Tipping Point NC-17 by innibis - Part Two
Title: Tipping Point
Author: innibis
Team: Winter
Prompts: Patronus and Gringotts
Pairing/Genre: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: around 11,500
Warnings: Character Death
A/N: Usial disclaimer: I am not JKR and would never pretend to be. Many thanks to libgirl who was, as always, an enormous help.
read Part One first
Tipping Point - continued
"Fleur," Ron said, head shooting up. He and Harry had been sitting at the kitchen table for hours, pouring over Hermione’s notes on the sword. It had been difficult at first, every carefully considered word and detail in Hermione’s deliberate handwriting reminding Ron that she was gone. Somewhere along the way, however, he found comfort in the task, Hermione’s cool logic and encyclopedic knowledge helping him and Harry try to find a solution, try to save their world. Harry looked up and quirked an eyebrow in question.
"She was a curse breaker for Gringotts, that’s how she met Bill," Ron explained. "It wasn’t very long. She had just made it through her training and started actually working when all hell broke loose at their wedding and everyone basically went into hiding. Then she got pregnant so she decided to hold off going back until the baby was born, and then-" Ron stopped. And then, one month before the birth of their daughter, Bill had been taken, but Harry already knew that.
"I don’t think it’s a curse on Gryffindor’s sword," Harry said slowly, "but she has to be better at this than we are." Ron stood up and began gathering the parchment that was spread over the table. "Are you alright?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Yeah," Ron said. "Feels good to have a plan, or at least to have a plan to make a plan. I don’t mind a fight, but it’s nice to be off the front lines for a change."
"I dunno," Harry said. "I kind of miss the action."
"Yes, but you are an adrenaline junkie and not to be trusted on things like self-preservation," Ron stated. "We nearly got blown up last night, how much more excitement do you want?"
"Well that was an accident, it’s not like we were planning to be in danger," Harry replied.
Ron shook his head. "You’re a bit of a head case, mate."
They trooped into the living room, Harry shouting over his shoulder to Kreacher that they would be back in a couple hours, and Ron grasped a fistful of Floo powder and thrust his head into the fireplace as he shouted "The Hive!" When the whirling stopped he bellowed into the cheery kitchen "Oi! Fleur!"
"Ronald Weasley!" Molly Weasley’s piercing whisper cut the air, "Will you kindly lower your voice? The children are asleep!"
"Sorry Mum," Ron said softy, sheepishly. "Can Harry and I come through and talk to Fleur?"
"Of course, dear, you know you are always welcome."
Ron went through the Floo, followed closely by Harry, whom Ron automatically reached out to steady when he stumbled out of the fireplace. Muggle-raised wizards never quite got the hang of flooing gracefully. They were enveloped in Molly Weasley’s arms half a second later. "It’s been too long," she murmured warmly.
"Hi Mrs. Weasey," Harry smiled.
Ron looked around the kitchen, catching sight of George as he stole out of the room. "Mum, should I-" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the doorway.
"No, dear. He is not having a good day," she replied, looking pensively after her shattered son. George had never truly recovered after Fred was killed, but he had been determinedly distracted. He had thrown himself into work at the Wheezes with a frightening intensity, volunteered at the orphanage that Harry had started and become an overly attentive brother. Then the second war happened, friends and brothers were killed, the shop closed, and, on a gloomy winter afternoon, the Ministry fell. Arthur Weasley fell with it. George hadn’t spoken since.
Ron sighed, "I’ll come by more often. He never sees any of us anymore."
"I think he’d like that," Molly said softly, reaching up to pat her tallest remaining son’s cheek. "Andromeda is asleep, I think; Teddy is an absolute terror these days." Harry looked rather proud. "I believe Fleur is just sitting up listening to the wireless. I’ll go get her."
Ron wandered over and started rifling through the cupboards looking for food as Harry pulled a bag of gold out from his pocket and threw it on the table. He had been adamant to the point of mulish about supporting the Weasleys with the money in the Black vault, and Molly and Ron and the rest had been in no position to argue. There was simply no gold left. Aside from the great number of lives lost when the goblins had attacked The Ministry, the government’s coffers had also been emptied and the Department of Printing and Engraving, the department that created the currency, had been destroyed. The Wizarding World had been forced into a quasi-barter system, with a very limited number of galleons in circulation.
Ron looked up from his cabinet as his sister-in-law entered the room. She was as beautiful as ever and he still felt the pull of her veela blood, but it was tempered by the fact that he could not see her without thinking of Bill. He watched as Harry walked over and hugged her gently, whispering a greeting, as if to show that he was not loud and obnoxious and likely to wake sleeping children.
Fleur kissed Harry on the cheek and then turned to Ron. He mustered up a cheeky grin and swept Fleur into an enthusiastic embrace, complete with noisy kiss. It always made her laugh, and Fleur laughing was a beautiful thing. "We’ve got a job for you," he proclaimed and set her on her feet.
* * *
They had left Fleur with a glass of wine and a pile of books and notes. "Where ees the sword?" she asked.
Harry looked at Ron, "I think it’s at Hogwarts, maybe with Neville?" he ventured.
Fleur looked at them severely over the top of her reading glasses. "How do I break a curse on somtheeng I do not ‘ave?" she demanded.
"We’ll get it tomorrow," Ron said, resisting the urge to smack himself and then Harry on the forehead. Fleur nodded. They had wished her good night, the her only reply being a vague hand wave in their general direction.
"Beer?" Harry asked when they got home. "Just one to unwind?"
"Yeah, sounds good," Ron said. Before Harry could move, Kreacher appeared with two bottles. "You’re good," Ron told the elf, who merely handed the beers to Harry before disappearing again.
Ron took his beer from Harry and the friends sank back onto the couch. There was no Quidditch to listen to these days, no entertaining, underground radio show since Lee had been killed, only news of war and death and poverty. Harry had thrown the wireless away over a year ago.
"We haven’t been to Hogwarts since the Death Eater attack six months ago," Harry said.
"It’ll be nice to go there just for a visit and not for a fight," Ron said. "Even if it is fight related." Hogwarts was still one of the single safest places in the wizarding world, so classes continued even in these troubled times. When the foolish, and fortunately largely ineffective, Death Eaters had attacked the school in a misguided attempt to right old wrongs, at least in their view, the response from what was left of the Ministry had been immediate and ferocious. Ron had been captured for a short time and subjected to Crucio by various old friends, including Draco and Lucius Malfoy, who appeared to be incapable of learning their lesson. Harry had burst in only a few hours later, wild eyed and literally glowing with rage and power. He had disarmed and bound five Death Eaters before they had registered his presence and then proceeded to untie Ron. Harry was shaking nearly as much as Ron was as he loosed his friend, taking an extra minute to smooth Ron’s shaggy red hair with his fingers before gently pulling Ron to his feet and restoring his wand. Later, Harry had sworn that he had found him by following Ron’s Patronus, the one he had since Hermioine had died, her otter. Ron hadn’t cast a Patronus and his wand had been in Malfoy’s back pocket for hours.
"Neville will be glad to see us," Harry said. "We’re terrible about visiting people."
They finished their drinks in companionable silence. Ron thought about asking for a game of chess, but decided that it was too late and he was too tired. "I’m for bed," he said, standing and stretching, watching Harry’s eyes following the line of his body as he arched. Ron held out his hand, "You coming?"
Harry looked up, green eyes drowsy, "I’ll be up in a minute," he said. Ron shrugged, not happy about climbing the stairs to bed alone, but not wanting to express such an odd feeling. As he turned away, Harry said, "Today was good." Ron looked at him quizzically. Harry shrugged and smiled slightly. "I dunno, I just. . . had a good day. I haven’t had a good day in a long time."
Ron gave into the overwhelming urge that rose up inside him, buoyed on a wave of fierce, unexplainable, unalterable love and dependence, and pressed a firm kiss to Harry’s forehead before he climbed the stairs to bed.
* * *
The day they destroyed Ministry of Magic was the day that the humans realized the true danger of the situation. They were, after all human, and therefore must be more clever, more powerful, more threatening than any sub-creature, like a goblin. But goblins are patient.
They bided their time, observed their target, understood the underlying foolish ego and attacked. The goblins suffered some losses, but the gain far outweighed the purchase price. When the Ministry fell, it brought down with it the wizards' symbol of power, their financial system, and their confidence, leaving them grasping and gasping and suddenly very afraid.
* * *
"The problem is, Mr. Weasley, that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor," Minerva McGonagall said, sitting at her desk. They had arrived in time to have breakfast with Neville before he had to teach classes. It had been good to see their old friend. Despite his initial misgivings about not actively participating in the war effort, Neville was exactly where he should be. Kingsley had made it a point to express to Neville that he slept better at night knowing that the teachers at Hogwarts were ready and able to defend their students, and Neville had taken that charge seriously. He still held Dumbledore’s Army meetings once a week in the Room of Requirement.
