Fic: The Four Loves
Title: The Four Loves
Author: Lorien_Eve
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "The ones who love us never truly leave us."
Warnings: The biggest warning is character death. There is a small bit of implied het, but it's mostly just a misunderstanding between Harry and Ron.
Disclaimer: In my dreams, I own Harry and Ron. In reality, they're J.K. Rowling's. Also, I borrowed the title from the C.S. Lewis book by the same name.
Author's Notes: This was my therapy after reading Half-Blood Prince. Many thanks to Lena for her help, picks and all. ;)
Hermione was the one who noticed the connection. We were in the library, where I was sneaking the answers from her Potions homework. Long finished, she’d abandoned her parchment for a book on spirit and energy preservation. Harry was off, Merlin knew where, doing something for the greater good of Wizardkind. He could be annoying that way.
Hermione was bent forward, lost in her book, while I contorted my face into all manner of expressions, trying to make out the tiny words in her upside-down handwriting.
“That’s it!” she exclaimed. She slapped her palms down on the open book. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before!”
My face froze with my lip curled, my nose wrinkled, and my left eye half closed. I could almost hear my mum’s warnings about children who made faces and had their mugs frozen that way.
“Oh, honestly, Ron,” Hermione snapped, though she didn’t move her homework away.
“What?” I asked innocently, offering her my most forlorn expression.
I knew she didn’t fall for the puppy-dog eyes, but she waved off my dishonesty and dove excitedly into her latest theory.
“The four loves!” she said. “You don’t think it’s a coincidence that there are four Horcruxes left, do you? Those four are the hardest to destroy. Only a certain person would be able to find and destroy them. It’s all about love! Remember what Dumbledore said?”
It was one of those rare moments when something made perfect sense the first time I heard it. Very unlike Potions or Divination.
Hermione went on. “Harry is protected with his mother’s love.” She began counting on her fingers. “That’s Storge. But then there’s Philia, Eros, and Agape.”
“Huh?” I looked at her like she was speaking Latin. Then I realized, she was.
She ignored me and continued. “That’s the secret to finding and destroying the Horcruxes! They’ve got to be symbols of each kind of love!”
I had been following Hermione up until this point. Suddenly I felt like I’d been caught in a thunderstorm, spun around by a tornado, and quite fantastically blown off course. I think Hermione realised this, and she slowed down and allowed me to catch up.
“Listen,” she explained slowly, “Philia is brotherly, platonic love. Agape is godly love. And Eros is romantic love.”
My face went as scarlet as the Gryffindor common room. I hoped Hermione didn’t notice. Thinking about Harry and that Eros rubbish…well, I didn’t exactly think it was rubbish.
“C’mon,” said Hermione, gathering up her books and throwing them in her bag. “We’ve got to tell Harry!”
****
“Harry! Harry!” Hermione called as she rushed through the portrait hole. I was close on her heels, but she was surprisingly fast for someone who spent most of her time in the library.
“Upstairs,” said McLaggan, who was kind enough to offer me a dirty look as we passed.
Hermione bolted up the stairs to the dorm, and burst in without bothering to knock. I winced, hoping Harry wasn’t about to be caught in an awkward situation. I mean, we were 17-year-old boys after all, and there was something to be said about our right to privacy.
“Harry!” she said breathlessly. “I’ve got it! The secret to finding the Horcruxes!”
Harry was at the foot of the bed, crouching in front of his trunk, peering into something. He quickly stuffed it under his extra pair of robes, but not before I could catch a glimpse of it. It was the mirror Sirius had given him two years ago.
He spun around to look at Hermione, and then he looked over to me. I shrugged. Hermione was much better at explaining than I was. I couldn’t pronounce half the words, much less remember what they meant. Well, except that Eros rubbish.
“Go on, then,” Harry said, sitting down on the bed. “Let’s hear it.”
He sounded doubtful, and I couldn’t blame him. We’d spent countless hours searching for the Horcruxes, chasing down every lead we had, sneaking into what used to be Dumbledore’s office for clues, and even going so far as planning another midnight raid at the Ministry. But it all amounted to nothing. We came up short every time. I think Hermione and I would’ve given up if it hadn’t been for Harry. There was no way we would let him do it alone.
“It’s all about love!” she said. She was very proud of herself, I could tell. She was practically bouncing on her toes.
Harry’s shoulders fell. “That’s not news, Hermione. Dumbledore already told me that much.”
“No, listen!” she said, clearly undeterred by Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. “There are four different kinds of love. And four Horcruxes, right? That’s not a coincidence, Harry. Don’t you see?”
Harry seemed ready to start ranting again, but then an odd expression came over his face. His forehead creased as he worked out the probability of it all. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Then suddenly his eyes lit up, and he jumped from the bed.
“Hermione, you’re right! Why didn’t I see it before? It’s just like Dumbledore said - it’s all about love!” He grabbed Hermione by the waist and spun her around. Then he set her down and raced out of the dorm. I never asked where he was going, but I wondered why I didn’t get some sort of thank-you, too.
****
“Alright, there are four kinds of love,” said Harry, stuffing the Marauder’s Map back into the pocket of his robes. “I’ve got that, but…explain this to me again, would you?”
“Well, there’s Storge,” Hermione began, breaking into her best impression of Professor McGonagall. “That’s an instinctive kind of love, like parental love.”
We were hiding out in an unused classroom late one night. With the new batch of first years and the old regime of seventh years, the common room was too noisy for any proper top-secret, highly dangerous, and mostly illegal conversations. Hermione and I had authorized access to almost every room in the castle, and we’d begun using them more and more lately. There were definite benefits to being Head Boy besides just the prefect’s bathroom. Although I had made full use of that, too.
“So, one of the Horcruxes has something to do with my mum sacrificing herself for me,” Harry said slowly, drawing conclusions that he wasn’t keen to share with us. It was frightening how much he was beginning to sound like Hermione.
“Exactly,” said Hermione. “And where was that protection the strongest?”
“At home,” Harry said. I noticed a change in his voice when he said the word. I’d never heard him refer to the place where his parents were murdered as ‘home.’ I’d always hoped he thought of the Burrow as his home. “At Godric’s Hollow.”
“I don’t think it was a coincidence that it was named after one of the founders of the school,” said Hermione.
I took a seat in the back of the classroom, throwing my feet upon the desk and leaning the chair back on its hind legs in a way I never would’ve been able to get away with in class. Harry and Hermione seemed to have a fair enough grip on the discussion without my help. I was only there for moral support, and they both knew that.
“What’s the opposite of love?” asked Hermione. “Hate, of course. You-Know-Who would’ve wanted to nullify your mum’s sacrifice.” She took a deep breath. “I think he murdered your dad to make the Horcrux.”
Well, that was new and bloody disturbing information. Honestly, I’d never thought much about what’d happened to Harry’s dad. His mum’s death always seemed more important. That was what initiated the blood protection, after all. I studied Harry’s face, wondering if he’d ever thought about this.
“He must’ve left it behind before he attacked you,” Hermione said carefully. She was anxious, like I was, to see whether or not Harry would crack.
His eyes went dark and he started pacing. He was angry, I could tell, but it was different than before. It was a contained anger, one that he had control over. It was the unassuming kind that’s deceptive in power and ability. There was something dangerous, and a little frightening, about him. Good thing I was his best mate and not his mortal enemy.
“But there’s nothing there,” he said at last. “It’s all in ruins.”
“It may appear that way,” said Hermione, “but a curse that powerful has to leave something behind, some kind of magical residue. Like that scar on your forehead. You-Know-Who left something at Godric’s Hollow, Harry, I’m sure of it.”
Suddenly there was a thunderous crash overhead that almost caused me to topple backwards out of my chair. It sounded like a marching band of giants playing the cymbals. And off-key, at that. Hermione seemed equally startled, but Harry didn’t flinch. He just kept pacing, one determined foot in front of the other.
We heard a loud cackling, followed by two more crashes, then the irate voice of Filch. Peeves was in the trophy room again.
****
I would’ve never admitted it, but I was scared. We’d spent so much time chasing down the Horcruxes, but that’s all we’d been doing-chasing. Everything had led to a dead end. Until now. Now we were actually onto something, and it scared the shit out of me.
We’d been in danger more times than I cared to count, but we’d never faced anything like this. We’d researched Horcruxes, but we still didn’t know a lot about them. For once, Harry and I were on equal footing with Hermione. She may’ve come up with the theory, but beyond that, she wasn’t much help. I didn’t fully know what we were getting ourselves into, and the not-knowing was much worse than the knowing.
