sudden urge to press against that muscular form. His prick tented his trousers, but he was too far gone for embarrassment.

"Ron...," moaned Harry, anguish momentarily forgotten.

"Turn over," Ron ordered gruffly. Harry immediately complied, propping himself up on his elbows and gazing at Ron expectantly, his lips reddened and slightly parted. Ron found himself unable to resist that mouth. Grabbing the sides of Harry's face, Ron pulled him into a deep kiss, running his tongue along the inside of Harry's mouth, over his lips and teeth. Ron hadn't a lot of practise kissing, but the feeling of Harry's light stubble under his hands and against his mouth felt entirely natural and right. He pulled away a bit, their faces still nearly touching, and asked, "What do you want me to do to you?"

Harry's breath hitched and, hearing that, so did Ron's. "I...I don't know."

"You know, Harry. Tell me what you need."

"T-touch me," Harry stammered. "I want your hands on me."

That was all the encouragement Ron needed. His hands flew to Harry's waistband, tugging his sweatpants and boxers to his ankles in one swift movement. Harry's freed erection bobbed an inch or two over his flat stomach, Ron's eyes widening at the sight. Once faced with the reality of getting his friend off, -- of having Harry's cock in his hand -- he stilled. "Harry," Ron said uncertainly, "are you sure this is all right?"

"Yes," pleaded Harry. "Fuck, I need..."

He needed. Harry needed him. Ron wrapped his fingers around Harry's hard prick, slowly stroking him. Finding himself torn between watching Harry's face as his breathing grew more ragged or watching his own hand pull the thin, soft skin over and over again, Ron settled on dividing his time equally. "Is this good?" Ron asked, running his thumb over the head of Harry's cock.

"Yes. God," Harry panted. "Faster. Wet your hand."

Ron quickly licked his palm and returned to stroking Harry, straddling his thigh so Ron could rub his own near-painful erection against Harry's leg.

"God, you look incredible," Ron said honestly, watching Harry throw his head back and moan again. His hand moved faster and faster, using the other to cup Harry's balls. Harry cried out Ron's name with such force that Ron really hoped his mother hadn't heard, then came all over his belly. He wheezed, sounding like he'd just run a marathon, his face crumpling again almost immediately.

Forgetting how turned on he still was and the mess they'd made, Ron went to Harry, gathering him into a hug, just holding him for a long time. Ron didn't want to let on how scared he was to see his best friend nearly broken.

"I'm sorry, Ron," said Harry, in between deep gulps for air. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." Ron meant that. "Don't know what it means from this point, but I know you needed it. I know how much you loved Sirius."

Harry buried his face in Ron's chest. "God, I'm pathetic."

"Yeah, but I think I'll keep you around." Ron's voice was gentle as he moved his hands over Harry's back again.

Harry laughed. "You live on the edge."

"Mmm. I'm not letting you shut me out anymore." Ron meant that, too.