HP FIC: all for a few hundred yards of useless mud :: cover my six
Originally posted September 2, 2006. Mind the quality.
Title: all for a few hundred yards of useless mud :: cover my six
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: MA for language, adult situations, sexual references
Pairing: Ron/Harry
A/N: I have not reviewed this since it's original post date. More importantly: Written before 7th Book.
Summary: In war, shit happens, people die, and nobody stays the same. Or, Harry and Ron have a tiff.
Ron stood at the edge of the tents, a shadow of stubble defining his jaw. The sun was rising and scarlet as the field before him, as though the blood on the earth had stained the blue in the sky overnight. A bad omen in any case. Red sky at morning... The poem flickered through his thoughts. An op in America taught him the saying. His lips tightened. Now, those nights made yesterday seem orderly.
"Harry," Ron greeted him without looking over his shoulder at the approaching comrade.
The black-haired boy merely took point beside him, leaning forward to kiss a cheek before turning to face the way he came. "The fuck," he said conversationally, pulling a fag out of the small carton he kept inside his chest pocket, "did I tell you about walking alone?" With a practiced motion, he snapped the lighter open and shut, puffing the first breath of smoke out the side of his mouth.
Ron glanced his way, earning a sharp, "eyes front," from his mate.
"Had nothing to worry about," he said while obeying the command. "You were following me."
Harry drew the cigarette from his mouth and chucked it to the ground. "Maybe I won't next time, just so your sorry arse will die," and ground the fag with his foot.
"North and east clear." Ron titled his head toward the cig. "It's not like we see a lot of convenient stores, Harry."
"South and west clear of enemy presence," Harry responded before adding, "Shit."
Ron gave a small, quick smile. He shrugged a shoulder. "Covering. Pick up your cancer stick, you ponce." He put a hand to his wand.
Harry bent down and snatched it up again, flicking some of the dirt off before sticking it between his teeth again. "You hate the habit," he reminded. "Clear." Snap, click, snap, huffed breath.
Ron nodded. "Clear. 's gonna kill you."
Harry smiled the only smile he had now. "I was born to die."
On most days, a comment like that would earn either a fuck or a beating, both to render the man senseless. But no one was around to guard, so Ron settled for a harsh spit on the ground.
Harry didn't even apologize anymore. "You're so full of shit."
The-Boy-Who-Lived grunted, seemingly pleased.
Ron hissed in sudden pain, touching his temple lightly. Harry's wand was out with a snarled, "Protego," before Ron had time to apply pressure to the skin. "Hermione," he gasped. "Relax, it's Hermione." He reached to grip his friend's shoulder and give a squeeze. "God, I hate Red levels. Relax, mate." He waited until Harry's muscles loosened to their normal hard tension before releasing; he barely noticed how developed Harry's biceps had become over the past two years, and guessed it was because Ron knew the same had happened to him. Hell, now that he considered it, Neville had become beastly huge since the first real outbreak of the war--taller than Ron, almost hulking, but unable to loose that hunch in his shoulders and neck. Made him look like that stupid saying; the gentle giant. Which was total bullshit once you saw him in the field.
"'Mione really needs to do something about that signal charm," he continued, starting the walk back to camp. "I'm sick of the migraines." He waited for a silent beat before plucking the fag from Harry's surprised lips and taking a drag. "Care to tell me what's up?" He asked levelly.
Harry nabbed the cig with a glare. "These aren't for you. And, nothing--I'm fine--a nightmare, but it's nothing, I'm fine." He dragged a hand threw his hair and shook his head.
"Well, that has me convinced," Ron drawled. Harry let out a dry laugh.
"I think I was more eloquent at Bloody Hill than just now."
"Oh, god, don't remind me."
"I'm pretty sure even Neville was embarrassed--"
"--And he worships the ground you walk on."
"Precisely."
Ron smiled distantly and stuck his hands in his pocket, wand moved to under his armpit. "You know, I thought it wasn't that--" He started, but it was all he got out, before a strike to the nose sent him reeling. He saw Harry's green eyes blazing with fury as he moved, sinuous as a cobra, striking his solar plexus and kneeing his jaw when Ron doubled over. He fell to the dirt like a bag of sand, overwhelmed, thinking his wand had to be somewhere close by, he'd barely moved with all of Harry's speed, it couldn't have gotten too far. But then Harry was pinning his arms with legs and dropping onto Ron's stomach with no concern for his weight. Ron winced and tightened his abs, the pressure making him want to pee.
Harry's face came dangerously close. "And I didn't even use my wand," he dragged out breathily, in a tone Ron only heard during interrogations and it sent chills up his spine.
"Get the fuck off, Harry." Ron was furious past the point of glaring.
He sneered. "Make me."
"I'm telling you to get the fuck off. I'm not kidding."
Harry spat, missing Ron's face by inches. He could feel some of the spit land on his cheek. "And I'm telling you to make me."
Ron struggled blindly, twisting his torso, too incensed by Harry's words to even think of how ridiculous it was. Harry had him solid.