****
Harry disappeared after breakfast next morning. He wasn’t in any of our classes, but that wasn’t unusual these days. Professors turned a bit of a blind eye where he was concerned. The occasional skived class was far less important than the fate of the Wizarding World. Still, Harry wasn’t usually difficult to find. Most times he was concocting plans in the dorm, or practicing spells in the Room of Requirement.
Call it a sixth sense, but I could tell something was different this time. I knew he’d gone to Godric’s Hollow. And what was worse, he’d gone without Hermione and me.
****
I didn’t see Harry until late that night when he came stumbling into the dorm room. At first I thought he’d had an all-nighter at the Hogs Head and didn’t bother to invite me. He reeked so of smoke and filth, that I could smell him from where I sat anxiously on my four-poster. The other blokes were asleep, but I’d been too worried to even change into my pyjamas.
Harry almost collapsed before he reached his bed. I ran over and caught him before he hit the floor. He didn’t smell like firewhiskey, and his eyes were far too wide for someone who otherwise seemed to be royally pissed. I shouldered his weight and helped him to the bed.
“Merlin, Harry, what happened?”
He looked up at me with those wide, empty eyes. “It’s taken care of,” he said in a voice that was so low, I had to lean close to hear.
I knew then that he’d found the Horcrux, and had he not already been injured, I would’ve throttled him for going without me. I’d told him before that I wasn’t going to let him do this alone, but the great prat was as thick as he was brave.
There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask. Like how he found it, how he destroyed it, and how dare he go without me. But he was too weak to talk, and after catching a glimpse of his face in a speck of moonlight, I decided that I probably didn’t want to know the answers anyway. Instead, I helped him out of those filthy clothes and got him into bed.
His skin was pale, almost white, and he was shivering. The old dorm was drafty during the winter months, but it was getting on into May and even though the nights were cool, they weren’t as cold as all that. I wrapped the sheets and blanket around him, making sure he was covered from his thin shoulders to his bare feet. It was what my mum would’ve done for me, and I think it’s what Harry’s mum would’ve done for him if she’d still been around.
I got the covers from my bed, and once I’d settled down next to him, I threw them over the both of us. I wanted to be close by, in case he needed anything. I put my arm around him, just to let him know that I was there. I didn’t want him to think he was alone. He was still cold, but at least he’d stopped shivering. I don’t think he slept at all that night, but he never complained about me being in his bed.
****
I’d never seen Harry so passionate about anything, not even Quidditch. He was out of bed by next afternoon, and even though he was still pale and his eyes still had that strange look to them, he was able to walk under his own strength. He was still weak, though, despite his efforts to conceal it from Hermione and me.
When she suggested that he get a bit more rest, he ignored her. He wanted to hear more of her theory about the four loves and how they related to the Horcruxes. So once again, we found ourselves hiding out in an unused classroom late one night.
“Philia. It’s friendship,” Hermione told us. “You know, brotherly love.”
Both of them looked immediately in my direction. I was the only one of us who had brothers, but…
“Bollocks!” I said. “My family doesn’t own any Dark objects! We haven’t got any ties to You-Know-Who!” Although, Percy had been acting like an even bigger prat lately.
“Be serious, Ron. Why would You-Know-Who concern himself with the Weasleys?” I couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or flattered. She went on, “Think about it. What kind of love is Philia?”
“Brotherly love,” I huffed, still bothered by her ruddy comment. “You just told us.”
Hermione signed loudly. Evidently she knew something that Harry and I just weren’t understanding. “Regulus and Sirius-they were brothers!”
The room went deathly quiet. Harry never talked about Sirius, and I was smart enough not to push the subject. I knew he would talk when he was ready, and he knew I’d be there to listen when the time came.
“We know that,” Harry snapped. “But they’re both dead now, so what good does that do me?”
“The initials R.A.B were scribbled on that note in the locket. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s a good hunch that R.A.B. was Regulus.”
Harry always wore that locket. I think he used it as a reminder of what he had to do. We’d gotten so used to seeing him with it that we sometimes forgot how important it really was. Dumbledore’s death had to mean something, after all.
“There was locket at Grimmauld Place,” Harry said, with an intensity that made me nervous. “One that nobody could open.”
I shivered at the thought of having been so close to a possible Horcrux. I remembered that locket. I’d even picked it up, just once, to see if I could open it. “You think that locket is a Horcrux?” I asked.
“Possibly,” said Hermione. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“But Regulus was a Death Eater,” I argued.
“Precisely,” said Hermione. “He was. Sirius claimed Regulus left the Death Eaters because he got scared. But there may’ve been more to it.”
“I dunno…” I said. I had my doubts about Regulus. Sirius was an alright bloke, but he was the only one in the family who wasn’t completely nutters. Mrs. Black’s portrait was proof of that.
“Then how do you explain the lockets?” Hermione insisted. “A fake one that just happens to contain Regulus’s initials, then another one at the Black house that, oddly, no one could open?”
She could be such a bother with her nearly perfect theories. Still, it seemed like an awfully bold idea. Grimmauld Place was full of Dark objects, sure, but…a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul? That sounded dodgy, even for the Blacks.
Harry seemed to buy it, though. His face took on a look like he’d just grasped the theory of Arithmancy and how it relates to the gravitational pull of the Earth. Or something along those lines.
“That locket belongs to me now,” he said. He sounded almost angry about it. “I own Grimmauld Place.”
****
I knew Grimmauld Place was the last place Harry wanted to go. He hated that house almost as much as Sirius had. I think Sirius’s hatred of it only increased Harry’s bitterness at having become owner of it. But he’d come too far now. He was so close to finding the second Horcrux, I knew disgusted or not, he’d go to Grimmauld Place and search for that locket until he found it.
I wasn’t going to let him go by himself this time. He’d snuck out on me once before, but I was onto him now. Hermione and I had said we weren’t going to let him do this alone, and we meant it.
But Harry was more resourceful than even I gave him credit for. He hadn’t used the Marauder’s Map and invisibility cloak for years without learning something about stealth and sneaking.
****
“I thought that was a really great lesson, didn’t you?” Hermione asked one afternoon as we left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “I’ll be sure to give Harry a copy of my notes.”
Harry had skived class again. He was down at Hagrid’s for the afternoon. Hagrid was the new Head of Gryffindor House, and although he had good intentions, he wasn’t the brightest chap. I think Harry felt somewhat responsible for Hagrid getting landed with the position, so he tried to help out when he could. Giving advice on school decisions, writing out detention slips, stuff like that. No one had to know that Hagrid wasn’t doing it on his own.
I wasn’t worried about Harry as long as he was at Hagrid’s. If he was on the grounds, he couldn’t Disapparate. Hermione reminded me of this several times, though after seven years, I remembered it without her help. Old habits die hard, I guess.
“D’you think Hagrid lets Harry set detention?” I wondered dreamily. “What about mopping up after Witherwings? Or chopping down a tree full of bowtruckles? Or feeding the flobberworms?” I began making a mental list. It would be brilliant, especially for the Slytherins.
Hermione let out an exaggerated sigh. “Harry’s doing this to help Hagrid, not to torture the other students. He would never do that.”
I laughed to myself. She didn’t know Harry nearly as well as I did.
“Herbology’s next. Think Harry’ll show?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s awfully busy these days. It’s a wonder he has time to study at all.” That showed just how much things had changed during seventh year. Hermione wasn’t complaining about Harry missing class.
“Maybe Hagrid’ll let him off early, yeah? Due to a shortage of skrewts, or something. Harry still owes me a game of Gobstones. Flitwick binned our last set, but I bought a new set at the last Hogsmeade’s weekend.”
I didn’t mind about Harry skiving class. I would’ve done, too, if I could’ve gotten away with it. But things weren’t nearly as fun without him. Sometimes I was forced to pay attention or take notes, and there were even nights when I did homework with Hermione. My Transfiguration marks had certainly improved, and to everyone’s surprise, so had my Potions marks. I owed most of it to Hermione, she was a great help. But she wasn’t Harry.
“Some things are more important than Gobstones,” she said, sounding suddenly angry. “Or Exploding Snap, or whatever else you two do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, my voice rising unintentionally. “Harry’s my best mate! What’s wrong with wanting to hang out?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she said, rounding on me, her satchel swinging furiously on her shoulder. “You’re only interested in me when Harry’s not around!”