"It’s right here though," Ron said, looking pointedly at the sword that was gleaming in its usual place of honor in the Head of Hogwart’s office. "Sitting there, waiting to be taken. Just don’t let anybody do anything brave before Fleur figures out how to break the charm."
Harry frowned, "Professor, I know that this sword is important to the school, but surely-"
McGonagall directed an icy stare in Harry’s direction. "Do you really think I would refuse you an object, no matter how important, when the entire world is suffering?"
"No, ma’am," Harry replied, looking down. Ron felt his ears blush in sympathy but was very glad that he had not been the one to receive McGonagall’s reprimand.
"As I was saying," she continued, disapproving eyes still turned towards Harry. "It doesn’t work like that. The sword has to remain here. Mrs. Delacour-Weasley will have to come here."
"I don’t understand," Ron said, and flinched when Minerva turned her eyes on him. "Professor, I’ve seen the sword out of the castle. I’ve even seen it far away from the grounds."
"Minerva, if I may," Dumbledore’s painting interrupted.
"Certainly, Albus," Minerva inclined her head towards the painting.
"Ron, the Sword of Gryffindor is tied to the castle, as this was Godric Gryffindor’s home for a century and his final resting place. You and Harry have both witnessed both circumstances in which the sword can leave the school. The most obvious is through the Sorting hat. Mr. Longbottom proved himself to be a true Gryffindor through his acts of courage and was able to pull the sword out of the hat. You must remember that the Sorting hat is sensitive to any person it is in physical contact with. It measures their emotions and personality and abilities, but it also reads intent. It is the combination of intent and need that may cause Gryffindor’s sword to go to a person, for true courage is an act of will. Without the Sorting hat, it is a rare person who acquires the sword, although Mr. Weasley managed it," Dumbledore smiled proudly down at Ron from his place on the wall. "Only a person who has proven himself can pull Gryffindor’s sword out of the Sorting Hat and only the last person to pull the sword out of the hat can take it from the castle’s grounds."
The Headmistress cleared her throat, causing the painting to stop talking and raise an eyebrow at her, "For your purposes, gentlemen, to take the sword from the school, you are going to either have to take the Sorting Hat and perform a courageous act in a desperate situation to make it appear, or Professor Longbottom is going to have to carry it for you. When I said that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor, I meant that you physically won’t be able to carry it out."
Harry nodded slowly, "Then Fleur will come here, with your permission, ma’am," he said and McGonagall nodded. "If she needs to have it moved, Neville can help."
"Whatever Hogwarts can do, Mr. Potter. We are at your disposal, although it does occur to me that Neville would be able to deliver this sword to the goblins for you." McGonagall said.
Ron looked over at Harry, who met his eyes with a small nod, "Professor, no one doubts Neville’s courage, but whoever is going to go into Gringotts with that sword might not be coming back out. Neville’s not an Auror or involved in the fighting in any way. He hasn’t been trained in goblin combat. If there is no other way, then we’ll consider it, but that can’t be the plan."
"Well then call Mrs. Delacour-Weasley and we’ll begin." Minerva McGonagall said.
* * *
"I have no idea how they did it," Ron said impatiently from his place on the Minister of Magic’s couch, "But the Headmistress and Fleur and Dumbledore’s painting says that the charm is broken, so it must be."
"I agree, those are impeccable sources, Ron," Kingsley said. "I don’t doubt them, I’m just curious as to how she did it. I’ll ask Fleur next time I visit the family."
"Almost broken," Harry corrected. "The sword needs to jump once more to break it entirely. One more act of courage to sort of overload the weakened spell."
"And who exactly will be performing this act of courage, Harry? Kingsley asked wearily, already knowing the answer.
"We will," Harry confirmed looking sideways at Ron who nodded.
"You do realize that you are not the only Aurors in the department. Not even the only competent Aurors."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, "but I’m the only Auror in the department mentioned by name in the goblin’s grievances," and Ron hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being. Why was it always Harry, he wondered.
Kingsley’s lips tightened before he jerked his head in acceptance. "Fine. This is your mission. How are you planning on making the sword jump to you?"
"We borrowed the Sorting Hat," Ron said, pulling the ancient hat out of his cloak pocket, "and we’re walking into Gringott’s fully expecting to get slaughtered."
Kingsley frowned. "Very comforting Ron, I’ll be sure to let your mother know that I sent you to your death with a hat for a shield."
"It’s pretty simple, sir," Harry said, "We’ll go to the bank and knock on the door. We’ll bring the standard binding contract for negotiations, the one that allows the goblins to set the location and you to set the day and that wards every named party into the designated meeting spot at the correct time, neutralizing all magic and weapons. We’ll offer ourselves as good faith ambassadors and the sword flat out."
"Simple," Kingsley repeated, shaking his head. "Harry. Ron," he addressed them both with somber eyes, "I do not want you to do this." He held up his hand for silence as Ron opened his mouth to protest. "I’m speaking for myself personally, not as Minister of Magic. The Minister is fully aware of the fact that this is the best chance we’ve had in years for resolution. But I do not want to send you two into this situation." He looked at Ron. "I do not want to have to tell my husband that, while he was doing his part spying on the New Order, I did my part by sending his little brother and his little brother’s best friend to their death. I have already had to tell Molly about Bill and Arthur and Hermione. I can’t stand the thought of having to make another call like that to her. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking my family’s heart." Kingsley let out a long sigh. "I also don’t think that George’s mind would survive losing you two. It’s just too much to take."
Ron’s heart constricted. He had purposely been keeping this out of his mind. He had sworn Fleur to secrecy about the sword but hadn’t told her what they planned to do with it. Fleur knew something was going on, but not enough to worry her unduly. It didn’t matter though. All the worry in the world wasn’t going to keep him from going with Harry, or from doing his job. His family had known that for years.
Ron stood and offered his hand to Kingsley who took it and shook it. "You know we have to do this, sir," he said, then added softly, "Harry and I have come out of some tough places, Kingsley. We’ve been in hard fights. We can come back from this."
Harry stood beside them and clapped his hand on Kingsley’s back. "Besides, we have the goblins love for accounting and order and balance helping us out here. They won’t be able to resist looking at the contract, they’ll have their sword, they’ll have people willing to bargain," he shrugged "We’ve faced worse odds."
Kingsley swept his long arms out wide and pulled them both into a tight hug. "All courage and hope and fight the two of you. Be safe," he said, and let go of them, turning back into the Minister of Magic. "You’ll be going into Diagon Alley at 0800?" They nodded. "Very well, I will advise the guards to let you through The Leakey Cauldron at that time."
Harry and Ron stood up straight and saluted sharply. "Permission to depart, sir?" Ron asked.
Kingsley visibly gathered himself before he replied. "Permission granted, gentlemen," he said, returning the salute. "Good luck."
And Harry and Ron Apparated to Grimmuald Place, leaving the Minister of Magic staring into the fireplace.
* * *
"Now call your mum," Harry said immediately after Apparating into their kitchen.
"I can’t, Harry. She’ll know something’s wrong. I can’t do that to her."
"No! What you can’t do is go on this cocked up death wish of a mission without saying good-bye," Harry shouted. "Ron," he said, softening his tone as he rose from the table to stand before his friend. "She has been holding everyone together for so long now. If she loses- Look, you have to at least send her an owl. Just, let her know that we’re going."
Ron’s shoulders fell. Harry was right, but he couldn’t go over there. At least here, with just him and Harry he could ignore what another loss might do to his family. Not think about George’s silence. Not remember Ginny’s desperation. He sighed, pulled out his wand and summoned up a happy thought of he and Hermione throwing their arms around Harry as he staggered, tired but alive, from defeating Voldemort. "Expecto Patronum!" The otter swam out of the tip of his wand and into the air. It settled down to the floor in front of him and raised its head to receive Ron’s message. "Mum," Ron began trying not to think about this small act of cowardice, "Harry and I are going on a mission tomorrow. Don’t know how long we’ll be, but we’ll Floo you when we get back. Give everyone a kiss from us and give Fleur an extra kiss from me," he faltered and then continued "We love you Mum." Ron lowered the wand and the watched as his Patronus waited, eyes soft and sad and achingly familiar. For the first time, Ron didn’t just tap its head. He slid his hand over the warm energy, stroking where slick fur should have been, gathering strength from the memory and the love and the loss that had transformed him. The otter seemed to heave a sigh before it trundled over to Harry who scratched the Patronus under the chin with a half smile.
