“Right there, Harry... oh fuck yes.”

Harry thrust once more then came with a guttural moan. Ron gave a couple hard tugs on his cock and came as well. Groaning softly, Harry collapsed onto the bed next to Ron.

Ron tangled one hand in Harry’s perpetually messy hair, gently carding freckled fingers through the black strands. He reached for his wand with his other hand to cast cleaning spells on the two of them, smiling softly. Harry was always useless after they made love as if, by coming, his energy was drained. Ron, meanwhile, usually got a bit of a boost. His smile widened when Harry curled around him before falling asleep. Ron pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Though it had been five years since they first become a couple, it seemed like the first time almost every time.  Well, maybe not the first time, Ron allowed, since the first time between them was horribly awkward.

Ron’s musings were cut short by a tapping on the window.  Annoyance filled him.  He knew the owl was important since the wards on their home were designed to protect against anonymous or unknown correspondence.  They’d added those safeguards after the Howlers about their relationship nearly set the flat afire.

The owl tapped again.  Ron sighed and disentangled himself from Harry who merely groaned and rolled into the warm depression left by Ron’s body after he stood.  Idly scratching his stomach, he crossed the room and lifted the sash.

Until that moment, he hadn’t really noticed the owl.  Now his eyes were fixed on it:  it was a black barn owl.  Had Harry answered the window, he wouldn’t have understood the significance.  Black owls were only used to deliver death notices.

Ron took the parchment from the impatient owl’s leg with a shaking hand.  Settling into an overstuffed chair beside the window, he waited to open the letter.  Traditionally, only Pureblood families stuck by the symbolism of black owls.  He could only hope that if it were someone in his family who’d died, a Floo call would have been more appropriate.

It took him two attempts to open the envelope given how much his hands shook.  He took a deep breath and unfolded the parchment.

Ron stopped reading there, though it continued with her date of death and information about her memorial service.

Ron felt frozen.  He hadn’t realized how much Professor McGonagall had meant to him until now.

Still trembling, though from sadness rather than fear now, he rose and crossed to the bed.  He settled on the edge, watching Harry.  Professor McGonagall had meant much more to Harry than to Ron.  Despite the fact they were thirty and not fifteen, Ron worried about how emotional Harry’s reaction might be.

Ron took a deep breath and called Harry’s name.  Harry merely grunted, shifting slightly on the bed.  Though intrigued by how far the sheets had slipped, Ron refused to be distracted.

“Harry, wake up.”  Harry swatted the air in Ron’s direction, presumably to tell him to go away.  Feeling a bit evil, Ron said loudly, “Mum!  What are you doing here?”

Harry bolted upright, blankets clutched to his chin like a maiden before her wedding night.  “Molly?”  He blinked, looking around myopically before focusing on Ron.  His expression changed into one of amused disgust.  “Bastard.”

Ron’s smile was brief.  “Woke you up, didn’t it?”

Harry shook his head in exasperation.  Gesturing to the letter in Ron’s hand, he asked, “What’s that?”

Ron said nothing, merely handed over the letter.  He braced himself for Harry’s reaction uncertain exactly how he would take the news.  Harry went preternaturally still as he read except for the increased trembling in the hand holding the notice.  At last, he lay the parchment down with exaggerated care.  Tears glittered in his eyes when he looked up at Ron.

No words needed to be said.  Ron opened his arms and Harry flung himself into them, both crying tears they’d never admit to shedding.

“A toast!” Seamus called, raising his glass.

Despite the festive Christmas decorations, it was a somber group of Gryffindors gathered in the Three Broomsticks.  Professor McGonagall had been laid to rest near Professor Dumbledore just two hours before.

“A toast,” Ron echoed.

“To the sternest, absolutely best professor any Gryffindor ever had,” Seamus said.

“Hear, hear,” the group replied.

Harry leaned his head back against Ron’s shoulder as he tipped his bottle to his lips.  They were shielded from most of the pub by the phalanx of Gryffindors, so felt they could be more free with public displays of affection than usual.  Ron rested his cheek briefly atop Harry’s head before launching into the story of Professor McGonagall’s reaction to their adventure in the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione, from the cradle of her husband George’s arms, told the story of Professor McGonagall’s desk charge in the Final Battle.  As the night progressed, some Gryffindors became tipsy, some blisteringly pissed, but all had a story to share.  Professor McGonagall had never borne children but it was obvious to Ron by the stories shared that she’d considered her Gryffindors to be her children – and her House had viewed her as a surrogate mother.

When Madam Rosmerta kicked the remaining group out at two in the morning, Ron and Harry were both tipsy, a bit maudlin, and feeling much better than they had since receiving the noticed of Professor McGonagall’s death.

They Apparated home within seconds of each other.  As Ron appeared, Harry gathered him in a reassuring hug.

“Bedroom?” he murmured, leaning up on his toes to kiss Ron’s jaw.  Before Ron could protest that it seemed disrespectful, Harry said softly, “I just need to feel alive.”

Though Ron was still uneasy, he couldn’t refuse Harry.  He bent his head to capture Harry’s mouth in a leisurely kiss.  Harry threaded his fingers through Ron’s hair, cupping the back of his head and deepening the kiss.

