
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7888612.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Series, Drama, Established_Relationship, Multiple_Partners
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-02-27 Words: 1068
****** Not to Forget ******
by Merri-Todd Webster [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Harry still remembers how Ron kissed him, just once.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Fifth and last in the Absence series, following "In
     the Middle," "When It’s Raining," "An Empty Place," and "Silence Is
     Silver", all of which can be found at my website. Harry/Hermione/
     Severus but focusing on a Harry/Ron flashback. I have quoted a line
     from Kai’s beautiful HP/SS story "Wabi-Sabi," which is archived here,
     because I could express the idea no better than in Kai’s words.
Not to Forget




  27 February 2003
  Every day Harry tells himself not to forget.
  Every morning that he wakes up without any bad dreams to remember. Every time
  he makes love with Hermione or Severus or both of them. Every time he
  finishes writing another novel, or begins to write the next one. Every time
  he goes to bed after a good meal and a quiet evening of conversation with his
  wife and their lover.
  Every time that he feels happy, Harry tells himself not to forget. Not to
  forget what it was like to be unhappy, to be the freak in the cupboard under
  the stairs, to be the hero who had to save the wizarding world because no one
  else could do--no one else had lived. Not to forget how many people fought
  with him against Voldemort, both in the final battle and day by day over the
  years, before he even knew he was a wizard, before he was even born. Not to
  forget those who died in that war, both those who gave their lives freely and

  those who simply got in the way.
  Not to forget Ron.
  If Ron had lived, things might have been different. Harry's whole life might
  have been different, if fate had left him his other best friend, the one he
  first wanted as a lover. Sometimes when he's alone in Muggle hotel rooms on a
  book tour, as he is now, he lies in bed and imagines what it would be like if
  Ron had survived, if it were Ron instead of Severus living with him and
  Hermione, if it were Ron laughing at him over dinner and holding him after
  the nightmares and the sex.
  The trouble is, he can't imagine it. No matter how hard he tries.
  He was fifteen when he figured out he was a freak in yet another way: He was
  in love with both his best friends. Ron first, then Hermione. It was love, it
  was lust, it was need, pure and simple. He wanted to huddle with them under
  the Invisibility Cloak and use it for something besides watching and waiting
  for foes. He wanted to have Ron all to himself, he wanted to have Hermione
  all to himself, and he wanted to have both of them in a knot of arms and legs
  and hands and kisses where he would never be alone again.
  The only problem was that Ron was straight.
  Ron had gotten over his crush on Hermione--who was still giving him angry
  looks--and was shagging his way through three out of the four Hogwarts
  Houses--all the Slytherin girls were shagging each other, apparently. The
  Weasley charm had kicked in, and Ron seemed rarely (if ever) to get "no" for
  an answer if he fancied someone. He was out of the dorm and in someone's
  pants six nights out of seven, and Harry was left alone with his need and his
  freakish desires.
  It was in their seventh year, just two weeks--though they didn't know it--
  before the attack on Hogwarts that would come at Halloween, when Ron sat down
 on Harry's bed and said, "You never talk to me any more."
  "You're not here much."
  "You're still my friend, you know. My best friend. The girls I see--they
  don't matter like you and Hermione do."
  "You matter. You matter to me as much as Hermione does. You matter to me just
  the same as Hermione does." He met Ron's eyes, desperate. "Just the same."
  Ron kissed him first. Awkwardly, as if he'd never kissed anyone before.
  Harry's whole body caught fire. His life had been just dry wood, up till that
  moment. He pressed his lips to Ron's stubbly cheek. "Just the same," Harry
  whispered, "just the same, just the same," and after a while the words
  became, "Just once, just once."
  Just once. Just once he'd drawn the curtains round the bed and cast a charm
  that sealed them shut and silenced everything within them. Just once Ron had
  spelled a wizard light to hang over their heads, painting their skin white-
  gold. Just once he'd held a naked Ron Weasley in his arms, tucking his head
  under Ron's chin and letting himself feel small by comparison. Just once
  they'd kissed, kissed until their tongues twined together, until their lungs
  screamed for breath. Just once he'd laid his hand on Ron's face, on his
  nipples, on his cock. Just once Ron's hand had cupped his arse and gripped
  hard. Just once he'd gone down on Ron until the other boy's face turned
  nearly purple, giving of his best and wishing he need never let go. Harry had
  thought it would be enough to feel Ron break open and spill in his mouth, to
  swallow his come and carry that taste inside him for ever, but just once he'd
  said the words, "Fuck me, fuck me--please," and Ron had done it. Ron had
  gotten hard all over again and fucked him, and the tears ran down Harry's
  face--because he knew it was just once, the first time and the last time
  both.
  They hadn't talked about it, afterward. Fifteen days later, Ron Weasley was
  dead.
  Harry would have been dead, too, if Snape hadn't toppled him out of the path
  of a curse. Snape had disappeared that night, spirited away to torture by
  Draco Malfoy, and Harry had not found him until five years later. No one else
  had looked.
  He could remember it now, that night he made love with Ron, but as if it had
  happened to another person. He had never told anyone about it except
  Hermione. He told her about it on the night they made love for the first
  time, more than a year after Ron's death. He never talked about it again, but
  he thought about it. He thought about it on his wedding night. He thought
  about it the first time he lay in Severus's arms.
  He lies on the bed, too tired to sleep, and thinks about Ron, Severus,
  Hermione. He could call Hermione, but Severus won't talk on the phone. He
  wishes there were a fireplace, so that he could talk to both of them. The day
  after tomorrow, he'll fly home, walk into the embrace of his wife and his
  lover, and promise himself once again not to forget.
  *
  end
  =============================================================================
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