(no subject)
Title: There's A Difference
Pairing: Gen - implied R/Hr
Rating: PG
Warning: Fluff
Beta:
gwen1170
Title: There's A Difference
Pairing: Gen - implied R/Hr
Rating: PG
Warning: Fluff
Beta:
gwen1170
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My two best friends mean everything in the world to me. I know I’m equally as important to them as they are to each other. There’s a comfort in that.
I have been watching these two grow from boys into men before my very eyes. Oh, they have always been brave and loyal, even as boys. They have their silly moments of course, perfectly ridiculous sometimes, but they are honorable through and through. I’m proud of both of them. I’ve always been able to count on them when things are really bad, and things always do get really bad.
They both have a sense of humor; they both have talents and skills. They are both my friends equally, but there’s a difference.
For instance, this morning when we were on our way downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast, a group of first year boys ran past us. They bumped into me, knocking my books to the ground and nearly sending me tumbling after them. The three of us all laughed afterwards, I’m sure it must have looked funny even if it was annoying. Harry and Ron are both gentlemen, they helped me pick up my books.
However, it was Ron’s hand that caught my arm while the other settled on my back when he steadied me so I wouldn’t fall down. He didn’t have to stand so close, but he did.
Harry handed back my books, carefully stacking them back into my arms, teasing me yet again for carrying so many. He’s a good friend. But Ron, he takes the stack of books from my arms and carries them the rest of the way. He knows I like my books and he doesn’t tease me about them anymore.
There’s a difference.
After classes this afternoon, they went off for Quidditch practice. I was going upstairs to study.
“We’ll see you later!” Harry said brightly to me without a second look as he walked out. I know how flying makes him feel better about everything a little while. He looks forward to practice. I knew he wasn’t thinking about me any longer.
“We’ll meet you in the common room later, then? Go down for dinner, yeah?” Ron asked. He made sure he knew when and where we would meet up again. He wants to know for sure. He is also looking forward to Quidditch practice. It’s fun for him and he really wants to keep getting better. As he walked off with Harry I saw him turn to look at me one last time.
He was still thinking about me.
There’s a difference.
[SDH1] The boys were hungry after practice. Of course they are always hungry.
The Great Hall was full of its usual chatter and hum at dinner. We took our usual seats at our long bench.
“Shove over, Hermione!” Harry said as he sat next to me. He wasn’t being rude. This familiarity between us is a gesture of our friendship. I made room for him to sit, leaving plenty of space between us.
Ron sat on my other side. There was not a lot of room left on our bench and he and I were really close, but he didn’t tell me to ‘shove over’. His ears turned the slightest pink, and he tried not to bump me with his elbow during the meal, but he didn’t mind sitting so near.
Harry accidentally bumped my knee with his under the table. It’s no big deal, but he tries to slide over another inch to keep it from happening again.
Ron’s leg and mine have brushed against each other several times, but we haven’t said anything about it. We just let them remain side by side.
There’s a difference.
Then after dinner when the dishes magically disappear and the desserts appear, there are chocolate-cherry éclairs tonight; they are my favorite! They are everyone’s favorite. All hands quickly reach out to take one.
Harry triumphs, and being a prat with the Gryffindors, he loudly touts his Seeker skills for being able to grab one before they were all gone.
Ron however, is taller than the other boys and his reach is longer. He was able to grab up two éclairs just as quickly before they were gone. He put one of them on my plate. He didn’t look for thanks for the simple gesture. He just went about serving himself some pudding. But there it is, sitting on my plate.
There’s a difference.
On our way back to the common room after dinner I had to nearly run to keep up with them. I’ve been practically running after them everywhere we go for last few years; they’re getting so tall. Harry and Ron talk with enthusiasm about Quidditch. Harry didn’t seem to notice that I had not said anything. I was nearly out of breath for keeping up with them and they were still getting ahead of me. Ron noticed.
“Oh sorry, ‘Mione,” he said lightly, smiling. He touches my arm when I do catch up. Harry apologizes too, and then he makes a joke about me getting shorter. Ron chuckles at his joke but then he puts his arm around my shoulder for a moment to be sure I knew it was only in jest.
It was Ron who noticed when I fell behind, and it was he who walked on slow enough for me to walk next to them.
We spend the remainder of the evening by the fireplace in our usual place. I’m checking over their homework while they play chess on the floor in front of me.
When I finish Harry’s paper, he takes it casually from me, looks it over, and then thanks me while he yawns. I know he appreciates my help, and I’m happy to do it for him.
When I finish Ron’s paper, he sits next to me. He asks my opinions, and then argues them with me. He also thanks me, but he looks into my eyes when he says it, and he lets his fingers graze mine when he takes the paper from me.
Harry announces that he’s tired and going to bed. Ron agrees.
When Harry stands to leave, he bids me goodnight and shuffles off up the stairs. He’s already thinking of the girl that has been on his mind all day, and of one of the many troubles he carries. He doesn’t think about me now. He knows he can count on me to be there when he needs me.
When Ron stands to leave, he tells me not to stay up too late. He bids me a goodnight, and a see you in the morning. He runs a finger over my shoulder as he walks past. It’s subtle, I doubt anyone else would really notice, but I do.
I’m not exactly sure what he’s thinking of, but I know that he turns and looks back at me as he goes up the stairs.
He’s still thinking of me.
There’s a difference.
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