What felt like several minutes later, Harry broke the kiss and dropped his hands, trailing one down Ron’s arm to lace their fingers together.  He led them into their bedroom.  Ron followed, somewhat startled at this docile side of Harry.  Harry’s softer side was rarely on display.

In the bedroom they quickly shed their clothing.  The act was a means to an end rather than seductive enticement – Harry could be a terrible tease when the mood struck him.  He’d tied Ron to a chair and stripped before him once.  And only once.

Harry lay back on the bed, torso angled upward as he rose on his elbows to watch Ron.  Ron still wasn’t always comfortable with Harry’s frank examination – and appreciation – of his body.  He chalked it up to having five older brothers take the piss out of him whenever he’d tried to eye them in the natural urge to compare himself to them.  That same uneasiness had translated to rarely eyeing anyone in either the Gryffindor Tower showers or the Quidditch changing room despite both curiosity and slow realization of his sexual preference.  Even now, after their years together, Harry sometimes had to remind Ron that it was all right not only to look but also to revel in appreciation.

All that aside, Ron loved watching Harry, especially when Harry wasn’t aware of it.  His first realization he might prefer blokes to birds was a fantasy that popped into his head while he wanked, a fantasy about cornering Harry in the shower of the flat they shared with Hermione, kissing him senseless and rutting against him.  It had been one of the happiest days in his life when he’d accidentally caught Harry wanking and calling Ron’s name.

Now, five years later, it led to Harry sprawled on their bed, waiting for him, seeking mutual comfort.

Ron settled onto their bed next to Harry, pulling him close.  Though they were both aroused, their kiss was slow and almost sweet.  Harry had had little opportunity for giving or receiving comfort in his life and Ron was determined to allow Harry whatever he felt he needed.

Harry cupped Ron’s face, drawing out their kiss.  Ron eventually slid his lips from Harry’s mouth to his ear.  Harry arched underneath him, his cock pressing against Ron’s hip.

Moving his lips down Harry’s jaw and neck, making Harry arch again, Ron slipped both legs between Harry’s.  He smiled as Harry all but purred underneath him, then moaned as Harry wrapped his arms around him.  When Ron nipped the underside of Harry’s jaw, Harry dug his fingernails into Ron’s shoulders, making Ron bite back a half-desperate moan.  Though Ron loved when Harry was rough with him, tonight was comfort, not a desperate shag.

Ron shifted his weight to his left arm so he could slide his right down Harry’s chest, over his stomach and down to cup his balls.  Harry’s moan changed to a hiss when Ron squeezed.

“I’m not letting you get there too fast,” Ron murmured.

“Ron, please,” Harry said.

In response, Ron bent his head and sucked on Harry’s collarbone.  Harry trembled.

“Let me take care of you,” Ron said softly.

“But,” Harry gasped as Ron wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, “I want to take care of you, too.”

“Then we’re at an impasse unless we move faster.”  Ron grinned when Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement.  “Or I could slow down.”

“No!” Harry cried.

Ron’s smile deepened.  Harry’s responding smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a smile.

“In that case...” Ron murmured, his voice trailing off as he shifted position.  He moved Harry’s legs around his waist before cupping one hand under Harry’s arse.  He used his other hand to guide his cock to Harry’s opening.  Harry murmured a lubrication spell, one of the few he could do wandlessly.

“I love you,” Harry said softly as Ron entered him.

Ron moved slowly at first, rocking gently with Harry, savoring their joining.  After several moments, though, Harry began to move faster, clenching around Ron’s cock.  Ron’s groan seemed to echo through him, making Harry smile again.  Ron shifted both hands to Harry’s thighs, gripping them to increase the pace of his thrusts.

Harry gasped, arching upward, and came – which, by the expression on his face, surprised him as much as it surprised Ron.  Ron stilled until Harry’s tremors slowed, then drove mercilessly into Harry until he came, too.

Ron froze with the last thrust of his orgasm, keeping himself buried deeply.  Harry’s smile was a bit melancholy and a lot satisfied.  Ron bent to kiss him, moaning softly when Harry ran one hand down his back and threaded his other through Ron’s hair.  They kissed leisurely, until Harry shoved lightly at Ron, his weight atop Harry now uncomfortable.

At Harry’s gentle shove, Ron slipped out of Harry and rolled to one side.  Ron gathered Harry into his arms, spooning him.  Ron was just enough larger than Harry to wrap himself around him.  It always felt to Ron that he could best protect Harry by acting like a human shield or human teddy bear, whichever Harry needed more.  Harry apparently needed both tonight.

Ron, kept awake by his own random thoughts, was startled when Harry said, “I’ll miss her.”  He thought Harry had drifted off to sleep.

“I’ll miss her, too,” Ron murmured into Harry’s hair, clutching him tighter.  He then whispered part of a poem Hermione had recited at the Three Broomsticks.  “The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, / Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, / Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; / For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

Harry sighed, then said softly, “Hermione picked a good poem.”

Ron hugged him more tightly.  “Yes, she did.”