As the otter faded into the night, Harry moved closer to Ron. "We need to talk," Harry said. "I-" he stopped, sighing and pinched the bridge of his nose before he muttered to himself, "I’d give anything to keep you from that bloody bank tomorrow."
"You and I are not having this argument again," Ron said, goaded into pushing Harry’s shoulders a little, just hard enough that Harry stumbled back into the wall.
"What?" Harry asked. "No. No I wouldn’t ask you to- Look, I’m not stupid, you know. As much as I want you safe, I wouldn’t ask you to stay behind, just like you never ask me to stay behind, no matter how much you want me out of danger." Harry reached out and out, grasped Ron’s hand and tugged him closer, until there were only inches between them and Ron’s breath hitched. "Where I go, you go." Harry said, making it sound like a vow.
Ron swallowed and Harry moved the hand he was holding and spread it out over his heart, "Where I go, you go" Ron repeated, meaning it as he felt Harry’s heart beat beneath his palm. Felt it pushing the blood through his best friend’s body, the steady pulse of Harry’s life tapping against his fingers. "With you" Ron affirmed. "No matter what," and he kissed him.
Harry’s mouth was waiting and open and he moaned Ron’s name before he threaded his fingers through red hair and pulled hard. Ron pushed Harry into the wall, pressing forcefully with his entire body, one hand still splayed over Harry’s heart, the other resting against the wall next to Harry’s head.
Harry broke the kiss and looked up with desperate eyes, fingers tightening in Ron’s hair. "Want you" he said. "Don’t say no."
"Yes, Harry," Ron whispered into his ear, sucking gently on Harry’s soft lobe before biting down on it. "Fuck, yes."
Harry surged off the kitchen wall and spun them so that it was Ron’s back that was against the hard surface, and then he positively devoured his best friend. Harry’s hands and mouth were everywhere. He bit and sucked and clung in a dizzying, chaotic pattern, sinking his teeth into Ron’s shoulder, sucking a nipple through his worn t-shirt, pushing his hands under his hem and running his rough palms down Ron’s bare sides, fingers bumping over every rib of his too lean frame.
Ron was consumed. By Harry, by lust, by fear of what the morning would bring, by his overwhelming need to possess and be possessed by his best friend. He wanted to sink into Harry until they had only one heart beat and one mind, so that no goblin or Death Eater or illness or accident could ever separate them. And suddenly, kissing and groping in the kitchen wasn’t enough. A rough, hard fuck against a wall or on the table half clothed wasn’t enough. This was Harry and Harry was his.
"Harry," Ron mumbled, even as he arched into the stray hand that brushed against his crotch. "Harry, mate, upstairs." He grabbed a handful of wild black hair and pulled Harry’s mouth off his collar bone. "Upstairs," Ron repeated.
Harry blinked and then turned on his heel and ran, managing to pull his shirt off and throw it at Ron’s head before he got out of the kitchen. Ron caught the shirt out of reflex and then dropped it on the floor and sprinted after his best friend, only to come to an abrupt halt outside his room. "In a hurry, are you?" he asked, staring at the sight of Harry, sans glasses, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to get out of his jeans.
"Wasted too much time already," Harry said, finally sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his jeans and pants off. He strode gloriously naked across the room toward the still fully-dressed Ron. He took two fistfuls of shirt and hauled Ron roughly against him, sliding his erection on Ron’s denim clad thigh. "We have tonight. Merlin only knows what’ll happen tomorrow, but tonight, you are mine and I am done with pretending otherwise," and Harry tore the shirt off Ron’s body before he dropped to his knees in front of him.
"Oh gods, Harry," Ron nearly whimpered as Harry laid his open lips on Ron’s crotch and lightly but deliberately bit, the pressure discernable through jeans. "Harry," he repeated, sliding his fingers under his Harry’s chin, gently forcing his head up. Ron caught his breath as he stared down into Harry’s beautiful eyes, his chin resting against Ron’s thigh. "No reason to pretend, mate. I’ve always known who I belong to."
Harry surged up, kissing Ron desperately as he fumbled with Ron’s jeans. They struggled together to get Ron out of his clothes, stumbling until the back of Harry’s knees hit the bed. Ron didn’t hesitate. He pushed Harry to the bed and kicked his jeans off his ankles and climbed onto the bed, his knees tight on either side of Harry’s body, feeling Harry’s erection against his arse. Ron reached out a tentative finger and touched the very top of Harry’s lightning bolt scar and he traced the mark, that symbol burnt into flesh.
Harry smiled up at Ron, placed a hand on each shoulder and dragged the back of his knuckles along the raised edges of the faded silver brain scars. When he got to Ron’s wrists, his smile widened and he tugged. Ron crashed down on to Harry, causing them both to huff out air at the force of their chests meeting.
Harry wrapped his legs around Ron’s waist and rolled them over so that he was on top before leaning down to run his open mouth against Ron’s collarbone, grazing it with his teeth as he shifted his hips experimentally. His eyes went dark and he fell forward, hands on either side of Ron’s face, licked his tongue into Ron’s open mouth and started a hard grinding rolling that dragged their cocks together with nearly painful friction.
Ron’s hands flew over the planes of Harry’s smooth body, clutching to his friend. Needing, wanting, writhing. Desperate for more heat, more intimacy, more - more- more Harry. He flipped Harry off his body and swung one leg over Harry’s head before grasping the base of Harry’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth. He felt Harry’s gasp against his inner thigh, the humid breath tightening his stomach into a knot. Ron inhaled sharply as he slid his lips down Harry’s shaft, one hand moving to cup Harry’s balls, the other grasping Harry’s leg, digging scraggly fingernails into hair-roughened skin when he felt Harry lick him from base to tip.
Harry’s hips thrust up even as Ron’s thrust down and they were suddenly fucking each other’s mouths. Choking and consuming and teeth grazing and hot and sloppy and wet. Muffled curses and half heard apologies and just them. All they needed and wanted. All they were. All they had been. And all they would ever be joined in one unending circle of jerking, imperfect flesh.
* * *
It was the brightness of the rising sun that woke Ron. He tightened his grip on Harry before looking down at the head against his heart. Harry’s eyes were open and steady. The grim joy of the night before had given way to a grimmer determination at dawn. They looked at each other intently, neither willing to break the gaze until Ron dragged Harry firmly on top of his body and kissed him fiercely. If this was going to be Ron’s last day on earth, he was going to start it right.
* * *
Harry really did have a wonderful poker face, Ron observed. The plan, the hare-brained arse of a plan hadn’t worked. The sword hadn’t come, and where Ron would have shook the Sorting Hat and yelled "What the hell more would you like me to do, tie one hand behind my back?" at it, Harry had just calmly looked up at Urg, the leader of the U.K. goblin clan, and offered to summon Neville to bring the sword.
"No, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe that I’ll allow you to send any message anywhere."
Oh how Ron wanted to blast the bastard, but it would defeat the entire purpose. Just like on a night long ago when he wouldn’t let Hermione take down a giant bent on destruction. To attack would tear the whole, precariously balancing tower down around their ears.
"Sir," Harry said "The intent was to bring you the sword. There was a miscalculation, if you would just allow myself, or Ron, to send a Patronus with a message then we can continue discussing the possibility of another negotiation while we wait for Neville to arrive."
Ron offered the contract to Urg, who briefly glanced at it without taking it. "I am not interested in what you might have brought to the table, Mr. Potter, I am only concerned with what you didn’t," Urg paused and then continued thoughtfully. "It was a gesture of extreme naiveté to send the wizarding community’s hero, the tipping point for the current conflict, for such a bungling attempt at peace," Urg said as the goblins fanned out to circle Ron and Harry, their footsteps echoing in the enormous underground chamber. "If we can’t have the sword, I do believe we’ll keep you."
"What will that gain you?" Harry asked calmly, even as Ron slowly rolled the contract back up and put it in his pocket, using the motion to mask the fact that his heart had just dropped to his feet.
Urg bared his teeth in chilling smile, "Fog of war, Mr. Potter. Just think of the confusion, the outrage when they discover your head mounted on a pike outside this door. There might be a slight chance that you are more intelligent than you appear to be and could prove useful in other respects. There’s a chance we might keep you, as we keep a small number of others, in our vaults; another asset on the ledger, so to speak, but I doubt there is anything that you can offer alive that would be more satisfying than your death."
"Others?" Ron broke in. "Which others?"
"Surely you don’t think that we terminated all of our former employees, Mr. Weasley? That would be a waste of good resources."
"Is Bill alive?" Ron asked urgently, abandoning even the pretense of cool detachment. "Is Bill Weasley still alive?"
Urg merely turned back to Harry. "As compensation for your good faith in coming here, albeit empty handed, we’ll let your Weasley walk out the door. If he can bring back the sword, then we will consider entering negotiations with the Ministry of Magic and other wizarding governments across the world."