My mouth opened and closed several times, and I was sure I looked like a fish out of water. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t even know what she meant by that. I liked Hermione, I really did. But Harry was my best mate. So what?
She gave up waiting for my answer, and stormed off to the greenhouses, leaving me staring dumbly after her. Dunno what I’d said to make her so angry. Girls were mad that way, going spare for no good reason at all.
I reached into my robes for the new set of Gobstones. They were a nice set, cost me more than I should’ve spent. But Flitwick took my old set, and Harry and I needed a new one, right?
****
If Harry had used something as obvious as the Marauder’s Map and invisibility cloak, I would’ve seen right through it. Quite literally. But he used Floo powder. He flooed to Grimmauld Place from the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Right under my freckled nose. There was more to the story than I knew at the time. Ginny helped piece it together for me later. I should’ve known better, but as they say, hindsight is 20/20.
I’d had prefect duties that night, which was no different from any other night. On my way back to Gryffindor Tower, I caught Ginny with Michael Corner. Right outside the portrait hole, out in the open for everyone to see. After a heated shouting match that I was sure would wake half the castle, I sent her into the common room, along with the threat of detention and an owl to Mum.
I made sure she’d got into the girls’ dorms before I went upstairs to my own dorm. I didn’t know what Mum was going to do with her. As her older brother and the only other remaining Weasley at school, I took her reputation personally. If Lavender Brown wanted to parade herself around like a scarlet woman, that was her business. But my little sister certainly was not.
I decided to ask Harry’s advice. To tell Mum or not to tell Mum? That was my question.
But when I reached Harry’s bed and pulled back the curtains, it was empty.
I became frantic, searching blindly, flattening out the covers with my hands, hoping against hope that he was lost somewhere in the sheets. I’d tried to be so careful this time, watching out for him, noticing any odd behavior, only leaving his side when I had to. But somehow, some way, he’d left again. He’d gone and left me behind.
I must’ve woken Seamus with the ruckus. “What the bloody hell is going on?” he grumbled, poking his head through the curtains on his bed.
“I-I was looking for Harry,” I tried to explain. “But he’s not here.”
“’Course he’s not,” said Seamus. “He flooed out.”
I was in a bloody panic. The words came tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. “Flooed out? What are you talking about? I never saw him leave!”
“’Course you didn’t. You were having that row with your sister.”
Oh.
I grabbed Harry’s pillow and hurled it across the dorm. It landed in the shadows underneath Hedwig’s empty cage. If I’d only been a few seconds quicker, I would’ve caught him before he left. I could’ve gone with him. But no, I was too busy being a prefect and arguing with Ginny about her love life. I was such a bloody idiot.
I had to do something. I couldn’t very well sit around here, wringing my hands and waiting on Harry to get back. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got into trouble and needed help?
He wouldn’t be hard to find. I knew where he’d gone.
I grabbed my wand and headed back downstairs to the fireplace.
****
The kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was as dark and dank as a cave. Carefully, I stepped out of the fireplace and lit the tip of my wand. The orange glow spread over the room, highlighting the grimy rough-hewn walls, the overturned and broken chairs, and the landmines of spoons, knives, and forks that were strewn across the floor. Brass pots and pans loomed overhead like angry spirits. I felt like an intruder that they wanted to dispose of.
I weaved quickly through the scattered utensils on my way to the door, stopping only once when I almost lost my balance and had to grab one of the chair legs for support. I didn’t know what was lurking in the house, but whatever it was, I didn’t want to wake it until I was ready.
The ground floor of the house was deathly quiet, which only fueled my uneasiness. It just didn’t feel like home without Mrs. Black’s portrait screaming about blood traitors. I didn’t want to wake her, so I tip-toed past and crept upstairs.
Dust was at least an inch thick on the banister, and the smell of mold in the air was as thick as the fog around Stoatshead Hill. Mum had made us clean the place from top to bottom two years ago, something that Fred, George, and I complained to the hills about. And now it looked like all of our hard work was for nothing. I don’t know what I expected, seeing as how no one but Kreacher lived here. Obviously, even magic had its limits.
“Harry?” I called, once I reached the landing. But the only answer was my own echo.
Thick, tangled cobwebs hung overhead, draped from one side of the corridor to the other. I cringed and rushed past them, even though they looked wrecked and abandoned. No sense in taking any chances.
I checked each room, but didn’t find anything. Or anyone. It wasn’t until I reached the end of the corridor that I heard the first sound made by someone other than myself. It was a wail, but not like any wail I’d ever heard. It wasn’t human.
I turned immediately and sprinted back to the staircase, where I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the second floor. The sound had come from overhead, but it wasn’t too distant.
I found Harry, at last, in the fourth room on the second floor. In Sirius’s room. Lying on Sirius’s bed, face up, legs hanging over the side, feet dangling a good six inches from the floor. Underneath his feet was the locket, open, still smoking.
I stopped dead in the doorway, too scared to move. He was too still, too pale. I stared at him, feeling terror building in my stomach until I thought it might come up through my mouth. But as I watched him, I saw the shallow, up-and-down movement of his chest. I started breathing again.
“Harry…”
I was by his side before his name cleared my lips. His eyes were wide and empty, like they’d been the first time. Maybe worse, it was hard to tell. He stared up at me, though I don’t know if he actually saw me. On each side of his face were deep shadows where the skin on his cheeks had sunken in. He had told me about the Inferi in the cave that night with Dumbledore, and this is how I imagined they looked.
I started to pull the blankets away from the bed so that I could use them to cover him. Dust mites flew into the air, and dead flies dropped to the floor like black marbles. Disgusted, I quickly let go of the sheets.
I scanned the room for a clean blanket, sheet, anything. Against one wall was a chest of drawers, grey and furry with dust. I took a step towards it, hoping there might be something in there I could use. But when I moved away, the fingers on Harry’s left hand began to twitch. I didn’t know what else to do, so I reached out and closed my hand over his. He didn’t speak, but the emptiness in his eyes lifted. He knew I was there. He knew I’d take care of him.
I may not have been a natural on a broom like Charlie, or cool in that rock-star sort of way like Bill, but when it came to taking care of Harry, no one was more ambitious than me. Sometimes it scared me how much like Percy I was.
Harry’s fingers were as cold as the ice on the lake during winter. I looked down at them, limp under my own hand. The tips were frosty blue. I still couldn’t find a blanket.
“We’ve got to get back,” I told him. “Back to Hogwarts, okay? You can’t stay here.”
I put my arms around his back and tried to lift him. But he was almost dead weight, and it took quite an effort to get him to sit up. His head nodded loosely on his shoulders, swinging like a pendulum. When I got him to stand, his legs gave way and he fell, full-force, into me. I staggered back, but somehow managed not to lose my balance or my grip. I couldn’t let Harry go. I was afraid I’d never get him back.
We flooed back to Hogwarts through the fireplace in the kitchen. How I carried him down two flights of stairs and into the basement, I’ll never know. Adrenaline, maybe, or necessity? Could’ve been both. But I think it was something else.
We never saw Kreacher, the lucky little beast. I would’ve blasted a hole through him the size of a Quidditch pitch for letting Harry lie alone in that moldy mess of a bedroom.
****
I was afraid Harry wouldn’t recover this time. He seemed even worse than he’d been the other time. Hell, he looked worse than I’d ever seen him, and I’d seen him in some ruddy awful states.
I took him straight to Madame Pomfrey, who, naturally, blamed me for him being such a mess. Other than giving angry, impatient looks, I didn’t protest. She would’ve ratted to Professor McGonagall, who would’ve ratted to the others in the Order. Harry wanted to do this without them. He didn’t tell me that, but I knew it. He wanted to do it without me, too, but I wouldn’t let him.
It took days before he looked human again. And even then, he didn’t look like himself. Not the way that I remembered him. But that didn’t matter, because the day I came into the hospital wing and saw him sitting up in bed, reading Flying with the Cannons, was one of the happiest days I had during the war. He might not’ve been fully healed, but he was okay. I thought he was better than okay.
“Good thing you’re up, mate,” I said. “The team needs you. McLaggan’s been campaigning to make himself captain. Hasn’t gotten any votes, though.”
That made Harry laugh. It was small, a little quiet, but it was a laugh just the same.
“If anyone replaces me as captain, it’ll be you,” he said. “You’re my second.”