Finally, an blast of uncontrolled magic exploded between their bodies and threw Harry off. "You shit," Ron shouted. "You stupid shit." He wiped blood off his mouth, and grabbing Harry by the lapels in one quick motion. He shook him. "The fuck was that? Are you cracked?"
Harry shoved him away with two hands, standing up and looking like he wanted to fight all over again. "You calm the hell down," Ron continued, getting to his feet too.
"You're calm enough for the both of us," Harry yelled right back. "Get excited, you bloody cock up! We're in Red and you're walking around with your hands in your pockets."
"Oh, sod off, Harry. I've been in more Reds more often than you in your entire lousy life as The-Boy-Who-Lived. You might have rallied us at Bloody Hill, but I was the one in the battle," he stabbed with a finger at his chest, "while you were tucked safe and away in Whales."
Harry's naturally pale face went dead white. "You were the one who ported me there," he hissed.
"And I hope you enjoyed it, you spoiled nesh! You got air-conditioning!"
The silence that followed had them both blinking. Harry was the first to move, dragging a hand down his face. "Christ, Ron, we're fighting about air-conditioning," he said quietly.
Ron couldn't unclench his fists. "I killed that day for less," he gritted, then recoiled slightly at his own words. "No, I didn't mean that, I didn't..." His body would have sagged if he remembered what loose felt like. As it was, the raised veins in his arms disappeared and he called for his wand.
They looked at each other for a moment, blue to green, unashamed of what they had said, though deeply sad; but that had been there already. They didn't bother with apologies--in silence or aloud--because they had faced the bare bones of each other since the war and neither had flinched.
"I want your guard up."
"I want air-conditioning," Ron retorted, but it was without heat. A shade of pink touched his ears and Ron winced, feeling it. Never had been able to grow out of that. He glanced at the camp. "But I guess, between us, we got that, huh?" Ron looked again at the hard body across from him, the one that had not once let go of the deathgrip on his wand. Harry didn't blink while he was watched. "Maybe I'm loosing my touch. Thought I'd fucked all this piss and vinegar out of you last night."
Harry's cheek twitched. "You're such a bender."
Ron sidled up to him lazily. "Nothing like a good while on the job to relax a man," he said, leaning down to rub a nose against Harry's long length of neck, and inhaled.
The shiver would have been imperceptible unless you were good at reading Harry. Another man might have taken a fistful of hair and rough jerk away as a rejection. "Hermione's really gonna send you a migraine if we don't get there," Harry said, sliding away and returning to their route toward the tents. "Cover my six."
Ron just smiled. "Clear."
________
terms, etc.
Title: all for a few hundred yards of useless mud :: cover my six
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: MA for language, adult situations, sexual references
Pairing: Ron/Harry
A/N: I have not reviewed this since it's original post date. More importantly: Written before 7th Book.
Summary: In war, shit happens, people die, and nobody stays the same. Or, Harry and Ron have a tiff.
Ron stood at the edge of the tents, a shadow of stubble defining his jaw. The sun was rising and scarlet as the field before him, as though the blood on the earth had stained the blue in the sky overnight. A bad omen in any case. Red sky at morning... The poem flickered through his thoughts. An op in America taught him the saying. His lips tightened. Now, those nights made yesterday seem orderly.
"Harry," Ron greeted him without looking over his shoulder at the approaching comrade.
The black-haired boy merely took point beside him, leaning forward to kiss a cheek before turning to face the way he came. "The fuck," he said conversationally, pulling a fag out of the small carton he kept inside his chest pocket, "did I tell you about walking alone?" With a practiced motion, he snapped the lighter open and shut, puffing the first breath of smoke out the side of his mouth.
Ron glanced his way, earning a sharp, "eyes front," from his mate.
"Had nothing to worry about," he said while obeying the command. "You were following me."
Harry drew the cigarette from his mouth and chucked it to the ground. "Maybe I won't next time, just so your sorry arse will die," and ground the fag with his foot.
"North and east clear." Ron titled his head toward the cig. "It's not like we see a lot of convenient stores, Harry."
"South and west clear of enemy presence," Harry responded before adding, "Shit."
Ron gave a small, quick smile. He shrugged a shoulder. "Covering. Pick up your cancer stick, you ponce." He put a hand to his wand.
Harry bent down and snatched it up again, flicking some of the dirt off before sticking it between his teeth again. "You hate the habit," he reminded. "Clear." Snap, click, snap, huffed breath.
Ron nodded. "Clear. 's gonna kill you."
Harry smiled the only smile he had now. "I was born to die."
On most days, a comment like that would earn either a fuck or a beating, both to render the man senseless. But no one was around to guard, so Ron settled for a harsh spit on the ground.
Harry didn't even apologize anymore. "You're so full of shit."
The-Boy-Who-Lived grunted, seemingly pleased.
Ron hissed in sudden pain, touching his temple lightly. Harry's wand was out with a snarled, "Protego," before Ron had time to apply pressure to the skin. "Hermione," he gasped. "Relax, it's Hermione." He reached to grip his friend's shoulder and give a squeeze. "God, I hate Red levels. Relax, mate." He waited until Harry's muscles loosened to their normal hard tension before releasing; he barely noticed how developed Harry's biceps had become over the past two years, and guessed it was because Ron knew the same had happened to him. Hell, now that he considered it, Neville had become beastly huge since the first real outbreak of the war--taller than Ron, almost hulking, but unable to loose that hunch in his shoulders and neck. Made him look like that stupid saying; the gentle giant. Which was total bullshit once you saw him in the field.