"Harry as collateral," Ron stated distractedly, still wild with the possibility that his big brother might, even now, be in the bank and alive. "If you let me go now, I will figure out a way to bring that bloody sword back here tonight."
"Now, Mr. Weasley," Urg tilted his head back languidly, "Mr. Potter likely won’t be alive to be let go. You must understand that I couldn’t deny my people their . . . pleasure of him after he has caused so much trouble. But the great hero will fulfill his role to die for the greater good, and the sidekick will go forth in sorrow to bring our two societies to the bargaining table. And so," the goblin smirked, "the boy emerges from the shadows and becomes a man."
"Not a chance," Ron snarled, squaring off and drawing his wand, ignoring Harry’s restraining hand. "Not a chance do I walk through that door without Harry."
"It wasn’t a request, Mr. Weasley. Surely, a professional Auror understands that the good of the many outweighs the good of the one," Urg shrugged. "As you like though, we can certainly kill you as well since you are so determined to die. There would be no one to retrieve the sword of course and therefore no agreement for peace talks, but who am I to deny a selfish boy his wishes?"
The circle of goblins tightened around them, and Ron steeled himself to die next to Harry, not the worst way to go, he reckoned as he automatically assumed a defensive stance, fighting with his best mate.
"He’ll do it. I’ll stay with you and he’ll get the sword," Harry’s voice rang out.
"We’ve talked about this, Harry," Ron said through gritted teeth, his back to Harry’s as they faced the approaching enemy.
"I know we have, but the situation has changed." Harry moved from his post at Ron’s back and walked around to face Ron. "This is bigger than you and me, mate. You have to let me go." Ron froze. Harry put his hands on either side of his friend’s head, trapping Ron in his intent stare. "You have to let me go," he repeated softly.
And Ron saw that Harry knew exactly what he was asking him to do, saw it in the misery in his clear green eyes. He shook his head in denial. "I- I can’t," he pleaded. "Please don’t ask me not to fight with you, for you. I can do anything, anything you want, but not this."
A humorless smile tugged up the corners of Harry’s lips, "Thought you’d be ready to be rid of me. Nothing but trouble, you always say."
"Don’t joke right now," Ron choked, his hands moving to cover Harry’s as he leaned his forehead against his friend’s. "You can’t leave me here by myself."
"I’m sorry, Ron," Harry said, despair in his voice. "There’s no other way. I can’t go with you and you can’t stay with me. This is our chance." His tone twisted wryly, darkly, "That’s chess, Ron. You’ve got to make some sacrifices."
"Of all the things I’ve ever said, that’s what you’re going to remember?" Ron asked, knowing he was going to lose, knowing that his life was about to unalterably change for the worse, even as the world rediscovered hope.
"No," Harry said, "I’m going to remember that you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, that you kissed me, told me you loved me and that you’d take care of the world, our family and yourself, and then you walked away."
"Harry," Ron whispered.
"I love you, Ron," Harry said, stepping back slightly. He reached into his pocket to pull out the sorting hat and put it in Ron’s hand.
Ron swallowed and, grasping the hat in one hand and Harry’s hip in the other, he kissed his best friend. He concentrated hard, committing Harry to memory, his smell and his taste, the catching sob that became trapped between them. It ached, that kiss, all that power and light that was Harry Potter burned through Ron as he said good-bye.
"I love you," Ron gasped as they broke apart, determined not to cry. Determined that the last image he had of Harry was not going to be blurred with tears. "I promise that I will take care of the world and our family, and - and myself."
Harry nodded, stepped out from Ron’s arms and smiled his brilliant, warm smile. It was brittle around the edges, but it was genuine and proud, and Ron couldn’t help but smile back. Then he sketched a salute, turned around, and walked away.
* * *
He moved blindly through the circle of goblins, out the chamber and down the marble hall. Ron’s mind raced, considering and rejecting one plan after another, grasping for a last-minute miracle plan, until he was forced to acknowledge defeat. He stumbled, catching himself against a pillar before staggering forward, onward towards a world without Harry in it.
The sorting hat grew warm in his hand and Ron stopped in surprise. Wonderingly, he pushed his hand inside the worn material and grasped the pommel of the Sword of Gryffindor. Hope pierced through his heart, and he turned on his heel and sprinted back down the hall, shouting "Harry! Harry, I have the sword!"
He burst into the chamber to see Harry, still standing in the middle of the circle of goblins. "Ron," he said, his eyes lighting up even as he frowned.
"Harry the sword," Ron started forward before he was stopped by a dagger to his throat. "Please," Ron addressed the goblin blocking him from Harry, "I have the sword. It came out of the hat, like we said it would. You can have it," he offered, thrusting the sword, still in the hat, at the goblin. "Take it. The charm should be broken. Take the whole damn hat if you want to. I don’t care. Just let him go."
The goblin lowered the dagger and took the sword from Ron, moving across the circle to hand the sword to Urg. Ron didn’t move. He knew that if he touched Harry, he wouldn’t be able to let him go again. He simply was not strong enough.
Urg came forward slowly. "You are giving this to us freely? The Sorting Hat, one of the most prized possessions of Hogwarts?" he questioned.
"I am," said Ron. "We believe that the spell that makes the sword move has been broken, but even if it hasn’t, here is the hat that it disappears to."
"Do you have the authority to make that decision?" the elderly goblin asked.
"I take responsibility for it," Ron replied honestly. "It will not be taken from you." He’d deal with McGonagall later, but he was positive that she wouldn’t begrudge Harry a hat, no matter how extraordinary.
"You are an interesting wizard, Mr. Weasley," Urg said. "Your loyalty to Mr. Potter has been your defining characteristic, to the point of foolishness in some circumstances, yet you were willing to let him go." Ron held Urg’s stare. "Let me see that contract again," the goblin said, holding out his hand.
Ron walked across the circle, passing wide of Harry, not even meeting his eyes as he balanced on the precipice of hope and loss. He handed the scroll to Urg. Ron watched as the goblin scanned the document.
"Agreed," Urg said.
"Agreed?" Ron repeated.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Urg said, pulling a quill out of his suit pocket and signing the contract. "We agree to a cessation of aggression until the negotiation next month." Urg looked up at Ron as he rolled up the contract. "You two make quite an impression, one willing to sacrifice his life, the other willing to sacrifice his love, both for the purpose of peace. If that sort of desperation is prevalent in your community, then perhaps you are ready to hear our demands. We are willing to attempt to come to terms."
"And Harry?" Ron asked. He felt like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the abrupt change of situation.
"Your Mr. Potter is free to leave," Urg replied. "Griphook will see you out." With that, the circle of goblins dispersed, melting into the dark.
Ron stood staring into the shadows where Urg had disappeared, shocked into stillness. He felt a cold hand grasp his wrist. "C’mon, Ron," Harry said gently, lacing his fingers with Ron’s. Ron started, then gripped Harry’s hand tightly and allowed him to pull him out of the chamber, down the hall, and out the front door. Griphook pushed them out the door, and then pulled, and the two friends stood alone once again in the eerie silence of Diagon Alley. In that echoingly empty street, Harry turned to Ron and pulled him into his arms as Ron began to shake.
* * *
It wasn’t until hours later that Ron could really talk to Harry, but after his mum had been called and Kingsley had been visited and debriefed, and after Kreacher had fed them, they climbed the stairs together and fell wearily into bed.
They lay side by side, front to front, pressed together as tightly as possible, Harry’s head tucked beneath Ron’s chin. Ron felt the tension finally seeping out of his body as he held the warm and alive Harry, his Harry, in the dark. "I thought I was going to die," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I was ready for it, that we weren’t going to make it out of there alive. I never thought that I’d have to leave you." His voice broke. "I don’t think I could do it again." He buried his face in Harry’s hair, breathing deeply.
Harry lifted his head so that he was nose to nose with Ron. "You could, Ron. You could if you had to."
Ron was not convinced. In fact, he was fairly sure that Harry was dead wrong, but it wasn’t the time to argue. "Just don’t test me again, alright?" He said, brushing his lips over Harry’s.
"Alright," Harry said a smile in his voice as he deepened the kiss. They disengaged slowly and settled further down into the bed, just holding each other.
Harry fell asleep quickly, but Ron lay awake for a long time. Nothing was solved with the goblins really, but there was the possibility of resolution. The New Order and the Death Eaters were still in operation, though there was a chance that the New Order would come around in light of the goblin negotiations, or at least that Ginny might come around. Bill might be alive, and Ron’s head reeled at that possibility. Kingsley had promised to make that conversation part of the negotiations. No, nothing was solved, Ron thought as he breathed with Harry in the dark, but there was considerably more hope than there had been the day before.