Sitting there on the edge of Harry’s bed, I blushed like a beet in the summertime. I was a decent Keeper, sure, but I wasn’t the best player on the team. I certainly wasn’t good enough to be captain. I guess Harry had more faith in me than I had in myself.
“Yeah?” I asked, grinning.
“Sure,” answered Harry, grinning back. “What, d’you think I’d pick McLaggan?”
“I’d hope not, but you’ve made stupider decisions.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, pretending to be insulted. “Like what?”
I waved my hand coolly. “Eh, forget it.” Now wasn’t the time to get into a row with him about sneaking off without me. I was still going to throttle him for it, of course, but I’d do it later. “Listen, Hermione and I are holding a prefects’ meeting. Her idea, not mine. But I’ve got to show or I’ll catch hell from her.”
As he leaned back into the pillow, Harry gave me an odd smile. “How is she?”
“She’s Hermione, what can I say? Still making it to all of her classes, still reading books that weigh more than she does. She’s even taking her Head Girl duties seriously.” I stood up and shook my head sadly. “Can you believe it?”
Harry didn’t wait long to ask his next question. “And Ginny?”
I shrugged. “Guess she’s alright. I don’t talk to her much these days.” I was still angry with her for letting Harry take off without me.
Harry shifted awkwardly on the bed. “Nothing to do with me, I hope?”
“Nah, mate, ‘course not,” I lied. “See you soon, okay?”
****
It was to my very great surprise that I found Harry in the Gryffindor common room next evening. Hermione and I had just finished our post-supper Head Boy and Girl duties, and I was exhausted. I’ll take Quidditch practise every day of the week over babysitting a group of first years, the cheeky little prats. Harry was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, holding his broomstick.
“Oh, Harry, I’m so happy to see you!” squealed Hermione. She rushed over and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him like a ruddy lemon.
“Give him some room, would you?” I grumbled as I walked up behind them. I was afraid she would suffocate him with all that hair.
“Don’t get in a flap about it, Ron,” said Harry. He gave me another one of those odd smiles. “I heard about Comer, Edmundson, Urich, and the Dung Bomb Squad.” Those were the cheeky first years who were now serving detention with Filch, compliments of me. “Not your finest moment, I’d say.”
“Hardly,” I said. I took a seat next to him on the sofa, stretching my legs out across the rug. “So who was the great git who told you?”
“Ginny.”
About that time, my little sister came bouncing down from the girls’ dormitory. Speak of the devil, as they say.
“Here you are, Harry.” She reached past me and handed him a silver tin. “My new tin of High-Finish handle polish.”
“You should’ve told me you needed some, Harry,” I muttered around Ginny’s arm. “I had some upstairs.”
“This is fine, Ron, thanks.” Harry took the tin from her, unscrewed the lid, and began shining his broomstick.
“Come on, Ron,” Hermione said, throwing her satchel over her shoulder. “We’ve got that essay for Flitwick due tomorrow.”
I gave Harry a pleading look, hoping he’d save me from Hermione. But he was too busy polishing his broomstick and babbling with Ginny. He didn’t seem to notice I was there.
Hermione chose one of the smaller tables next to the wall. Away from the noise and distractions, she claimed. Flitwick wanted three feet of parchment on why, contrary to practical beliefs, Confundus charms shouldn’t be used on boggarts. It sounded like a logical idea to me. I would seriously need Hermione’s help on this one.
Just as I took a seat and got out my parchment, Ginny started giggling. I glanced over, curious to see what was so funny. She was coating Harry’s broomstick with polish, sliding her hands up and down the length of the handle. Harry watched carefully. But that didn’t explain why she was giggling. I didn’t see anything funny about it.
I turned back to my homework, trying to pay attention to Hermione as she explained exactly why Confundus charms weren’t effective on boggarts. It had something to do with laughter destroying the boggart, not merely the fact that the boggart is confused. Or something like that. I only half-listened. Most of my attention was on Harry, not Hermione.
I heard another giggle. It was muffled this time, but it was definitely a giggle. When I looked over, I saw that Ginny had wedged Harry between herself and the arm of the sofa. She was sitting much too close to him, whispering something in his ear. She could’ve had a ruddy conversation with him without invading his personal space. Poor guy, I really should’ve saved him. But Hermione tapped me impatiently on the shoulder and started up again about the boggarts.
Three feet of parchment would take awhile, but if I wrote big enough and skipped spaces, I might make it. Flitwick wasn’t as strict as McGonagall. I think he was bit near-sighted, too. Just as I dipped my quill into the inkwell, Ginny giggled again. I cringed, but tried to ignore it. Girls were mad, really.
In the next hour, Ginny giggled exactly 17 times. I counted. I did my best to ignore her, but the giggles were getting louder and more frequent. She was causing a bloody ruckus, smack in the middle of the common room. I was surprised no one else had complained.
“Finished!” Hermione announced, setting her quill down. She’d already written three feet of parchment? Okay, I admit it, I was impressed. I had barely gotten one.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Hermione took my roll of parchment and began to read. “No, Ron, that’s not right,” she said with an irritated sigh. “I told you, boggarts are destroyed by laughter, not by confusion. They’re confused by the laughter.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms over my chest, and decided that I really didn’t give damn about boggarts. It was hard to concentrate when my little sister was practically snogging my best mate right in front of me.
I took a breath and tried to understand what Hermione had told me. “Okay, so if the boggart-”
Ginny started giggling again. I’d had enough. How was I supposed to do my homework with her cackling like a mad old hen? I threw down my quill and got ready to march over and tell her to cram it. But when I looked over, I saw something that bothered me more than the giggling. This time Harry was whispering in her ear. When he pulled away, she giggled louder than ever. I wanted to know what was so funny.
Hermione nudged me with her elbow. “Ron, are you paying attention? This is important.”
“Huh?” I asked, pulling my eyes away from Harry and forcing them back on Hermione. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was paying attention.”
Four hours and three feet of parchment later, my homework was finished. Ginny was still there, practically sitting in Harry’s lap and oiling his broomstick with an experience that surprised me. She hadn’t gotten her own broom until last year, when Mum and Dad bought her one for Christmas. Guess she had practise on the school brooms.
“Bed, Ginny, now,” I snapped, stomping over to her. I was Head Boy, damnit, and she was going to listen to me. Rules were rules, and she wasn’t going to get special treatment just because she was my sister.
“See you tomorrow, Harry,” she cooed. “The Quidditch pitch, six o’clock, right?”
Harry nodded. I glared at the back of Ginny’s head as she bounced up the stairs to the girls’ dorm.
“Need a hand with your broomstick?” I asked. I polished my quite often, so I thought I could give Harry some pointers. I liked mine slick and shiny, and I thought Harry would, too. What did Ginny know?
“Nah, I think I’ve got it, thanks,” said Harry. He slung the broom over his shoulder and headed upstairs.
****
Up in the dorm, Harry seemed unusually fidgety. He smiled nervously at me as he carefully wrapped his broom and set it in his truck. When I smiled back, he seemed almost startled. He darted his eyes away and wouldn’t look at me. He’d seemed fine in the common room. I wondered what had changed.
“You alright? You seem a bit off.”
“Er, no, I’m fine,” he stammered. “Just fine.” He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, and then spoke again. “Well, actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sure, mate,” I said. “What is it?” Maybe it had something to do with the Horcruxes. Maybe he was finally ready to tell me what it was like for him. I put on my most understanding, ready-to-listen face, letting him know that he could talk to me about anything. I was his best mate, after all.
Harry cleared his throat again. “I was thinking about asking Ginny out.”
****
Harry was afraid I would hit him. I felt like it, too, but not for the reason he believed.
I was in love with him. Only I didn’t know it for a long time. It wasn’t until this Eros rubbish came up. The more I heard Hermione talk about it, the more it made sense. It may be rubbish, but it’s real. It’s a feeling, like the heat of a fire. Invisible, but showing up as a warm glow on the skin. I saw that glow on Ginny’s skin whenever she looked at Harry. I recognised it instantly. It was the same glow I had whenever I looked at him.
It was simple enough at first, being that he was my best mate. Of course I liked him. I liked Dean, Seamus, and Neville. I even liked Hermione. But with Harry, there was something different, something more. Something I hadn’t felt for anyone. Until now.
But now it was too late. Harry fancied my sister, for whatever bizarre reason. And just where did that leave me? Not in a very happy place, I can tell you. More like being trampled by a herd of angry hippogriffs.
But by some stroke of the best luck I’d have in my entire life, I got what I wanted. And Harry did, too. Just wait, you’ll see.
