World On Fire [Harry/Ron]
Title: World On Fire
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Ron, the possibility of George/Hermione
Rating: T
Summary: After the Dark Lord was defeated, Ron was stuck in St. Mungo’s and Harry felt like he owed him more than he could really put into words.
Word Count: 1,450.
Notes/Warnings: Slash, if you’re looking for it. Also, I am crap at summaries.
hp_left_field Challenge: Yuck, I Hate That Pairing.
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
Summer had come to London, without warning and as fierce as ever before. People had been too occupied with the events around them, the war (for those who knew of it) and the subtle aftermath for those who didn’t. The heat was oppressive and inhumane, especially for one trapped inside a hospital. St. Mungo’s was filled to bursting with those injured during the last battle, good and evil alike. The casualties were heavy on both sides, but the losses sustained on the Order’s side were worse; they, after all, were loth to use the killing curse as the Death Eaters were not.
Ron closed his hand into a fist and held it. The same hand that had been broken by a spell cast by Bellatrix Lestrange, a jet of red light he hadn’t seen coming until it was too late. The splintering of his wand (yet again, he had thought ruefully) was nothing to the pain of the bones in his hand being splintered.
He remembered the way Hermione had cast a charm on it in the aftermath of the battle, the air still crackling with magic and unmentionable curses - he had listened with labored breathing while she named the bones. He wasn’t truly surprised that she knew them, she was Hermione Granger after all. Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx, metacarpal, trapezoid, capitate...
He wasn’t bitter over his hand being broken, it didn’t really matter to him. It wasn’t like he had to use it for anything important lately. The war was over, Harry had defeated Voldemort (for good this time!) and even though the trio had skipped out on their seventh year Ron had no intention of going back to Hogwarts. He’d work in the twins’ joke shop, maybe, or perhaps he’d do what he had always done: follow Harry. When Ron really thought about it, what he was most bitter about was having two less brothers to come and visit him in the hospital. No Fred, no Percy; and that’s the worst of it, because it wasn’t even supposed to be Percy, but another of his brothers. He supposed the blighter had to earn back his family’s respect somehow.
A knock on Ron’s door had him forgetting Fred and Percy and turning back to the present, to Skele-Grow and light filtering faintly through puke green curtains that reminded him oddly enough of home.
“How’s the hand, mate?”
Harry stepped in, his hair messy as ever and his glasses skewed. Ginny’s attempts at taming the black mane of hair had not gone well, it seemed; their time together was something Ron was rather ambivalent about. Harry was his best mate, and he deserved some happiness after all the rotten luck he’d had so far in his life, but Ginny was his sister-
“Still a bit stiff. Healer says that not all the bones are fully grown yet. How’d you get in, anyway? They wouldn’t let Mum.”
As he pulled a chair closer to Ron’s bed, a faint scratching sound echoing throughout the room as he did so, Harry remarked, “Well, it wasn’t that hard, really. I just walked up to the youngest healer and told her I was Harry Potter. She didn’t give me too much trouble, just asked for my autograph on a place she wouldn’t show her mum,” he added somewhat embarrassed.
“Oh.” Ron supposed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
“So, have you heard ‘round about Hermione and George? She’s been staying at the shop with him since,” Harry paused, “well, since the end. I don’t know if something will come of it or not, but I think she’d be good for him.”
Ron didn’t bother to remind Harry that somewhere, Hermione and himself had almost been a couple. Since their first year at Hogwarts they’d been fighting each other, what Lavender Brown termed ‘unresolved sexual tension’. Their sixth year, open war and the death of Albus Dumbledore, they finally got a chance, yet… They hadn’t really worked out, Merlin knows why, but the idea of ‘Mione with George just didn’t sit well. Sure, George might need her; blimey, George needed anything right now, what with Fred having died at the hand of Lucius Malfoy and all, but they were just so opposite, how could it ever work?
“I didn’t know but thanks for sharing, mate.”
Harry looked awkward for a moment, as if realizing that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have said anything to Ron about Hermione and George. He had never been that sensitive before about the relationship not working, but maybe it was different because George was his brother.
“Look, Ron-”
“Why are you here, anyway? You haven’t bothered to stop by before.”
Harry narrowed his eyes and studied Ron carefully before saying, “I’ve been busy, talking with the Ministry and helping set up Hogwarts for re-opening.”
“Too busy, then, to visit your best mate, the one that followed you through all bloody hell and back.”
“Fuck’s sake, Ron, I wanted to come, but there were things I had to do. And you know what’s more, I never wanted you to follow me; you would’ve been safer otherwise. You wouldn’t have gotten your hand shattered, or you wand broken again, so back bloody well off, won’t you?”