Author: innibis
Team: Winter
Prompts: Patronus and Gringotts
Pairing/Genre: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: around 11,500
Warnings: Character Death
A/N: Usial disclaimer: I am not JKR and would never pretend to be. Many thanks to libgirl who was, as always, an enormous help.
read Part One first
Tipping Point - continued
"Fleur," Ron said, head shooting up. He and Harry had been sitting at the kitchen table for hours, pouring over Hermione’s notes on the sword. It had been difficult at first, every carefully considered word and detail in Hermione’s deliberate handwriting reminding Ron that she was gone. Somewhere along the way, however, he found comfort in the task, Hermione’s cool logic and encyclopedic knowledge helping him and Harry try to find a solution, try to save their world. Harry looked up and quirked an eyebrow in question.
"She was a curse breaker for Gringotts, that’s how she met Bill," Ron explained. "It wasn’t very long. She had just made it through her training and started actually working when all hell broke loose at their wedding and everyone basically went into hiding. Then she got pregnant so she decided to hold off going back until the baby was born, and then-" Ron stopped. And then, one month before the birth of their daughter, Bill had been taken, but Harry already knew that.
"I don’t think it’s a curse on Gryffindor’s sword," Harry said slowly, "but she has to be better at this than we are." Ron stood up and began gathering the parchment that was spread over the table. "Are you alright?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Yeah," Ron said. "Feels good to have a plan, or at least to have a plan to make a plan. I don’t mind a fight, but it’s nice to be off the front lines for a change."
"I dunno," Harry said. "I kind of miss the action."
"Yes, but you are an adrenaline junkie and not to be trusted on things like self-preservation," Ron stated. "We nearly got blown up last night, how much more excitement do you want?"
"Well that was an accident, it’s not like we were planning to be in danger," Harry replied.
Ron shook his head. "You’re a bit of a head case, mate."
They trooped into the living room, Harry shouting over his shoulder to Kreacher that they would be back in a couple hours, and Ron grasped a fistful of Floo powder and thrust his head into the fireplace as he shouted "The Hive!" When the whirling stopped he bellowed into the cheery kitchen "Oi! Fleur!"
"Ronald Weasley!" Molly Weasley’s piercing whisper cut the air, "Will you kindly lower your voice? The children are asleep!"
"Sorry Mum," Ron said softy, sheepishly. "Can Harry and I come through and talk to Fleur?"
"Of course, dear, you know you are always welcome."
Ron went through the Floo, followed closely by Harry, whom Ron automatically reached out to steady when he stumbled out of the fireplace. Muggle-raised wizards never quite got the hang of flooing gracefully. They were enveloped in Molly Weasley’s arms half a second later. "It’s been too long," she murmured warmly.
"Hi Mrs. Weasey," Harry smiled.
Ron looked around the kitchen, catching sight of George as he stole out of the room. "Mum, should I-" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the doorway.
"No, dear. He is not having a good day," she replied, looking pensively after her shattered son. George had never truly recovered after Fred was killed, but he had been determinedly distracted. He had thrown himself into work at the Wheezes with a frightening intensity, volunteered at the orphanage that Harry had started and become an overly attentive brother. Then the second war happened, friends and brothers were killed, the shop closed, and, on a gloomy winter afternoon, the Ministry fell. Arthur Weasley fell with it. George hadn’t spoken since.
Ron sighed, "I’ll come by more often. He never sees any of us anymore."
"I think he’d like that," Molly said softly, reaching up to pat her tallest remaining son’s cheek. "Andromeda is asleep, I think; Teddy is an absolute terror these days." Harry looked rather proud. "I believe Fleur is just sitting up listening to the wireless. I’ll go get her."
Ron wandered over and started rifling through the cupboards looking for food as Harry pulled a bag of gold out from his pocket and threw it on the table. He had been adamant to the point of mulish about supporting the Weasleys with the money in the Black vault, and Molly and Ron and the rest had been in no position to argue. There was simply no gold left. Aside from the great number of lives lost when the goblins had attacked The Ministry, the government’s coffers had also been emptied and the Department of Printing and Engraving, the department that created the currency, had been destroyed. The Wizarding World had been forced into a quasi-barter system, with a very limited number of galleons in circulation.
Ron looked up from his cabinet as his sister-in-law entered the room. She was as beautiful as ever and he still felt the pull of her veela blood, but it was tempered by the fact that he could not see her without thinking of Bill. He watched as Harry walked over and hugged her gently, whispering a greeting, as if to show that he was not loud and obnoxious and likely to wake sleeping children.
Fleur kissed Harry on the cheek and then turned to Ron. He mustered up a cheeky grin and swept Fleur into an enthusiastic embrace, complete with noisy kiss. It always made her laugh, and Fleur laughing was a beautiful thing. "We’ve got a job for you," he proclaimed and set her on her feet.
* * *
They had left Fleur with a glass of wine and a pile of books and notes. "Where ees the sword?" she asked.
Harry looked at Ron, "I think it’s at Hogwarts, maybe with Neville?" he ventured.
Fleur looked at them severely over the top of her reading glasses. "How do I break a curse on somtheeng I do not ‘ave?" she demanded.
"We’ll get it tomorrow," Ron said, resisting the urge to smack himself and then Harry on the forehead. Fleur nodded. They had wished her good night, the her only reply being a vague hand wave in their general direction.
"Beer?" Harry asked when they got home. "Just one to unwind?"
"Yeah, sounds good," Ron said. Before Harry could move, Kreacher appeared with two bottles. "You’re good," Ron told the elf, who merely handed the beers to Harry before disappearing again.
Ron took his beer from Harry and the friends sank back onto the couch. There was no Quidditch to listen to these days, no entertaining, underground radio show since Lee had been killed, only news of war and death and poverty. Harry had thrown the wireless away over a year ago.
"We haven’t been to Hogwarts since the Death Eater attack six months ago," Harry said.
"It’ll be nice to go there just for a visit and not for a fight," Ron said. "Even if it is fight related." Hogwarts was still one of the single safest places in the wizarding world, so classes continued even in these troubled times. When the foolish, and fortunately largely ineffective, Death Eaters had attacked the school in a misguided attempt to right old wrongs, at least in their view, the response from what was left of the Ministry had been immediate and ferocious. Ron had been captured for a short time and subjected to Crucio by various old friends, including Draco and Lucius Malfoy, who appeared to be incapable of learning their lesson. Harry had burst in only a few hours later, wild eyed and literally glowing with rage and power. He had disarmed and bound five Death Eaters before they had registered his presence and then proceeded to untie Ron. Harry was shaking nearly as much as Ron was as he loosed his friend, taking an extra minute to smooth Ron’s shaggy red hair with his fingers before gently pulling Ron to his feet and restoring his wand. Later, Harry had sworn that he had found him by following Ron’s Patronus, the one he had since Hermioine had died, her otter. Ron hadn’t cast a Patronus and his wand had been in Malfoy’s back pocket for hours.
"Neville will be glad to see us," Harry said. "We’re terrible about visiting people."
They finished their drinks in companionable silence. Ron thought about asking for a game of chess, but decided that it was too late and he was too tired. "I’m for bed," he said, standing and stretching, watching Harry’s eyes following the line of his body as he arched. Ron held out his hand, "You coming?"
Harry looked up, green eyes drowsy, "I’ll be up in a minute," he said. Ron shrugged, not happy about climbing the stairs to bed alone, but not wanting to express such an odd feeling. As he turned away, Harry said, "Today was good." Ron looked at him quizzically. Harry shrugged and smiled slightly. "I dunno, I just. . . had a good day. I haven’t had a good day in a long time."
Ron gave into the overwhelming urge that rose up inside him, buoyed on a wave of fierce, unexplainable, unalterable love and dependence, and pressed a firm kiss to Harry’s forehead before he climbed the stairs to bed.
* * *
The day they destroyed Ministry of Magic was the day that the humans realized the true danger of the situation. They were, after all human, and therefore must be more clever, more powerful, more threatening than any sub-creature, like a goblin. But goblins are patient.
They bided their time, observed their target, understood the underlying foolish ego and attacked. The goblins suffered some losses, but the gain far outweighed the purchase price. When the Ministry fell, it brought down with it the wizards' symbol of power, their financial system, and their confidence, leaving them grasping and gasping and suddenly very afraid.
* * *
"The problem is, Mr. Weasley, that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor," Minerva McGonagall said, sitting at her desk. They had arrived in time to have breakfast with Neville before he had to teach classes. It had been good to see their old friend. Despite his initial misgivings about not actively participating in the war effort, Neville was exactly where he should be. Kingsley had made it a point to express to Neville that he slept better at night knowing that the teachers at Hogwarts were ready and able to defend their students, and Neville had taken that charge seriously. He still held Dumbledore’s Army meetings once a week in the Room of Requirement.
