(no subject)
All Stories End (3/?)
Part Two
“I’m so glad you had the time to drop by.” His mum’s voice was cheerful as she directed a banging chorus of pots around the Burrow’s claustrophobic kitchen. Ron’s head beat a counterpoint to the cacophony and he could feel cold sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. He gulped noiselessly and hoped that he wasn’t any paler then usual.
“I know how busy you’ve been.” His mum blithely continued in seeming unawareness to his agitation as she tasted the sauce. “It’s only a shame that Hermione couldn’t be here.” She wagged an admonishing finger at him, her attention now focused on the chopping board. “You need to take better care of her, she was looking positively gaunt the last time I ran into her.” With a flick of her wand the knife stopped chopping and the carrot pieces streamed into the neighboring salad bowl. “There, finished.” Another flick had the bowl floating towards him. “Be a dear and set that on the table. Ginny should be here any second.”
Ron carefully set the bowl down and took a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes and took one breath after another, willing the pounding in his head to dull to a mild ache. As his heart stilled he could feel the Burrow surrounding him and there was something chilling in its stillness, in the way he could feel the walls rising around him, surrounding him with empty room upon empty room. He stood there transfixed, straining to make out the old rhythms of his childhood but even the ghoul was silent in the attic.
“Hullo Ron.” Ginny’s cheerful voice broke the spell. She brightly entered the room, shaking some residual ash out of her hair. She came up and gave him a kiss, not seeming to notice his startle.
“It’s been too long.” She grabbed his hand and before he knew it they were seated at the table. “You know how it is,” Ginny continued with a confidential wink. “They have me running everywhere, hardly a minute to myself. One does what one can.” She squeezed his hand. “But enough about me, what about you and ...”
“Ginny!” Their mum’s delighted shriek and he sighed, saved him from having to come up with an appropriate response. There was hugging and laughter and Ron let it soar by him, content to stay still and save his strength for the next round. Soon everyone was seated, steaming plates before them.
“Bon appetit, my dears.” His mum said with a bright smile. “I know how fond you are of beef wellington.” She winked as she gave him the largest portion. Ron smiled dutifully took a bite of Percy’s favorite dish.
The conversation flitted around, their mum talking in rising and falling arpeggios. She went from Dad’s Most Important work at the Ministry (there was even talk of him becoming the next Minister, it was all very exciting) to Bill’s kids (Fleur was sure to be making a hash of things and shouldn’t she go down and help them out for a little while they must be so tired) To Charlie’s legacy (she still got letters from people he had saved or helped or touched in some way) to how Fred and George would never actually grow up (a joke shop was all fine and good at first but they should be employing their talents in more beneficial areas, especially now after all the horridness).
Ginny’s voice played an evenly pitched counter point of her accomplishments and challenges. She gushed over helping the War Orphans (they were so sweet and pitiful and it was such a blessing to help them find new homes) to her efforts on behalf of displaced house elves (they’re practically like children themselves and such a pest when left to their own devices). Of course there was also the unending frustration of quidditch scouts banging at her door (they just couldn’t seem to understand that she had to do something meaningful with her life because it’s what Harry would want).
Through it all Ron mechanically chewed on his food, fork moving from plate to mouth automatically as the walls closed in on him. He smiled at all of the appropriate times and even managed a laugh or two as the walls moved in, inch by inch. He had to consciously work at not gasping for breath as the room shrank and the air thickened.
Suddenly Ron reached his limit, bolting up from the table and knocking a cup of pumpkin juice on his robes in the process. “So sorry,” he mumbled distractedly as he rubbed at the spreading wet spot. “Lost track of time, have to get back.” He pulled out his wand and cleaned everything up before stepping around the table to give his mum a goodbye peck.
“What a shame.” His mum replied with a peck of her own. “You and Hermione must come for dinner next Sunday. Everyone will be here and I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Of course, we’ll be here.” He promised without really hearing what she said and turned to Ginny.
“Oh, it’s time I was off as well.” She said, rising before he could get a word out. “Always so much to do.” She added with a smile to their mother and received a chuckle and a knowing look in response.
They kissed goodbye and Ginny hooked her arm through Ron’s. She bustled him to the fireplace before he could put two coherent thoughts together.
“How are you Ron, really?” she asked once they were alone, dropping his arm in order to look him straight in the eye.
“I’m fine.” He said in his most convincing voice, careful to meet her eyes and not flinch at the intensity of her gaze.
She narrowed her eyes and then sighed after a minute passed and he didn’t say anything else. She pulled out a pinch of floo powder from the box on the hearth. With her other hand she grabbed one of Ron’s and squeezed it. “I want you to be happy.” She looked straight into his eyes, her’s full of pity and some harder to identify emotion. “It’s what Harry would want.”