Ron glared at Harry for a moment before looking away, down to the tiled floor that offered no amount of distraction as there were small flecks in them the same color as Harry’s eyes. He didn’t want to fight with Harry, had never liked it. It just happened, is all, whenever something stressful happened around them. Ron had always had a problem controlling his anger, everyone said so. But there was something about Harry, his good looks and hero complex and always needing to do the right thing, that just made Ron want to fight with him. Want to provoke him into saying what he really felt instead of just going with the flow.
The only time Harry had ever done that was when Sirius had died, and Ron hadn’t anything to do with that.
“I suppose I don’t love her,” said Ron at length. “I just thought I did. I wanted to, you know. I really did. She deserves it.”
Harry looked at Ron curiously. “Who?”
His hand worried at the sheet that rested on top of him as he replied, “Hermione, of course.”
Ron was still not looking at him, Harry noticed. He wished that he would. He had wanted to come visit Ron in St. Mungo’s, but as he told him, it wasn’t as if he could just waltz away from all the things he was doing; as much as he didn’t want the attention, it was his responsibility to use whatever power he had wisely. To help bring the Ministry to new heights, for instance, seeing as it had been utter crap before and during the war. But he owed Ron. Ron was his best mate, and had been there for him for years, staying at his side until the very end. He honestly didn’t know if he could ever return the favor.
“Maybe George and Hermione…maybe they’ll be good together.”
Harry felt his lips move upward in a smile. They probably would, he thought. Hermione, the straight-laced bookworm who, admittedly, broke a hell of a lot more rules than she let on. George, the prankster, the man who kept his emotions tight to his chest, unlike his twin, who always wore his heart on his sleeve. They were opposites, that much was true; however, Harry had to admit that he didn’t know all that much about love, except that you can’t help who you fall in love with.
“You won’t leave me, will you, Harry?” asked Ron. His eyes found his friend’s, brown to green, and even though he knew it was an odd request he didn’t really care. The last few months (well, years really) had been too fraught with danger and death and tragedy for him not to ask it of his best mate. And it wasn’t that he fancied Harry, no, Ron didn’t fancy blokes at all-it was just that he loved Harry, as much as someone could love another person with it still being platonic, and after all they had been through so much together.
“No, of course not. I’ll stay with you until the very end.”
Ron’s hands stopped worrying at the hospital sheet and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Well, now that was settled, all he had to worry about was his hand. After all, now that he knew that Harry would never leave him-everything else was of little importance.
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Ron, the possibility of George/Hermione
Rating: T
Summary: After the Dark Lord was defeated, Ron was stuck in St. Mungo’s and Harry felt like he owed him more than he could really put into words.
Word Count: 1,450.
Notes/Warnings: Slash, if you’re looking for it. Also, I am crap at summaries.
hp_left_field Challenge: Yuck, I Hate That Pairing.
Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
Summer had come to London, without warning and as fierce as ever before. People had been too occupied with the events around them, the war (for those who knew of it) and the subtle aftermath for those who didn’t. The heat was oppressive and inhumane, especially for one trapped inside a hospital. St. Mungo’s was filled to bursting with those injured during the last battle, good and evil alike. The casualties were heavy on both sides, but the losses sustained on the Order’s side were worse; they, after all, were loth to use the killing curse as the Death Eaters were not.
Ron closed his hand into a fist and held it. The same hand that had been broken by a spell cast by Bellatrix Lestrange, a jet of red light he hadn’t seen coming until it was too late. The splintering of his wand (yet again, he had thought ruefully) was nothing to the pain of the bones in his hand being splintered.
He remembered the way Hermione had cast a charm on it in the aftermath of the battle, the air still crackling with magic and unmentionable curses - he had listened with labored breathing while she named the bones. He wasn’t truly surprised that she knew them, she was Hermione Granger after all. Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx, metacarpal, trapezoid, capitate...
He wasn’t bitter over his hand being broken, it didn’t really matter to him. It wasn’t like he had to use it for anything important lately. The war was over, Harry had defeated Voldemort (for good this time!) and even though the trio had skipped out on their seventh year Ron had no intention of going back to Hogwarts. He’d work in the twins’ joke shop, maybe, or perhaps he’d do what he had always done: follow Harry. When Ron really thought about it, what he was most bitter about was having two less brothers to come and visit him in the hospital. No Fred, no Percy; and that’s the worst of it, because it wasn’t even supposed to be Percy, but another of his brothers. He supposed the blighter had to earn back his family’s respect somehow.
A knock on Ron’s door had him forgetting Fred and Percy and turning back to the present, to Skele-Grow and light filtering faintly through puke green curtains that reminded him oddly enough of home.
“How’s the hand, mate?”