"'Mione really needs to do something about that signal charm," he continued, starting the walk back to camp. "I'm sick of the migraines." He waited for a silent beat before plucking the fag from Harry's surprised lips and taking a drag. "Care to tell me what's up?" He asked levelly.
Harry nabbed the cig with a glare. "These aren't for you. And, nothing--I'm fine--a nightmare, but it's nothing, I'm fine." He dragged a hand threw his hair and shook his head.
"Well, that has me convinced," Ron drawled. Harry let out a dry laugh.
"I think I was more eloquent at Bloody Hill than just now."
"Oh, god, don't remind me."
"I'm pretty sure even Neville was embarrassed--"
"--And he worships the ground you walk on."
"Precisely."
Ron smiled distantly and stuck his hands in his pocket, wand moved to under his armpit. "You know, I thought it wasn't that--" He started, but it was all he got out, before a strike to the nose sent him reeling. He saw Harry's green eyes blazing with fury as he moved, sinuous as a cobra, striking his solar plexus and kneeing his jaw when Ron doubled over. He fell to the dirt like a bag of sand, overwhelmed, thinking his wand had to be somewhere close by, he'd barely moved with all of Harry's speed, it couldn't have gotten too far. But then Harry was pinning his arms with legs and dropping onto Ron's stomach with no concern for his weight. Ron winced and tightened his abs, the pressure making him want to pee.
Harry's face came dangerously close. "And I didn't even use my wand," he dragged out breathily, in a tone Ron only heard during interrogations and it sent chills up his spine.
"Get the fuck off, Harry." Ron was furious past the point of glaring.
He sneered. "Make me."
"I'm telling you to get the fuck off. I'm not kidding."
Harry spat, missing Ron's face by inches. He could feel some of the spit land on his cheek. "And I'm telling you to make me."
Ron struggled blindly, twisting his torso, too incensed by Harry's words to even think of how ridiculous it was. Harry had him solid.
Finally, an blast of uncontrolled magic exploded between their bodies and threw Harry off. "You shit," Ron shouted. "You stupid shit." He wiped blood off his mouth, and grabbing Harry by the lapels in one quick motion. He shook him. "The fuck was that? Are you cracked?"
Harry shoved him away with two hands, standing up and looking like he wanted to fight all over again. "You calm the hell down," Ron continued, getting to his feet too.
"You're calm enough for the both of us," Harry yelled right back. "Get excited, you bloody cock up! We're in Red and you're walking around with your hands in your pockets."
"Oh, sod off, Harry. I've been in more Reds more often than you in your entire lousy life as The-Boy-Who-Lived. You might have rallied us at Bloody Hill, but I was the one in the battle," he stabbed with a finger at his chest, "while you were tucked safe and away in Whales."
Harry's naturally pale face went dead white. "You were the one who ported me there," he hissed.
"And I hope you enjoyed it, you spoiled nesh! You got air-conditioning!"
The silence that followed had them both blinking. Harry was the first to move, dragging a hand down his face. "Christ, Ron, we're fighting about air-conditioning," he said quietly.
Ron couldn't unclench his fists. "I killed that day for less," he gritted, then recoiled slightly at his own words. "No, I didn't mean that, I didn't..." His body would have sagged if he remembered what loose felt like. As it was, the raised veins in his arms disappeared and he called for his wand.
They looked at each other for a moment, blue to green, unashamed of what they had said, though deeply sad; but that had been there already. They didn't bother with apologies--in silence or aloud--because they had faced the bare bones of each other since the war and neither had flinched.
"I want your guard up."
"I want air-conditioning," Ron retorted, but it was without heat. A shade of pink touched his ears and Ron winced, feeling it. Never had been able to grow out of that. He glanced at the camp. "But I guess, between us, we got that, huh?" Ron looked again at the hard body across from him, the one that had not once let go of the deathgrip on his wand. Harry didn't blink while he was watched. "Maybe I'm loosing my touch. Thought I'd fucked all this piss and vinegar out of you last night."
Harry's cheek twitched. "You're such a bender."
Ron sidled up to him lazily. "Nothing like a good while on the job to relax a man," he said, leaning down to rub a nose against Harry's long length of neck, and inhaled.
The shiver would have been imperceptible unless you were good at reading Harry. Another man might have taken a fistful of hair and rough jerk away as a rejection. "Hermione's really gonna send you a migraine if we don't get there," Harry said, sliding away and returning to their route toward the tents. "Cover my six."
Ron just smiled. "Clear."
________
terms, etc.
- fag--cigarette
- Red sky at morning...--An old sailor's poem: Red sky at night/Sailor's delight./Red sky at morning/Sailor's warning. Red sunrise also believed to mean there will be bloodshed that day.
- cock up--means that you've made a mistake
- sod off--fuck off
- nesh--pansy boy, wimp
- bender--gay man
- on the job--having sex, to have sex