He didn’t notice Ginny disappear in a puff of flame and sulfur. Every muscle in his body went rigid and it felt as if someone had reached into his chest and started to squeeze. His fists clenched and he could vaguely feel the nails digging into his palms. He hadn’t felt this irrationally angry since Fourth Year, not even when he’d killed Draco Malfoy. He wanted to hit something, beat it into a bloody pulp, feel skin bruise and bones break under his fists. The very idea that she had the gall to think she could tell him what Harry wanted ... He snarled and flung the floo powder into the grate with more force then was strictly necessary. His voice was rough as he gritted out the first place he could think of.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or cry when he appeared in some stranger’s fireplace and was met by the sound of crockery shattering by his head.
~~~
That night Ron dreamed.
They were in 12 Grimmauld Place. It was dark outside and even though the lamps were lit inside somber shadows filled the corners and menaced the ceilings of the room.
Hermione had a huge tome open on her lap, her eyes tightly focused on the text. Her wayward hair was tied back but that didn’t stop stray strands from falling in her face and needing to be distractedly swept away. Harry sat motionless, staring into the fire, his face still tired and lined from Dumbledore’s funeral. He looked so far away and Ron could feel the old fear that he was moving away from them all and there was nothing they could do to keep him here and safe.
“Fancy a game of chess?” Ron heard his own voice, the false cheeriness he’d brutally injected into it, the way it wavered no matter how hard he tried to keep it upbeat.
Harry shrugged in response, not seeming able to summon enough energy to speak or even to turn and look at him. Hermione didn’t even look up.
“How about a bit of a slap and tickle, then?” He knew his face was red and he didn’t care. He’d do anything for a response.
He didn’t even hear Hermione’s shocked “Ron!” because Harry’s head jerked around, a million emotions racing across his face. Ron met his gaze and grinned. He hoped that Harry only saw the cheekiness and not the desperation that was roiling in his stomach.
They stared at each other for an eternal moment until a snort burst out of Harry against his will. Suddenly he was laughing, tears streaming down his face. Ron felt every muscle in his body loosen and he was laughing too, laughing so hard that he was sure his stomach was going to come right up out of his mouth.
He wiped his eyes and looked at Hermione. “Boys.” She muttered with a roll of her eyes but she was smiling like she hadn’t in a long time.
Ron woke with a start, laughter caught in his throat. The room slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Everything was quiet except for the branch that occasionally scratched at the window. He could feel Hermione’s a warmth from where she was curled up on the other side of the bed.
His eyes burned and he turned over. He stared at the wall, his eyes tracking what he could make out of the patterns in the grain of the wood from the dim light that came in from the lamps on Diagon. He laid like that until the room started to lighten and Hermione began to stir, his eyes open and dry.
Part Two
“I’m so glad you had the time to drop by.” His mum’s voice was cheerful as she directed a banging chorus of pots around the Burrow’s claustrophobic kitchen. Ron’s head beat a counterpoint to the cacophony and he could feel cold sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. He gulped noiselessly and hoped that he wasn’t any paler then usual.
“I know how busy you’ve been.” His mum blithely continued in seeming unawareness to his agitation as she tasted the sauce. “It’s only a shame that Hermione couldn’t be here.” She wagged an admonishing finger at him, her attention now focused on the chopping board. “You need to take better care of her, she was looking positively gaunt the last time I ran into her.” With a flick of her wand the knife stopped chopping and the carrot pieces streamed into the neighboring salad bowl. “There, finished.” Another flick had the bowl floating towards him. “Be a dear and set that on the table. Ginny should be here any second.”
Ron carefully set the bowl down and took a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes and took one breath after another, willing the pounding in his head to dull to a mild ache. As his heart stilled he could feel the Burrow surrounding him and there was something chilling in its stillness, in the way he could feel the walls rising around him, surrounding him with empty room upon empty room. He stood there transfixed, straining to make out the old rhythms of his childhood but even the ghoul was silent in the attic.
“Hullo Ron.” Ginny’s cheerful voice broke the spell. She brightly entered the room, shaking some residual ash out of her hair. She came up and gave him a kiss, not seeming to notice his startle.
“It’s been too long.” She grabbed his hand and before he knew it they were seated at the table. “You know how it is,” Ginny continued with a confidential wink. “They have me running everywhere, hardly a minute to myself. One does what one can.” She squeezed his hand. “But enough about me, what about you and ...”
“Ginny!” Their mum’s delighted shriek and he sighed, saved him from having to come up with an appropriate response. There was hugging and laughter and Ron let it soar by him, content to stay still and save his strength for the next round. Soon everyone was seated, steaming plates before them.
“Bon appetit, my dears.” His mum said with a bright smile. “I know how fond you are of beef wellington.” She winked as she gave him the largest portion. Ron smiled dutifully took a bite of Percy’s favorite dish.
The conversation flitted around, their mum talking in rising and falling arpeggios. She went from Dad’s Most Important work at the Ministry (there was even talk of him becoming the next Minister, it was all very exciting) to Bill’s kids (Fleur was sure to be making a hash of things and shouldn’t she go down and help them out for a little while they must be so tired) To Charlie’s legacy (she still got letters from people he had saved or helped or touched in some way) to how Fred and George would never actually grow up (a joke shop was all fine and good at first but they should be employing their talents in more beneficial areas, especially now after all the horridness).