"It’s right here though," Ron said, looking pointedly at the sword that was gleaming in its usual place of honor in the Head of Hogwart’s office. "Sitting there, waiting to be taken. Just don’t let anybody do anything brave before Fleur figures out how to break the charm."
Harry frowned, "Professor, I know that this sword is important to the school, but surely-"
McGonagall directed an icy stare in Harry’s direction. "Do you really think I would refuse you an object, no matter how important, when the entire world is suffering?"
"No, ma’am," Harry replied, looking down. Ron felt his ears blush in sympathy but was very glad that he had not been the one to receive McGonagall’s reprimand.
"As I was saying," she continued, disapproving eyes still turned towards Harry. "It doesn’t work like that. The sword has to remain here. Mrs. Delacour-Weasley will have to come here."
"I don’t understand," Ron said, and flinched when Minerva turned her eyes on him. "Professor, I’ve seen the sword out of the castle. I’ve even seen it far away from the grounds."
"Minerva, if I may," Dumbledore’s painting interrupted.
"Certainly, Albus," Minerva inclined her head towards the painting.
"Ron, the Sword of Gryffindor is tied to the castle, as this was Godric Gryffindor’s home for a century and his final resting place. You and Harry have both witnessed both circumstances in which the sword can leave the school. The most obvious is through the Sorting hat. Mr. Longbottom proved himself to be a true Gryffindor through his acts of courage and was able to pull the sword out of the hat. You must remember that the Sorting hat is sensitive to any person it is in physical contact with. It measures their emotions and personality and abilities, but it also reads intent. It is the combination of intent and need that may cause Gryffindor’s sword to go to a person, for true courage is an act of will. Without the Sorting hat, it is a rare person who acquires the sword, although Mr. Weasley managed it," Dumbledore smiled proudly down at Ron from his place on the wall. "Only a person who has proven himself can pull Gryffindor’s sword out of the Sorting Hat and only the last person to pull the sword out of the hat can take it from the castle’s grounds."
The Headmistress cleared her throat, causing the painting to stop talking and raise an eyebrow at her, "For your purposes, gentlemen, to take the sword from the school, you are going to either have to take the Sorting Hat and perform a courageous act in a desperate situation to make it appear, or Professor Longbottom is going to have to carry it for you. When I said that you just can’t take the Sword of Gryffindor, I meant that you physically won’t be able to carry it out."
Harry nodded slowly, "Then Fleur will come here, with your permission, ma’am," he said and McGonagall nodded. "If she needs to have it moved, Neville can help."
"Whatever Hogwarts can do, Mr. Potter. We are at your disposal, although it does occur to me that Neville would be able to deliver this sword to the goblins for you." McGonagall said.
Ron looked over at Harry, who met his eyes with a small nod, "Professor, no one doubts Neville’s courage, but whoever is going to go into Gringotts with that sword might not be coming back out. Neville’s not an Auror or involved in the fighting in any way. He hasn’t been trained in goblin combat. If there is no other way, then we’ll consider it, but that can’t be the plan."
"Well then call Mrs. Delacour-Weasley and we’ll begin." Minerva McGonagall said.
* * *
"I have no idea how they did it," Ron said impatiently from his place on the Minister of Magic’s couch, "But the Headmistress and Fleur and Dumbledore’s painting says that the charm is broken, so it must be."
"I agree, those are impeccable sources, Ron," Kingsley said. "I don’t doubt them, I’m just curious as to how she did it. I’ll ask Fleur next time I visit the family."
"Almost broken," Harry corrected. "The sword needs to jump once more to break it entirely. One more act of courage to sort of overload the weakened spell."
"And who exactly will be performing this act of courage, Harry? Kingsley asked wearily, already knowing the answer.
"We will," Harry confirmed looking sideways at Ron who nodded.
"You do realize that you are not the only Aurors in the department. Not even the only competent Aurors."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, "but I’m the only Auror in the department mentioned by name in the goblin’s grievances," and Ron hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being. Why was it always Harry, he wondered.
Kingsley’s lips tightened before he jerked his head in acceptance. "Fine. This is your mission. How are you planning on making the sword jump to you?"
"We borrowed the Sorting Hat," Ron said, pulling the ancient hat out of his cloak pocket, "and we’re walking into Gringott’s fully expecting to get slaughtered."
Kingsley frowned. "Very comforting Ron, I’ll be sure to let your mother know that I sent you to your death with a hat for a shield."
"It’s pretty simple, sir," Harry said, "We’ll go to the bank and knock on the door. We’ll bring the standard binding contract for negotiations, the one that allows the goblins to set the location and you to set the day and that wards every named party into the designated meeting spot at the correct time, neutralizing all magic and weapons. We’ll offer ourselves as good faith ambassadors and the sword flat out."
"Simple," Kingsley repeated, shaking his head. "Harry. Ron," he addressed them both with somber eyes, "I do not want you to do this." He held up his hand for silence as Ron opened his mouth to protest. "I’m speaking for myself personally, not as Minister of Magic. The Minister is fully aware of the fact that this is the best chance we’ve had in years for resolution. But I do not want to send you two into this situation." He looked at Ron. "I do not want to have to tell my husband that, while he was doing his part spying on the New Order, I did my part by sending his little brother and his little brother’s best friend to their death. I have already had to tell Molly about Bill and Arthur and Hermione. I can’t stand the thought of having to make another call like that to her. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking my family’s heart." Kingsley let out a long sigh. "I also don’t think that George’s mind would survive losing you two. It’s just too much to take."
Ron’s heart constricted. He had purposely been keeping this out of his mind. He had sworn Fleur to secrecy about the sword but hadn’t told her what they planned to do with it. Fleur knew something was going on, but not enough to worry her unduly. It didn’t matter though. All the worry in the world wasn’t going to keep him from going with Harry, or from doing his job. His family had known that for years.
Ron stood and offered his hand to Kingsley who took it and shook it. "You know we have to do this, sir," he said, then added softly, "Harry and I have come out of some tough places, Kingsley. We’ve been in hard fights. We can come back from this."
Harry stood beside them and clapped his hand on Kingsley’s back. "Besides, we have the goblins love for accounting and order and balance helping us out here. They won’t be able to resist looking at the contract, they’ll have their sword, they’ll have people willing to bargain," he shrugged "We’ve faced worse odds."
Kingsley swept his long arms out wide and pulled them both into a tight hug. "All courage and hope and fight the two of you. Be safe," he said, and let go of them, turning back into the Minister of Magic. "You’ll be going into Diagon Alley at 0800?" They nodded. "Very well, I will advise the guards to let you through The Leakey Cauldron at that time."
Harry and Ron stood up straight and saluted sharply. "Permission to depart, sir?" Ron asked.
Kingsley visibly gathered himself before he replied. "Permission granted, gentlemen," he said, returning the salute. "Good luck."
And Harry and Ron Apparated to Grimmuald Place, leaving the Minister of Magic staring into the fireplace.
* * *
"Now call your mum," Harry said immediately after Apparating into their kitchen.
"I can’t, Harry. She’ll know something’s wrong. I can’t do that to her."
"No! What you can’t do is go on this cocked up death wish of a mission without saying good-bye," Harry shouted. "Ron," he said, softening his tone as he rose from the table to stand before his friend. "She has been holding everyone together for so long now. If she loses- Look, you have to at least send her an owl. Just, let her know that we’re going."
Ron’s shoulders fell. Harry was right, but he couldn’t go over there. At least here, with just him and Harry he could ignore what another loss might do to his family. Not think about George’s silence. Not remember Ginny’s desperation. He sighed, pulled out his wand and summoned up a happy thought of he and Hermione throwing their arms around Harry as he staggered, tired but alive, from defeating Voldemort. "Expecto Patronum!" The otter swam out of the tip of his wand and into the air. It settled down to the floor in front of him and raised its head to receive Ron’s message. "Mum," Ron began trying not to think about this small act of cowardice, "Harry and I are going on a mission tomorrow. Don’t know how long we’ll be, but we’ll Floo you when we get back. Give everyone a kiss from us and give Fleur an extra kiss from me," he faltered and then continued "We love you Mum." Ron lowered the wand and the watched as his Patronus waited, eyes soft and sad and achingly familiar. For the first time, Ron didn’t just tap its head. He slid his hand over the warm energy, stroking where slick fur should have been, gathering strength from the memory and the love and the loss that had transformed him. The otter seemed to heave a sigh before it trundled over to Harry who scratched the Patronus under the chin with a half smile.