Author: Lorien_Eve
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "The ones who love us never truly leave us."
Warnings: The biggest warning is character death. There is a small bit of implied het, but it's mostly just a misunderstanding between Harry and Ron.
Disclaimer: In my dreams, I own Harry and Ron. In reality, they're J.K. Rowling's. Also, I borrowed the title from the C.S. Lewis book by the same name.
Author's Notes: This was my therapy after reading Half-Blood Prince. Many thanks to Lena for her help, picks and all. ;)
Hermione was the one who noticed the connection. We were in the library, where I was sneaking the answers from her Potions homework. Long finished, she’d abandoned her parchment for a book on spirit and energy preservation. Harry was off, Merlin knew where, doing something for the greater good of Wizardkind. He could be annoying that way.
Hermione was bent forward, lost in her book, while I contorted my face into all manner of expressions, trying to make out the tiny words in her upside-down handwriting.
“That’s it!” she exclaimed. She slapped her palms down on the open book. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before!”
My face froze with my lip curled, my nose wrinkled, and my left eye half closed. I could almost hear my mum’s warnings about children who made faces and had their mugs frozen that way.
“Oh, honestly, Ron,” Hermione snapped, though she didn’t move her homework away.
“What?” I asked innocently, offering her my most forlorn expression.
I knew she didn’t fall for the puppy-dog eyes, but she waved off my dishonesty and dove excitedly into her latest theory.
“The four loves!” she said. “You don’t think it’s a coincidence that there are four Horcruxes left, do you? Those four are the hardest to destroy. Only a certain person would be able to find and destroy them. It’s all about love! Remember what Dumbledore said?”
It was one of those rare moments when something made perfect sense the first time I heard it. Very unlike Potions or Divination.
Hermione went on. “Harry is protected with his mother’s love.” She began counting on her fingers. “That’s Storge. But then there’s Philia, Eros, and Agape.”
“Huh?” I looked at her like she was speaking Latin. Then I realized, she was.
She ignored me and continued. “That’s the secret to finding and destroying the Horcruxes! They’ve got to be symbols of each kind of love!”
I had been following Hermione up until this point. Suddenly I felt like I’d been caught in a thunderstorm, spun around by a tornado, and quite fantastically blown off course. I think Hermione realised this, and she slowed down and allowed me to catch up.
“Listen,” she explained slowly, “Philia is brotherly, platonic love. Agape is godly love. And Eros is romantic love.”
My face went as scarlet as the Gryffindor common room. I hoped Hermione didn’t notice. Thinking about Harry and that Eros rubbish…well, I didn’t exactly think it was rubbish.
“C’mon,” said Hermione, gathering up her books and throwing them in her bag. “We’ve got to tell Harry!”
****
“Harry! Harry!” Hermione called as she rushed through the portrait hole. I was close on her heels, but she was surprisingly fast for someone who spent most of her time in the library.
“Upstairs,” said McLaggan, who was kind enough to offer me a dirty look as we passed.
Hermione bolted up the stairs to the dorm, and burst in without bothering to knock. I winced, hoping Harry wasn’t about to be caught in an awkward situation. I mean, we were 17-year-old boys after all, and there was something to be said about our right to privacy.
“Harry!” she said breathlessly. “I’ve got it! The secret to finding the Horcruxes!”
Harry was at the foot of the bed, crouching in front of his trunk, peering into something. He quickly stuffed it under his extra pair of robes, but not before I could catch a glimpse of it. It was the mirror Sirius had given him two years ago.
He spun around to look at Hermione, and then he looked over to me. I shrugged. Hermione was much better at explaining than I was. I couldn’t pronounce half the words, much less remember what they meant. Well, except that Eros rubbish.
“Go on, then,” Harry said, sitting down on the bed. “Let’s hear it.”
He sounded doubtful, and I couldn’t blame him. We’d spent countless hours searching for the Horcruxes, chasing down every lead we had, sneaking into what used to be Dumbledore’s office for clues, and even going so far as planning another midnight raid at the Ministry. But it all amounted to nothing. We came up short every time. I think Hermione and I would’ve given up if it hadn’t been for Harry. There was no way we would let him do it alone.
“It’s all about love!” she said. She was very proud of herself, I could tell. She was practically bouncing on her toes.
Harry’s shoulders fell. “That’s not news, Hermione. Dumbledore already told me that much.”
“No, listen!” she said, clearly undeterred by Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. “There are four different kinds of love. And four Horcruxes, right? That’s not a coincidence, Harry. Don’t you see?”
Harry seemed ready to start ranting again, but then an odd expression came over his face. His forehead creased as he worked out the probability of it all. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Then suddenly his eyes lit up, and he jumped from the bed.
“Hermione, you’re right! Why didn’t I see it before? It’s just like Dumbledore said - it’s all about love!” He grabbed Hermione by the waist and spun her around. Then he set her down and raced out of the dorm. I never asked where he was going, but I wondered why I didn’t get some sort of thank-you, too.
****
“Alright, there are four kinds of love,” said Harry, stuffing the Marauder’s Map back into the pocket of his robes. “I’ve got that, but…explain this to me again, would you?”
“Well, there’s Storge,” Hermione began, breaking into her best impression of Professor McGonagall. “That’s an instinctive kind of love, like parental love.”
We were hiding out in an unused classroom late one night. With the new batch of first years and the old regime of seventh years, the common room was too noisy for any proper top-secret, highly dangerous, and mostly illegal conversations. Hermione and I had authorized access to almost every room in the castle, and we’d begun using them more and more lately. There were definite benefits to being Head Boy besides just the prefect’s bathroom. Although I had made full use of that, too.
“So, one of the Horcruxes has something to do with my mum sacrificing herself for me,” Harry said slowly, drawing conclusions that he wasn’t keen to share with us. It was frightening how much he was beginning to sound like Hermione.
“Exactly,” said Hermione. “And where was that protection the strongest?”
“At home,” Harry said. I noticed a change in his voice when he said the word. I’d never heard him refer to the place where his parents were murdered as ‘home.’ I’d always hoped he thought of the Burrow as his home. “At Godric’s Hollow.”
“I don’t think it was a coincidence that it was named after one of the founders of the school,” said Hermione.
I took a seat in the back of the classroom, throwing my feet upon the desk and leaning the chair back on its hind legs in a way I never would’ve been able to get away with in class. Harry and Hermione seemed to have a fair enough grip on the discussion without my help. I was only there for moral support, and they both knew that.
“What’s the opposite of love?” asked Hermione. “Hate, of course. You-Know-Who would’ve wanted to nullify your mum’s sacrifice.” She took a deep breath. “I think he murdered your dad to make the Horcrux.”
Well, that was new and bloody disturbing information. Honestly, I’d never thought much about what’d happened to Harry’s dad. His mum’s death always seemed more important. That was what initiated the blood protection, after all. I studied Harry’s face, wondering if he’d ever thought about this.
“He must’ve left it behind before he attacked you,” Hermione said carefully. She was anxious, like I was, to see whether or not Harry would crack.
His eyes went dark and he started pacing. He was angry, I could tell, but it was different than before. It was a contained anger, one that he had control over. It was the unassuming kind that’s deceptive in power and ability. There was something dangerous, and a little frightening, about him. Good thing I was his best mate and not his mortal enemy.
“But there’s nothing there,” he said at last. “It’s all in ruins.”
“It may appear that way,” said Hermione, “but a curse that powerful has to leave something behind, some kind of magical residue. Like that scar on your forehead. You-Know-Who left something at Godric’s Hollow, Harry, I’m sure of it.”
Suddenly there was a thunderous crash overhead that almost caused me to topple backwards out of my chair. It sounded like a marching band of giants playing the cymbals. And off-key, at that. Hermione seemed equally startled, but Harry didn’t flinch. He just kept pacing, one determined foot in front of the other.
We heard a loud cackling, followed by two more crashes, then the irate voice of Filch. Peeves was in the trophy room again.
****
I would’ve never admitted it, but I was scared. We’d spent so much time chasing down the Horcruxes, but that’s all we’d been doing-chasing. Everything had led to a dead end. Until now. Now we were actually onto something, and it scared the shit out of me.
We’d been in danger more times than I cared to count, but we’d never faced anything like this. We’d researched Horcruxes, but we still didn’t know a lot about them. For once, Harry and I were on equal footing with Hermione. She may’ve come up with the theory, but beyond that, she wasn’t much help. I didn’t fully know what we were getting ourselves into, and the not-knowing was much worse than the knowing.
