He hadn’t meant to, really, but when he reflected on the matter he hadn’t meant to all the other times either. It had, to his mind, just ‘sort of happened.’ Just like all the other times. Hermione, he was sure, would be able to explain it better than he ever could. In fact, there was a reasonable probability she would have to. Ginny too would probably be able to make it sound like it made some sort of sense, but it would have been a lie. His sister would be able to give an explanation, but it wouldn’t be the truth. Him? He wouldn’t be able to say anything, truth or lie. Not that he really could find it within himself to care. He would later, though.
He had betrayed Harry.
Just another in a long list, most of which Harry wasn’t even aware of, and much of the rest of which he didn’t bother remembering. This time, Ron suspected, he probably would remember. Ron wouldn’t be able to blame him, because he was sure he’d remember it even better than Harry would. From stealing chocolates in first year to abandoning him and Hermione in the midst of Voldemort’s reign, there was a long list of the ways he had failed Harry as a friend. Each and every failure made him hate himself, but when failures made him love himself he knew he would inevitably do it again. Being Harry’s friend carried just too many benefits, none of them expected.
Ron had always known that being the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived would get him places and things, but it was only ever in hindsight that he was able to see them. In the process they were invisible to him. In the moment it seemed as if Harry got everything, and the redhead’s envy would always boil. He’d resent Harry and betray him, bringing himself satisfaction and then rationalizing it afterwards to himself that Harry had deserved it. After that he would look back and realize he had come away doubly blessed. Then Ron would hate himself to blindness, vowing not to let any good come to himself at Harry’s expense ever again. Ron would only blind himself to it though, and eventually he would become convinced that everything good happening was happening to Harry. It was a vicious cycle.
When he had pinned Hermione against a wall, plundering her mouth with his tongue while he slipped off her skimpy lingerie, it was rather like how he had ridden Harry’s broom every day while he was in the Hospital Wing, having to do no schoolwork while Dumbledore sung his praises for defeating Voldemort in the dreaded third-floor corridor. He, Ron, had received nothing, even though he still had a bruise on his head from the chess game, while Harry looked fine. Beholding the brunette witch’s pale, nude form and then carrying her eager body back to his bed felt just the same as stealing Harry’s invisibility cloak to play pranks while its owner lay unconscious.
Waking up naked in bed next to her after a night of wild lovemaking, kissing her naked in the shower as he pushed inside her, watching her eyes filled with lust as she licked and sucked him clean, and then seeing her talk about a late night of investigative work with Harry in her magic mirror while Ron ate breakfast with her felt just as when Dumbledore had praised him and given him points in front of the entire school, when his brothers had cheered him as a hero, when his parents had scolded him but then told him sincerely how proud they were of him that he had done the right thing. It was the same rush of sick guilt, and the same rush of adrenaline that he had gotten away with it. It was the same vow not to do it again, and — when Hermione gave him a passionate goodbye kiss and when he caught a glimpse of Harry’s Nimbus hiding in his trunk — the same crumbling resolve.
He had betrayed Harry.
He liked to betray Harry.
Harry had always forgiven him, of course. Ron had always thought he wouldn’t be Harry if he didn’t. Sometimes it took more time, sometimes it took less, but in the end Ron would make a halfway apology and be the best mate of the savior of the wizarding world again. Harry didn’t press him, didn’t force him to be who he wasn’t. He was understanding like that; accepting like that. On some level that might occur to Ron the few times he lay sleepless in the early morning hours, he assumed that Harry knew what he was like; that Harry knew Ron liked to strike out against him. Then he would roll over and the thought would be forgotten in his deep slumber, replaced with the certainty that Harry could take anything. Perhaps — on even more sleepless nights — even that he deserved to take anything, because he was Harry. Perhaps that was his lot in life.
Hell, Harry even always tried to get the best for Ron regardless of his shortcomings. He wanted Ron to be happy. He wanted Ron to find his best place in life. In fifth year he had pushed to improve Ron as a keeper; in sixth he had even braved Hermione’s wrath to make Ron believe he couldn’t lose. He had sacrificed some of the rarest potion in the world for him; potion that could’ve alleviated some of Harry’s unfortunate circumstances. Maybe that was why Harry always forgave his best mate.
Food, grades, detentions, time, even girls Harry had given up for his best friend. When they had been on the run (and even before) Harry had stepped aside because he knew Ron had fancied Hermione. In hindsight that was all too clear. It was Ron who had forsaken Hermione, when Harry had all but given them his blessing to be together. Even as Harry had stood at the alter with Ron beside him, reciting vows and exchanging rings with their brunette friend, he had given Ron one last subtle glance to make sure that it was okay for him to be with Hermione. If there was one thing Ron was sure about, it was that Harry hadn’t changed.
Maybe that was why he could go through with asking Harry to cover at his work so he could take advantage of Hermione’s free day without guilt bubbling in his stomach. His faith in Harry kept him whole; his best friend condoned him and believed in him. When Hermione called Ron’s name over and over again, he felt affirmed. As the brunette’s naked breasts pressed against him in her bed, her legs wrapping around his hips as they shared another spine-tingling orgasm, Ron remembered that Harry had meant for them to be together. As he neared his edge and spilled himself in her, Ron was sure that Harry would understand that he had only been taking care of Hermione until Ron was ready. After all, Harry still had Ginny, and that meant his lovemaking with Hermione was balanced. Still…
He had betrayed Harry.
He liked to betray Harry.
It was good to betray Harry.
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