As the otter faded into the night, Harry moved closer to Ron. "We need to talk," Harry said. "I-" he stopped, sighing and pinched the bridge of his nose before he muttered to himself, "I’d give anything to keep you from that bloody bank tomorrow."
"You and I are not having this argument again," Ron said, goaded into pushing Harry’s shoulders a little, just hard enough that Harry stumbled back into the wall.
"What?" Harry asked. "No. No I wouldn’t ask you to- Look, I’m not stupid, you know. As much as I want you safe, I wouldn’t ask you to stay behind, just like you never ask me to stay behind, no matter how much you want me out of danger." Harry reached out and out, grasped Ron’s hand and tugged him closer, until there were only inches between them and Ron’s breath hitched. "Where I go, you go." Harry said, making it sound like a vow.
Ron swallowed and Harry moved the hand he was holding and spread it out over his heart, "Where I go, you go" Ron repeated, meaning it as he felt Harry’s heart beat beneath his palm. Felt it pushing the blood through his best friend’s body, the steady pulse of Harry’s life tapping against his fingers. "With you" Ron affirmed. "No matter what," and he kissed him.
Harry’s mouth was waiting and open and he moaned Ron’s name before he threaded his fingers through red hair and pulled hard. Ron pushed Harry into the wall, pressing forcefully with his entire body, one hand still splayed over Harry’s heart, the other resting against the wall next to Harry’s head.
Harry broke the kiss and looked up with desperate eyes, fingers tightening in Ron’s hair. "Want you" he said. "Don’t say no."
"Yes, Harry," Ron whispered into his ear, sucking gently on Harry’s soft lobe before biting down on it. "Fuck, yes."
Harry surged off the kitchen wall and spun them so that it was Ron’s back that was against the hard surface, and then he positively devoured his best friend. Harry’s hands and mouth were everywhere. He bit and sucked and clung in a dizzying, chaotic pattern, sinking his teeth into Ron’s shoulder, sucking a nipple through his worn t-shirt, pushing his hands under his hem and running his rough palms down Ron’s bare sides, fingers bumping over every rib of his too lean frame.
Ron was consumed. By Harry, by lust, by fear of what the morning would bring, by his overwhelming need to possess and be possessed by his best friend. He wanted to sink into Harry until they had only one heart beat and one mind, so that no goblin or Death Eater or illness or accident could ever separate them. And suddenly, kissing and groping in the kitchen wasn’t enough. A rough, hard fuck against a wall or on the table half clothed wasn’t enough. This was Harry and Harry was his.
"Harry," Ron mumbled, even as he arched into the stray hand that brushed against his crotch. "Harry, mate, upstairs." He grabbed a handful of wild black hair and pulled Harry’s mouth off his collar bone. "Upstairs," Ron repeated.
Harry blinked and then turned on his heel and ran, managing to pull his shirt off and throw it at Ron’s head before he got out of the kitchen. Ron caught the shirt out of reflex and then dropped it on the floor and sprinted after his best friend, only to come to an abrupt halt outside his room. "In a hurry, are you?" he asked, staring at the sight of Harry, sans glasses, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to get out of his jeans.
"Wasted too much time already," Harry said, finally sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his jeans and pants off. He strode gloriously naked across the room toward the still fully-dressed Ron. He took two fistfuls of shirt and hauled Ron roughly against him, sliding his erection on Ron’s denim clad thigh. "We have tonight. Merlin only knows what’ll happen tomorrow, but tonight, you are mine and I am done with pretending otherwise," and Harry tore the shirt off Ron’s body before he dropped to his knees in front of him.
"Oh gods, Harry," Ron nearly whimpered as Harry laid his open lips on Ron’s crotch and lightly but deliberately bit, the pressure discernable through jeans. "Harry," he repeated, sliding his fingers under his Harry’s chin, gently forcing his head up. Ron caught his breath as he stared down into Harry’s beautiful eyes, his chin resting against Ron’s thigh. "No reason to pretend, mate. I’ve always known who I belong to."
Harry surged up, kissing Ron desperately as he fumbled with Ron’s jeans. They struggled together to get Ron out of his clothes, stumbling until the back of Harry’s knees hit the bed. Ron didn’t hesitate. He pushed Harry to the bed and kicked his jeans off his ankles and climbed onto the bed, his knees tight on either side of Harry’s body, feeling Harry’s erection against his arse. Ron reached out a tentative finger and touched the very top of Harry’s lightning bolt scar and he traced the mark, that symbol burnt into flesh.
Harry smiled up at Ron, placed a hand on each shoulder and dragged the back of his knuckles along the raised edges of the faded silver brain scars. When he got to Ron’s wrists, his smile widened and he tugged. Ron crashed down on to Harry, causing them both to huff out air at the force of their chests meeting.
Harry wrapped his legs around Ron’s waist and rolled them over so that he was on top before leaning down to run his open mouth against Ron’s collarbone, grazing it with his teeth as he shifted his hips experimentally. His eyes went dark and he fell forward, hands on either side of Ron’s face, licked his tongue into Ron’s open mouth and started a hard grinding rolling that dragged their cocks together with nearly painful friction.
Ron’s hands flew over the planes of Harry’s smooth body, clutching to his friend. Needing, wanting, writhing. Desperate for more heat, more intimacy, more - more- more Harry. He flipped Harry off his body and swung one leg over Harry’s head before grasping the base of Harry’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth. He felt Harry’s gasp against his inner thigh, the humid breath tightening his stomach into a knot. Ron inhaled sharply as he slid his lips down Harry’s shaft, one hand moving to cup Harry’s balls, the other grasping Harry’s leg, digging scraggly fingernails into hair-roughened skin when he felt Harry lick him from base to tip.
Harry’s hips thrust up even as Ron’s thrust down and they were suddenly fucking each other’s mouths. Choking and consuming and teeth grazing and hot and sloppy and wet. Muffled curses and half heard apologies and just them. All they needed and wanted. All they were. All they had been. And all they would ever be joined in one unending circle of jerking, imperfect flesh.
* * *
It was the brightness of the rising sun that woke Ron. He tightened his grip on Harry before looking down at the head against his heart. Harry’s eyes were open and steady. The grim joy of the night before had given way to a grimmer determination at dawn. They looked at each other intently, neither willing to break the gaze until Ron dragged Harry firmly on top of his body and kissed him fiercely. If this was going to be Ron’s last day on earth, he was going to start it right.
* * *
Harry really did have a wonderful poker face, Ron observed. The plan, the hare-brained arse of a plan hadn’t worked. The sword hadn’t come, and where Ron would have shook the Sorting Hat and yelled "What the hell more would you like me to do, tie one hand behind my back?" at it, Harry had just calmly looked up at Urg, the leader of the U.K. goblin clan, and offered to summon Neville to bring the sword.
"No, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe that I’ll allow you to send any message anywhere."
Oh how Ron wanted to blast the bastard, but it would defeat the entire purpose. Just like on a night long ago when he wouldn’t let Hermione take down a giant bent on destruction. To attack would tear the whole, precariously balancing tower down around their ears.
"Sir," Harry said "The intent was to bring you the sword. There was a miscalculation, if you would just allow myself, or Ron, to send a Patronus with a message then we can continue discussing the possibility of another negotiation while we wait for Neville to arrive."
Ron offered the contract to Urg, who briefly glanced at it without taking it. "I am not interested in what you might have brought to the table, Mr. Potter, I am only concerned with what you didn’t," Urg paused and then continued thoughtfully. "It was a gesture of extreme naiveté to send the wizarding community’s hero, the tipping point for the current conflict, for such a bungling attempt at peace," Urg said as the goblins fanned out to circle Ron and Harry, their footsteps echoing in the enormous underground chamber. "If we can’t have the sword, I do believe we’ll keep you."
"What will that gain you?" Harry asked calmly, even as Ron slowly rolled the contract back up and put it in his pocket, using the motion to mask the fact that his heart had just dropped to his feet.
Urg bared his teeth in chilling smile, "Fog of war, Mr. Potter. Just think of the confusion, the outrage when they discover your head mounted on a pike outside this door. There might be a slight chance that you are more intelligent than you appear to be and could prove useful in other respects. There’s a chance we might keep you, as we keep a small number of others, in our vaults; another asset on the ledger, so to speak, but I doubt there is anything that you can offer alive that would be more satisfying than your death."
"Others?" Ron broke in. "Which others?"
"Surely you don’t think that we terminated all of our former employees, Mr. Weasley? That would be a waste of good resources."
"Is Bill alive?" Ron asked urgently, abandoning even the pretense of cool detachment. "Is Bill Weasley still alive?"
Urg merely turned back to Harry. "As compensation for your good faith in coming here, albeit empty handed, we’ll let your Weasley walk out the door. If he can bring back the sword, then we will consider entering negotiations with the Ministry of Magic and other wizarding governments across the world."