****
Harry disappeared after breakfast next morning. He wasn’t in any of our classes, but that wasn’t unusual these days. Professors turned a bit of a blind eye where he was concerned. The occasional skived class was far less important than the fate of the Wizarding World. Still, Harry wasn’t usually difficult to find. Most times he was concocting plans in the dorm, or practicing spells in the Room of Requirement.
Call it a sixth sense, but I could tell something was different this time. I knew he’d gone to Godric’s Hollow. And what was worse, he’d gone without Hermione and me.
****
I didn’t see Harry until late that night when he came stumbling into the dorm room. At first I thought he’d had an all-nighter at the Hogs Head and didn’t bother to invite me. He reeked so of smoke and filth, that I could smell him from where I sat anxiously on my four-poster. The other blokes were asleep, but I’d been too worried to even change into my pyjamas.
Harry almost collapsed before he reached his bed. I ran over and caught him before he hit the floor. He didn’t smell like firewhiskey, and his eyes were far too wide for someone who otherwise seemed to be royally pissed. I shouldered his weight and helped him to the bed.
“Merlin, Harry, what happened?”
He looked up at me with those wide, empty eyes. “It’s taken care of,” he said in a voice that was so low, I had to lean close to hear.
I knew then that he’d found the Horcrux, and had he not already been injured, I would’ve throttled him for going without me. I’d told him before that I wasn’t going to let him do this alone, but the great prat was as thick as he was brave.
There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask. Like how he found it, how he destroyed it, and how dare he go without me. But he was too weak to talk, and after catching a glimpse of his face in a speck of moonlight, I decided that I probably didn’t want to know the answers anyway. Instead, I helped him out of those filthy clothes and got him into bed.
His skin was pale, almost white, and he was shivering. The old dorm was drafty during the winter months, but it was getting on into May and even though the nights were cool, they weren’t as cold as all that. I wrapped the sheets and blanket around him, making sure he was covered from his thin shoulders to his bare feet. It was what my mum would’ve done for me, and I think it’s what Harry’s mum would’ve done for him if she’d still been around.
I got the covers from my bed, and once I’d settled down next to him, I threw them over the both of us. I wanted to be close by, in case he needed anything. I put my arm around him, just to let him know that I was there. I didn’t want him to think he was alone. He was still cold, but at least he’d stopped shivering. I don’t think he slept at all that night, but he never complained about me being in his bed.
****
I’d never seen Harry so passionate about anything, not even Quidditch. He was out of bed by next afternoon, and even though he was still pale and his eyes still had that strange look to them, he was able to walk under his own strength. He was still weak, though, despite his efforts to conceal it from Hermione and me.
When she suggested that he get a bit more rest, he ignored her. He wanted to hear more of her theory about the four loves and how they related to the Horcruxes. So once again, we found ourselves hiding out in an unused classroom late one night.
“Philia. It’s friendship,” Hermione told us. “You know, brotherly love.”
Both of them looked immediately in my direction. I was the only one of us who had brothers, but…
“Bollocks!” I said. “My family doesn’t own any Dark objects! We haven’t got any ties to You-Know-Who!” Although, Percy had been acting like an even bigger prat lately.
“Be serious, Ron. Why would You-Know-Who concern himself with the Weasleys?” I couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or flattered. She went on, “Think about it. What kind of love is Philia?”
“Brotherly love,” I huffed, still bothered by her ruddy comment. “You just told us.”
Hermione signed loudly. Evidently she knew something that Harry and I just weren’t understanding. “Regulus and Sirius-they were brothers!”
The room went deathly quiet. Harry never talked about Sirius, and I was smart enough not to push the subject. I knew he would talk when he was ready, and he knew I’d be there to listen when the time came.
“We know that,” Harry snapped. “But they’re both dead now, so what good does that do me?”
“The initials R.A.B were scribbled on that note in the locket. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s a good hunch that R.A.B. was Regulus.”
Harry always wore that locket. I think he used it as a reminder of what he had to do. We’d gotten so used to seeing him with it that we sometimes forgot how important it really was. Dumbledore’s death had to mean something, after all.
“There was locket at Grimmauld Place,” Harry said, with an intensity that made me nervous. “One that nobody could open.”
I shivered at the thought of having been so close to a possible Horcrux. I remembered that locket. I’d even picked it up, just once, to see if I could open it. “You think that locket is a Horcrux?” I asked.
“Possibly,” said Hermione. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“But Regulus was a Death Eater,” I argued.
“Precisely,” said Hermione. “He was. Sirius claimed Regulus left the Death Eaters because he got scared. But there may’ve been more to it.”
“I dunno…” I said. I had my doubts about Regulus. Sirius was an alright bloke, but he was the only one in the family who wasn’t completely nutters. Mrs. Black’s portrait was proof of that.
“Then how do you explain the lockets?” Hermione insisted. “A fake one that just happens to contain Regulus’s initials, then another one at the Black house that, oddly, no one could open?”
She could be such a bother with her nearly perfect theories. Still, it seemed like an awfully bold idea. Grimmauld Place was full of Dark objects, sure, but…a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul? That sounded dodgy, even for the Blacks.
Harry seemed to buy it, though. His face took on a look like he’d just grasped the theory of Arithmancy and how it relates to the gravitational pull of the Earth. Or something along those lines.
“That locket belongs to me now,” he said. He sounded almost angry about it. “I own Grimmauld Place.”
****
I knew Grimmauld Place was the last place Harry wanted to go. He hated that house almost as much as Sirius had. I think Sirius’s hatred of it only increased Harry’s bitterness at having become owner of it. But he’d come too far now. He was so close to finding the second Horcrux, I knew disgusted or not, he’d go to Grimmauld Place and search for that locket until he found it.
I wasn’t going to let him go by himself this time. He’d snuck out on me once before, but I was onto him now. Hermione and I had said we weren’t going to let him do this alone, and we meant it.
But Harry was more resourceful than even I gave him credit for. He hadn’t used the Marauder’s Map and invisibility cloak for years without learning something about stealth and sneaking.
****
“I thought that was a really great lesson, didn’t you?” Hermione asked one afternoon as we left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “I’ll be sure to give Harry a copy of my notes.”
Harry had skived class again. He was down at Hagrid’s for the afternoon. Hagrid was the new Head of Gryffindor House, and although he had good intentions, he wasn’t the brightest chap. I think Harry felt somewhat responsible for Hagrid getting landed with the position, so he tried to help out when he could. Giving advice on school decisions, writing out detention slips, stuff like that. No one had to know that Hagrid wasn’t doing it on his own.
I wasn’t worried about Harry as long as he was at Hagrid’s. If he was on the grounds, he couldn’t Disapparate. Hermione reminded me of this several times, though after seven years, I remembered it without her help. Old habits die hard, I guess.
“D’you think Hagrid lets Harry set detention?” I wondered dreamily. “What about mopping up after Witherwings? Or chopping down a tree full of bowtruckles? Or feeding the flobberworms?” I began making a mental list. It would be brilliant, especially for the Slytherins.
Hermione let out an exaggerated sigh. “Harry’s doing this to help Hagrid, not to torture the other students. He would never do that.”
I laughed to myself. She didn’t know Harry nearly as well as I did.
“Herbology’s next. Think Harry’ll show?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s awfully busy these days. It’s a wonder he has time to study at all.” That showed just how much things had changed during seventh year. Hermione wasn’t complaining about Harry missing class.
“Maybe Hagrid’ll let him off early, yeah? Due to a shortage of skrewts, or something. Harry still owes me a game of Gobstones. Flitwick binned our last set, but I bought a new set at the last Hogsmeade’s weekend.”
I didn’t mind about Harry skiving class. I would’ve done, too, if I could’ve gotten away with it. But things weren’t nearly as fun without him. Sometimes I was forced to pay attention or take notes, and there were even nights when I did homework with Hermione. My Transfiguration marks had certainly improved, and to everyone’s surprise, so had my Potions marks. I owed most of it to Hermione, she was a great help. But she wasn’t Harry.
“Some things are more important than Gobstones,” she said, sounding suddenly angry. “Or Exploding Snap, or whatever else you two do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, my voice rising unintentionally. “Harry’s my best mate! What’s wrong with wanting to hang out?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she said, rounding on me, her satchel swinging furiously on her shoulder. “You’re only interested in me when Harry’s not around!”