Harry stepped in, his hair messy as ever and his glasses skewed. Ginny’s attempts at taming the black mane of hair had not gone well, it seemed; their time together was something Ron was rather ambivalent about. Harry was his best mate, and he deserved some happiness after all the rotten luck he’d had so far in his life, but Ginny was his sister-
“Still a bit stiff. Healer says that not all the bones are fully grown yet. How’d you get in, anyway? They wouldn’t let Mum.”
As he pulled a chair closer to Ron’s bed, a faint scratching sound echoing throughout the room as he did so, Harry remarked, “Well, it wasn’t that hard, really. I just walked up to the youngest healer and told her I was Harry Potter. She didn’t give me too much trouble, just asked for my autograph on a place she wouldn’t show her mum,” he added somewhat embarrassed.
“Oh.” Ron supposed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
“So, have you heard ‘round about Hermione and George? She’s been staying at the shop with him since,” Harry paused, “well, since the end. I don’t know if something will come of it or not, but I think she’d be good for him.”
Ron didn’t bother to remind Harry that somewhere, Hermione and himself had almost been a couple. Since their first year at Hogwarts they’d been fighting each other, what Lavender Brown termed ‘unresolved sexual tension’. Their sixth year, open war and the death of Albus Dumbledore, they finally got a chance, yet… They hadn’t really worked out, Merlin knows why, but the idea of ‘Mione with George just didn’t sit well. Sure, George might need her; blimey, George needed anything right now, what with Fred having died at the hand of Lucius Malfoy and all, but they were just so opposite, how could it ever work?
“I didn’t know but thanks for sharing, mate.”
Harry looked awkward for a moment, as if realizing that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have said anything to Ron about Hermione and George. He had never been that sensitive before about the relationship not working, but maybe it was different because George was his brother.
“Look, Ron-”
“Why are you here, anyway? You haven’t bothered to stop by before.”
Harry narrowed his eyes and studied Ron carefully before saying, “I’ve been busy, talking with the Ministry and helping set up Hogwarts for re-opening.”
“Too busy, then, to visit your best mate, the one that followed you through all bloody hell and back.”
“Fuck’s sake, Ron, I wanted to come, but there were things I had to do. And you know what’s more, I never wanted you to follow me; you would’ve been safer otherwise. You wouldn’t have gotten your hand shattered, or you wand broken again, so back bloody well off, won’t you?”
Ron glared at Harry for a moment before looking away, down to the tiled floor that offered no amount of distraction as there were small flecks in them the same color as Harry’s eyes. He didn’t want to fight with Harry, had never liked it. It just happened, is all, whenever something stressful happened around them. Ron had always had a problem controlling his anger, everyone said so. But there was something about Harry, his good looks and hero complex and always needing to do the right thing, that just made Ron want to fight with him. Want to provoke him into saying what he really felt instead of just going with the flow.
The only time Harry had ever done that was when Sirius had died, and Ron hadn’t anything to do with that.
“I suppose I don’t love her,” said Ron at length. “I just thought I did. I wanted to, you know. I really did. She deserves it.”
Harry looked at Ron curiously. “Who?”
His hand worried at the sheet that rested on top of him as he replied, “Hermione, of course.”
Ron was still not looking at him, Harry noticed. He wished that he would. He had wanted to come visit Ron in St. Mungo’s, but as he told him, it wasn’t as if he could just waltz away from all the things he was doing; as much as he didn’t want the attention, it was his responsibility to use whatever power he had wisely. To help bring the Ministry to new heights, for instance, seeing as it had been utter crap before and during the war. But he owed Ron. Ron was his best mate, and had been there for him for years, staying at his side until the very end. He honestly didn’t know if he could ever return the favor.
“Maybe George and Hermione…maybe they’ll be good together.”
Harry felt his lips move upward in a smile. They probably would, he thought. Hermione, the straight-laced bookworm who, admittedly, broke a hell of a lot more rules than she let on. George, the prankster, the man who kept his emotions tight to his chest, unlike his twin, who always wore his heart on his sleeve. They were opposites, that much was true; however, Harry had to admit that he didn’t know all that much about love, except that you can’t help who you fall in love with.
“You won’t leave me, will you, Harry?” asked Ron. His eyes found his friend’s, brown to green, and even though he knew it was an odd request he didn’t really care. The last few months (well, years really) had been too fraught with danger and death and tragedy for him not to ask it of his best mate. And it wasn’t that he fancied Harry, no, Ron didn’t fancy blokes at all-it was just that he loved Harry, as much as someone could love another person with it still being platonic, and after all they had been through so much together.
“No, of course not. I’ll stay with you until the very end.”
Ron’s hands stopped worrying at the hospital sheet and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Well, now that was settled, all he had to worry about was his hand. After all, now that he knew that Harry would never leave him-everything else was of little importance.