"Harry as collateral," Ron stated distractedly, still wild with the possibility that his big brother might, even now, be in the bank and alive. "If you let me go now, I will figure out a way to bring that bloody sword back here tonight."
"Now, Mr. Weasley," Urg tilted his head back languidly, "Mr. Potter likely won’t be alive to be let go. You must understand that I couldn’t deny my people their . . . pleasure of him after he has caused so much trouble. But the great hero will fulfill his role to die for the greater good, and the sidekick will go forth in sorrow to bring our two societies to the bargaining table. And so," the goblin smirked, "the boy emerges from the shadows and becomes a man."
"Not a chance," Ron snarled, squaring off and drawing his wand, ignoring Harry’s restraining hand. "Not a chance do I walk through that door without Harry."
"It wasn’t a request, Mr. Weasley. Surely, a professional Auror understands that the good of the many outweighs the good of the one," Urg shrugged. "As you like though, we can certainly kill you as well since you are so determined to die. There would be no one to retrieve the sword of course and therefore no agreement for peace talks, but who am I to deny a selfish boy his wishes?"
The circle of goblins tightened around them, and Ron steeled himself to die next to Harry, not the worst way to go, he reckoned as he automatically assumed a defensive stance, fighting with his best mate.
"He’ll do it. I’ll stay with you and he’ll get the sword," Harry’s voice rang out.
"We’ve talked about this, Harry," Ron said through gritted teeth, his back to Harry’s as they faced the approaching enemy.
"I know we have, but the situation has changed." Harry moved from his post at Ron’s back and walked around to face Ron. "This is bigger than you and me, mate. You have to let me go." Ron froze. Harry put his hands on either side of his friend’s head, trapping Ron in his intent stare. "You have to let me go," he repeated softly.
And Ron saw that Harry knew exactly what he was asking him to do, saw it in the misery in his clear green eyes. He shook his head in denial. "I- I can’t," he pleaded. "Please don’t ask me not to fight with you, for you. I can do anything, anything you want, but not this."
A humorless smile tugged up the corners of Harry’s lips, "Thought you’d be ready to be rid of me. Nothing but trouble, you always say."
"Don’t joke right now," Ron choked, his hands moving to cover Harry’s as he leaned his forehead against his friend’s. "You can’t leave me here by myself."
"I’m sorry, Ron," Harry said, despair in his voice. "There’s no other way. I can’t go with you and you can’t stay with me. This is our chance." His tone twisted wryly, darkly, "That’s chess, Ron. You’ve got to make some sacrifices."
"Of all the things I’ve ever said, that’s what you’re going to remember?" Ron asked, knowing he was going to lose, knowing that his life was about to unalterably change for the worse, even as the world rediscovered hope.
"No," Harry said, "I’m going to remember that you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, that you kissed me, told me you loved me and that you’d take care of the world, our family and yourself, and then you walked away."
"Harry," Ron whispered.
"I love you, Ron," Harry said, stepping back slightly. He reached into his pocket to pull out the sorting hat and put it in Ron’s hand.
Ron swallowed and, grasping the hat in one hand and Harry’s hip in the other, he kissed his best friend. He concentrated hard, committing Harry to memory, his smell and his taste, the catching sob that became trapped between them. It ached, that kiss, all that power and light that was Harry Potter burned through Ron as he said good-bye.
"I love you," Ron gasped as they broke apart, determined not to cry. Determined that the last image he had of Harry was not going to be blurred with tears. "I promise that I will take care of the world and our family, and - and myself."
Harry nodded, stepped out from Ron’s arms and smiled his brilliant, warm smile. It was brittle around the edges, but it was genuine and proud, and Ron couldn’t help but smile back. Then he sketched a salute, turned around, and walked away.
* * *
He moved blindly through the circle of goblins, out the chamber and down the marble hall. Ron’s mind raced, considering and rejecting one plan after another, grasping for a last-minute miracle plan, until he was forced to acknowledge defeat. He stumbled, catching himself against a pillar before staggering forward, onward towards a world without Harry in it.
The sorting hat grew warm in his hand and Ron stopped in surprise. Wonderingly, he pushed his hand inside the worn material and grasped the pommel of the Sword of Gryffindor. Hope pierced through his heart, and he turned on his heel and sprinted back down the hall, shouting "Harry! Harry, I have the sword!"
He burst into the chamber to see Harry, still standing in the middle of the circle of goblins. "Ron," he said, his eyes lighting up even as he frowned.
"Harry the sword," Ron started forward before he was stopped by a dagger to his throat. "Please," Ron addressed the goblin blocking him from Harry, "I have the sword. It came out of the hat, like we said it would. You can have it," he offered, thrusting the sword, still in the hat, at the goblin. "Take it. The charm should be broken. Take the whole damn hat if you want to. I don’t care. Just let him go."
The goblin lowered the dagger and took the sword from Ron, moving across the circle to hand the sword to Urg. Ron didn’t move. He knew that if he touched Harry, he wouldn’t be able to let him go again. He simply was not strong enough.
Urg came forward slowly. "You are giving this to us freely? The Sorting Hat, one of the most prized possessions of Hogwarts?" he questioned.
"I am," said Ron. "We believe that the spell that makes the sword move has been broken, but even if it hasn’t, here is the hat that it disappears to."
"Do you have the authority to make that decision?" the elderly goblin asked.
"I take responsibility for it," Ron replied honestly. "It will not be taken from you." He’d deal with McGonagall later, but he was positive that she wouldn’t begrudge Harry a hat, no matter how extraordinary.
"You are an interesting wizard, Mr. Weasley," Urg said. "Your loyalty to Mr. Potter has been your defining characteristic, to the point of foolishness in some circumstances, yet you were willing to let him go." Ron held Urg’s stare. "Let me see that contract again," the goblin said, holding out his hand.
Ron walked across the circle, passing wide of Harry, not even meeting his eyes as he balanced on the precipice of hope and loss. He handed the scroll to Urg. Ron watched as the goblin scanned the document.
"Agreed," Urg said.
"Agreed?" Ron repeated.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Urg said, pulling a quill out of his suit pocket and signing the contract. "We agree to a cessation of aggression until the negotiation next month." Urg looked up at Ron as he rolled up the contract. "You two make quite an impression, one willing to sacrifice his life, the other willing to sacrifice his love, both for the purpose of peace. If that sort of desperation is prevalent in your community, then perhaps you are ready to hear our demands. We are willing to attempt to come to terms."
"And Harry?" Ron asked. He felt like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the abrupt change of situation.
"Your Mr. Potter is free to leave," Urg replied. "Griphook will see you out." With that, the circle of goblins dispersed, melting into the dark.
Ron stood staring into the shadows where Urg had disappeared, shocked into stillness. He felt a cold hand grasp his wrist. "C’mon, Ron," Harry said gently, lacing his fingers with Ron’s. Ron started, then gripped Harry’s hand tightly and allowed him to pull him out of the chamber, down the hall, and out the front door. Griphook pushed them out the door, and then pulled, and the two friends stood alone once again in the eerie silence of Diagon Alley. In that echoingly empty street, Harry turned to Ron and pulled him into his arms as Ron began to shake.
* * *
It wasn’t until hours later that Ron could really talk to Harry, but after his mum had been called and Kingsley had been visited and debriefed, and after Kreacher had fed them, they climbed the stairs together and fell wearily into bed.
They lay side by side, front to front, pressed together as tightly as possible, Harry’s head tucked beneath Ron’s chin. Ron felt the tension finally seeping out of his body as he held the warm and alive Harry, his Harry, in the dark. "I thought I was going to die," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I was ready for it, that we weren’t going to make it out of there alive. I never thought that I’d have to leave you." His voice broke. "I don’t think I could do it again." He buried his face in Harry’s hair, breathing deeply.
Harry lifted his head so that he was nose to nose with Ron. "You could, Ron. You could if you had to."
Ron was not convinced. In fact, he was fairly sure that Harry was dead wrong, but it wasn’t the time to argue. "Just don’t test me again, alright?" He said, brushing his lips over Harry’s.
"Alright," Harry said a smile in his voice as he deepened the kiss. They disengaged slowly and settled further down into the bed, just holding each other.
Harry fell asleep quickly, but Ron lay awake for a long time. Nothing was solved with the goblins really, but there was the possibility of resolution. The New Order and the Death Eaters were still in operation, though there was a chance that the New Order would come around in light of the goblin negotiations, or at least that Ginny might come around. Bill might be alive, and Ron’s head reeled at that possibility. Kingsley had promised to make that conversation part of the negotiations. No, nothing was solved, Ron thought as he breathed with Harry in the dark, but there was considerably more hope than there had been the day before.