My mouth opened and closed several times, and I was sure I looked like a fish out of water. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t even know what she meant by that. I liked Hermione, I really did. But Harry was my best mate. So what?
She gave up waiting for my answer, and stormed off to the greenhouses, leaving me staring dumbly after her. Dunno what I’d said to make her so angry. Girls were mad that way, going spare for no good reason at all.
I reached into my robes for the new set of Gobstones. They were a nice set, cost me more than I should’ve spent. But Flitwick took my old set, and Harry and I needed a new one, right?
****
If Harry had used something as obvious as the Marauder’s Map and invisibility cloak, I would’ve seen right through it. Quite literally. But he used Floo powder. He flooed to Grimmauld Place from the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Right under my freckled nose. There was more to the story than I knew at the time. Ginny helped piece it together for me later. I should’ve known better, but as they say, hindsight is 20/20.
I’d had prefect duties that night, which was no different from any other night. On my way back to Gryffindor Tower, I caught Ginny with Michael Corner. Right outside the portrait hole, out in the open for everyone to see. After a heated shouting match that I was sure would wake half the castle, I sent her into the common room, along with the threat of detention and an owl to Mum.
I made sure she’d got into the girls’ dorms before I went upstairs to my own dorm. I didn’t know what Mum was going to do with her. As her older brother and the only other remaining Weasley at school, I took her reputation personally. If Lavender Brown wanted to parade herself around like a scarlet woman, that was her business. But my little sister certainly was not.
I decided to ask Harry’s advice. To tell Mum or not to tell Mum? That was my question.
But when I reached Harry’s bed and pulled back the curtains, it was empty.
I became frantic, searching blindly, flattening out the covers with my hands, hoping against hope that he was lost somewhere in the sheets. I’d tried to be so careful this time, watching out for him, noticing any odd behavior, only leaving his side when I had to. But somehow, some way, he’d left again. He’d gone and left me behind.
I must’ve woken Seamus with the ruckus. “What the bloody hell is going on?” he grumbled, poking his head through the curtains on his bed.
“I-I was looking for Harry,” I tried to explain. “But he’s not here.”
“’Course he’s not,” said Seamus. “He flooed out.”
I was in a bloody panic. The words came tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. “Flooed out? What are you talking about? I never saw him leave!”
“’Course you didn’t. You were having that row with your sister.”
Oh.
I grabbed Harry’s pillow and hurled it across the dorm. It landed in the shadows underneath Hedwig’s empty cage. If I’d only been a few seconds quicker, I would’ve caught him before he left. I could’ve gone with him. But no, I was too busy being a prefect and arguing with Ginny about her love life. I was such a bloody idiot.
I had to do something. I couldn’t very well sit around here, wringing my hands and waiting on Harry to get back. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got into trouble and needed help?
He wouldn’t be hard to find. I knew where he’d gone.
I grabbed my wand and headed back downstairs to the fireplace.
****
The kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was as dark and dank as a cave. Carefully, I stepped out of the fireplace and lit the tip of my wand. The orange glow spread over the room, highlighting the grimy rough-hewn walls, the overturned and broken chairs, and the landmines of spoons, knives, and forks that were strewn across the floor. Brass pots and pans loomed overhead like angry spirits. I felt like an intruder that they wanted to dispose of.
I weaved quickly through the scattered utensils on my way to the door, stopping only once when I almost lost my balance and had to grab one of the chair legs for support. I didn’t know what was lurking in the house, but whatever it was, I didn’t want to wake it until I was ready.
The ground floor of the house was deathly quiet, which only fueled my uneasiness. It just didn’t feel like home without Mrs. Black’s portrait screaming about blood traitors. I didn’t want to wake her, so I tip-toed past and crept upstairs.
Dust was at least an inch thick on the banister, and the smell of mold in the air was as thick as the fog around Stoatshead Hill. Mum had made us clean the place from top to bottom two years ago, something that Fred, George, and I complained to the hills about. And now it looked like all of our hard work was for nothing. I don’t know what I expected, seeing as how no one but Kreacher lived here. Obviously, even magic had its limits.
“Harry?” I called, once I reached the landing. But the only answer was my own echo.
Thick, tangled cobwebs hung overhead, draped from one side of the corridor to the other. I cringed and rushed past them, even though they looked wrecked and abandoned. No sense in taking any chances.
I checked each room, but didn’t find anything. Or anyone. It wasn’t until I reached the end of the corridor that I heard the first sound made by someone other than myself. It was a wail, but not like any wail I’d ever heard. It wasn’t human.
I turned immediately and sprinted back to the staircase, where I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the second floor. The sound had come from overhead, but it wasn’t too distant.
I found Harry, at last, in the fourth room on the second floor. In Sirius’s room. Lying on Sirius’s bed, face up, legs hanging over the side, feet dangling a good six inches from the floor. Underneath his feet was the locket, open, still smoking.
I stopped dead in the doorway, too scared to move. He was too still, too pale. I stared at him, feeling terror building in my stomach until I thought it might come up through my mouth. But as I watched him, I saw the shallow, up-and-down movement of his chest. I started breathing again.
“Harry…”
I was by his side before his name cleared my lips. His eyes were wide and empty, like they’d been the first time. Maybe worse, it was hard to tell. He stared up at me, though I don’t know if he actually saw me. On each side of his face were deep shadows where the skin on his cheeks had sunken in. He had told me about the Inferi in the cave that night with Dumbledore, and this is how I imagined they looked.
I started to pull the blankets away from the bed so that I could use them to cover him. Dust mites flew into the air, and dead flies dropped to the floor like black marbles. Disgusted, I quickly let go of the sheets.
I scanned the room for a clean blanket, sheet, anything. Against one wall was a chest of drawers, grey and furry with dust. I took a step towards it, hoping there might be something in there I could use. But when I moved away, the fingers on Harry’s left hand began to twitch. I didn’t know what else to do, so I reached out and closed my hand over his. He didn’t speak, but the emptiness in his eyes lifted. He knew I was there. He knew I’d take care of him.
I may not have been a natural on a broom like Charlie, or cool in that rock-star sort of way like Bill, but when it came to taking care of Harry, no one was more ambitious than me. Sometimes it scared me how much like Percy I was.
Harry’s fingers were as cold as the ice on the lake during winter. I looked down at them, limp under my own hand. The tips were frosty blue. I still couldn’t find a blanket.
“We’ve got to get back,” I told him. “Back to Hogwarts, okay? You can’t stay here.”
I put my arms around his back and tried to lift him. But he was almost dead weight, and it took quite an effort to get him to sit up. His head nodded loosely on his shoulders, swinging like a pendulum. When I got him to stand, his legs gave way and he fell, full-force, into me. I staggered back, but somehow managed not to lose my balance or my grip. I couldn’t let Harry go. I was afraid I’d never get him back.
We flooed back to Hogwarts through the fireplace in the kitchen. How I carried him down two flights of stairs and into the basement, I’ll never know. Adrenaline, maybe, or necessity? Could’ve been both. But I think it was something else.
We never saw Kreacher, the lucky little beast. I would’ve blasted a hole through him the size of a Quidditch pitch for letting Harry lie alone in that moldy mess of a bedroom.
****
I was afraid Harry wouldn’t recover this time. He seemed even worse than he’d been the other time. Hell, he looked worse than I’d ever seen him, and I’d seen him in some ruddy awful states.
I took him straight to Madame Pomfrey, who, naturally, blamed me for him being such a mess. Other than giving angry, impatient looks, I didn’t protest. She would’ve ratted to Professor McGonagall, who would’ve ratted to the others in the Order. Harry wanted to do this without them. He didn’t tell me that, but I knew it. He wanted to do it without me, too, but I wouldn’t let him.
It took days before he looked human again. And even then, he didn’t look like himself. Not the way that I remembered him. But that didn’t matter, because the day I came into the hospital wing and saw him sitting up in bed, reading Flying with the Cannons, was one of the happiest days I had during the war. He might not’ve been fully healed, but he was okay. I thought he was better than okay.
“Good thing you’re up, mate,” I said. “The team needs you. McLaggan’s been campaigning to make himself captain. Hasn’t gotten any votes, though.”
That made Harry laugh. It was small, a little quiet, but it was a laugh just the same.
“If anyone replaces me as captain, it’ll be you,” he said. “You’re my second.”
Sitting there on the edge of Harry’s bed, I blushed like a beet in the summertime. I was a decent Keeper, sure, but I wasn’t the best player on the team. I certainly wasn’t good enough to be captain. I guess Harry had more faith in me than I had in myself.