Ginny’s voice played an evenly pitched counter point of her accomplishments and challenges. She gushed over helping the War Orphans (they were so sweet and pitiful and it was such a blessing to help them find new homes) to her efforts on behalf of displaced house elves (they’re practically like children themselves and such a pest when left to their own devices). Of course there was also the unending frustration of quidditch scouts banging at her door (they just couldn’t seem to understand that she had to do something meaningful with her life because it’s what Harry would want).
Through it all Ron mechanically chewed on his food, fork moving from plate to mouth automatically as the walls closed in on him. He smiled at all of the appropriate times and even managed a laugh or two as the walls moved in, inch by inch. He had to consciously work at not gasping for breath as the room shrank and the air thickened.
Suddenly Ron reached his limit, bolting up from the table and knocking a cup of pumpkin juice on his robes in the process. “So sorry,” he mumbled distractedly as he rubbed at the spreading wet spot. “Lost track of time, have to get back.” He pulled out his wand and cleaned everything up before stepping around the table to give his mum a goodbye peck.
“What a shame.” His mum replied with a peck of her own. “You and Hermione must come for dinner next Sunday. Everyone will be here and I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Of course, we’ll be here.” He promised without really hearing what she said and turned to Ginny.
“Oh, it’s time I was off as well.” She said, rising before he could get a word out. “Always so much to do.” She added with a smile to their mother and received a chuckle and a knowing look in response.
They kissed goodbye and Ginny hooked her arm through Ron’s. She bustled him to the fireplace before he could put two coherent thoughts together.
“How are you Ron, really?” she asked once they were alone, dropping his arm in order to look him straight in the eye.
“I’m fine.” He said in his most convincing voice, careful to meet her eyes and not flinch at the intensity of her gaze.
She narrowed her eyes and then sighed after a minute passed and he didn’t say anything else. She pulled out a pinch of floo powder from the box on the hearth. With her other hand she grabbed one of Ron’s and squeezed it. “I want you to be happy.” She looked straight into his eyes, her’s full of pity and some harder to identify emotion. “It’s what Harry would want.”
He didn’t notice Ginny disappear in a puff of flame and sulfur. Every muscle in his body went rigid and it felt as if someone had reached into his chest and started to squeeze. His fists clenched and he could vaguely feel the nails digging into his palms. He hadn’t felt this irrationally angry since Fourth Year, not even when he’d killed Draco Malfoy. He wanted to hit something, beat it into a bloody pulp, feel skin bruise and bones break under his fists. The very idea that she had the gall to think she could tell him what Harry wanted ... He snarled and flung the floo powder into the grate with more force then was strictly necessary. His voice was rough as he gritted out the first place he could think of.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or cry when he appeared in some stranger’s fireplace and was met by the sound of crockery shattering by his head.
~~~
That night Ron dreamed.
They were in 12 Grimmauld Place. It was dark outside and even though the lamps were lit inside somber shadows filled the corners and menaced the ceilings of the room.
Hermione had a huge tome open on her lap, her eyes tightly focused on the text. Her wayward hair was tied back but that didn’t stop stray strands from falling in her face and needing to be distractedly swept away. Harry sat motionless, staring into the fire, his face still tired and lined from Dumbledore’s funeral. He looked so far away and Ron could feel the old fear that he was moving away from them all and there was nothing they could do to keep him here and safe.
“Fancy a game of chess?” Ron heard his own voice, the false cheeriness he’d brutally injected into it, the way it wavered no matter how hard he tried to keep it upbeat.
Harry shrugged in response, not seeming able to summon enough energy to speak or even to turn and look at him. Hermione didn’t even look up.
“How about a bit of a slap and tickle, then?” He knew his face was red and he didn’t care. He’d do anything for a response.
He didn’t even hear Hermione’s shocked “Ron!” because Harry’s head jerked around, a million emotions racing across his face. Ron met his gaze and grinned. He hoped that Harry only saw the cheekiness and not the desperation that was roiling in his stomach.
They stared at each other for an eternal moment until a snort burst out of Harry against his will. Suddenly he was laughing, tears streaming down his face. Ron felt every muscle in his body loosen and he was laughing too, laughing so hard that he was sure his stomach was going to come right up out of his mouth.
He wiped his eyes and looked at Hermione. “Boys.” She muttered with a roll of her eyes but she was smiling like she hadn’t in a long time.
Ron woke with a start, laughter caught in his throat. The room slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Everything was quiet except for the branch that occasionally scratched at the window. He could feel Hermione’s a warmth from where she was curled up on the other side of the bed.
His eyes burned and he turned over. He stared at the wall, his eyes tracking what he could make out of the patterns in the grain of the wood from the dim light that came in from the lamps on Diagon. He laid like that until the room started to lighten and Hermione began to stir, his eyes open and dry.