“Yeah?” I asked, grinning.
“Sure,” answered Harry, grinning back. “What, d’you think I’d pick McLaggan?”
“I’d hope not, but you’ve made stupider decisions.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, pretending to be insulted. “Like what?”
I waved my hand coolly. “Eh, forget it.” Now wasn’t the time to get into a row with him about sneaking off without me. I was still going to throttle him for it, of course, but I’d do it later. “Listen, Hermione and I are holding a prefects’ meeting. Her idea, not mine. But I’ve got to show or I’ll catch hell from her.”
As he leaned back into the pillow, Harry gave me an odd smile. “How is she?”
“She’s Hermione, what can I say? Still making it to all of her classes, still reading books that weigh more than she does. She’s even taking her Head Girl duties seriously.” I stood up and shook my head sadly. “Can you believe it?”
Harry didn’t wait long to ask his next question. “And Ginny?”
I shrugged. “Guess she’s alright. I don’t talk to her much these days.” I was still angry with her for letting Harry take off without me.
Harry shifted awkwardly on the bed. “Nothing to do with me, I hope?”
“Nah, mate, ‘course not,” I lied. “See you soon, okay?”
****
It was to my very great surprise that I found Harry in the Gryffindor common room next evening. Hermione and I had just finished our post-supper Head Boy and Girl duties, and I was exhausted. I’ll take Quidditch practise every day of the week over babysitting a group of first years, the cheeky little prats. Harry was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, holding his broomstick.
“Oh, Harry, I’m so happy to see you!” squealed Hermione. She rushed over and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him like a ruddy lemon.
“Give him some room, would you?” I grumbled as I walked up behind them. I was afraid she would suffocate him with all that hair.
“Don’t get in a flap about it, Ron,” said Harry. He gave me another one of those odd smiles. “I heard about Comer, Edmundson, Urich, and the Dung Bomb Squad.” Those were the cheeky first years who were now serving detention with Filch, compliments of me. “Not your finest moment, I’d say.”
“Hardly,” I said. I took a seat next to him on the sofa, stretching my legs out across the rug. “So who was the great git who told you?”
“Ginny.”
About that time, my little sister came bouncing down from the girls’ dormitory. Speak of the devil, as they say.
“Here you are, Harry.” She reached past me and handed him a silver tin. “My new tin of High-Finish handle polish.”
“You should’ve told me you needed some, Harry,” I muttered around Ginny’s arm. “I had some upstairs.”
“This is fine, Ron, thanks.” Harry took the tin from her, unscrewed the lid, and began shining his broomstick.
“Come on, Ron,” Hermione said, throwing her satchel over her shoulder. “We’ve got that essay for Flitwick due tomorrow.”
I gave Harry a pleading look, hoping he’d save me from Hermione. But he was too busy polishing his broomstick and babbling with Ginny. He didn’t seem to notice I was there.
Hermione chose one of the smaller tables next to the wall. Away from the noise and distractions, she claimed. Flitwick wanted three feet of parchment on why, contrary to practical beliefs, Confundus charms shouldn’t be used on boggarts. It sounded like a logical idea to me. I would seriously need Hermione’s help on this one.
Just as I took a seat and got out my parchment, Ginny started giggling. I glanced over, curious to see what was so funny. She was coating Harry’s broomstick with polish, sliding her hands up and down the length of the handle. Harry watched carefully. But that didn’t explain why she was giggling. I didn’t see anything funny about it.
I turned back to my homework, trying to pay attention to Hermione as she explained exactly why Confundus charms weren’t effective on boggarts. It had something to do with laughter destroying the boggart, not merely the fact that the boggart is confused. Or something like that. I only half-listened. Most of my attention was on Harry, not Hermione.
I heard another giggle. It was muffled this time, but it was definitely a giggle. When I looked over, I saw that Ginny had wedged Harry between herself and the arm of the sofa. She was sitting much too close to him, whispering something in his ear. She could’ve had a ruddy conversation with him without invading his personal space. Poor guy, I really should’ve saved him. But Hermione tapped me impatiently on the shoulder and started up again about the boggarts.
Three feet of parchment would take awhile, but if I wrote big enough and skipped spaces, I might make it. Flitwick wasn’t as strict as McGonagall. I think he was bit near-sighted, too. Just as I dipped my quill into the inkwell, Ginny giggled again. I cringed, but tried to ignore it. Girls were mad, really.
In the next hour, Ginny giggled exactly 17 times. I counted. I did my best to ignore her, but the giggles were getting louder and more frequent. She was causing a bloody ruckus, smack in the middle of the common room. I was surprised no one else had complained.
“Finished!” Hermione announced, setting her quill down. She’d already written three feet of parchment? Okay, I admit it, I was impressed. I had barely gotten one.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Hermione took my roll of parchment and began to read. “No, Ron, that’s not right,” she said with an irritated sigh. “I told you, boggarts are destroyed by laughter, not by confusion. They’re confused by the laughter.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms over my chest, and decided that I really didn’t give damn about boggarts. It was hard to concentrate when my little sister was practically snogging my best mate right in front of me.
I took a breath and tried to understand what Hermione had told me. “Okay, so if the boggart-”
Ginny started giggling again. I’d had enough. How was I supposed to do my homework with her cackling like a mad old hen? I threw down my quill and got ready to march over and tell her to cram it. But when I looked over, I saw something that bothered me more than the giggling. This time Harry was whispering in her ear. When he pulled away, she giggled louder than ever. I wanted to know what was so funny.
Hermione nudged me with her elbow. “Ron, are you paying attention? This is important.”
“Huh?” I asked, pulling my eyes away from Harry and forcing them back on Hermione. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was paying attention.”
Four hours and three feet of parchment later, my homework was finished. Ginny was still there, practically sitting in Harry’s lap and oiling his broomstick with an experience that surprised me. She hadn’t gotten her own broom until last year, when Mum and Dad bought her one for Christmas. Guess she had practise on the school brooms.
“Bed, Ginny, now,” I snapped, stomping over to her. I was Head Boy, damnit, and she was going to listen to me. Rules were rules, and she wasn’t going to get special treatment just because she was my sister.
“See you tomorrow, Harry,” she cooed. “The Quidditch pitch, six o’clock, right?”
Harry nodded. I glared at the back of Ginny’s head as she bounced up the stairs to the girls’ dorm.
“Need a hand with your broomstick?” I asked. I polished my quite often, so I thought I could give Harry some pointers. I liked mine slick and shiny, and I thought Harry would, too. What did Ginny know?
“Nah, I think I’ve got it, thanks,” said Harry. He slung the broom over his shoulder and headed upstairs.
****
Up in the dorm, Harry seemed unusually fidgety. He smiled nervously at me as he carefully wrapped his broom and set it in his truck. When I smiled back, he seemed almost startled. He darted his eyes away and wouldn’t look at me. He’d seemed fine in the common room. I wondered what had changed.
“You alright? You seem a bit off.”
“Er, no, I’m fine,” he stammered. “Just fine.” He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, and then spoke again. “Well, actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sure, mate,” I said. “What is it?” Maybe it had something to do with the Horcruxes. Maybe he was finally ready to tell me what it was like for him. I put on my most understanding, ready-to-listen face, letting him know that he could talk to me about anything. I was his best mate, after all.
Harry cleared his throat again. “I was thinking about asking Ginny out.”
****
Harry was afraid I would hit him. I felt like it, too, but not for the reason he believed.
I was in love with him. Only I didn’t know it for a long time. It wasn’t until this Eros rubbish came up. The more I heard Hermione talk about it, the more it made sense. It may be rubbish, but it’s real. It’s a feeling, like the heat of a fire. Invisible, but showing up as a warm glow on the skin. I saw that glow on Ginny’s skin whenever she looked at Harry. I recognised it instantly. It was the same glow I had whenever I looked at him.
It was simple enough at first, being that he was my best mate. Of course I liked him. I liked Dean, Seamus, and Neville. I even liked Hermione. But with Harry, there was something different, something more. Something I hadn’t felt for anyone. Until now.
But now it was too late. Harry fancied my sister, for whatever bizarre reason. And just where did that leave me? Not in a very happy place, I can tell you. More like being trampled by a herd of angry hippogriffs.
But by some stroke of the best luck I’d have in my entire life, I got what I wanted. And Harry did, too. Just wait, you’ll see.