INITIAL SIGNS (PG) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: Initial Signs
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Gen
Word Count: 1,214
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU. Spiders (mentioned). Fluff.
Summary: Some things change, some stay the same.
A/N: Takes place on 1st September, 1991
More of an epilogue to Inconceivable than a sequel, really. (Yes, I said the E word. Sorry.)
You should read that story first, if you haven't already.
This story contains some stuff that belongs to JKR and all those other people. In particular, some dialogue that I've taken verbatim or paraphrased from Chapter Six (The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters) of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (p. 71-74 of the Bloomsbury paperback edition).
The mother of a gaggle of redheaded children showed Harry the trick to getting onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and now that he was here, it was all a bit overwhelming, in a truly marvellous way. His case presented a problem, heavy as it was. The twins from the red haired family, identical down to the last freckle, helped him wrangle it on board.
“Thanks,” he gasped, wiping his damp face with his hand.
“What’s that?” one of them asked, pointing at Harry’s face.
“Blimey. Are you-?” the other ventured.
“He is. Aren’t you?” the first said with certainty.
“What?” asked Harry, utterly confused.
“Harry Potter,” they said in unison.
“Oh, him. I mean, yes, I am,” Harry stammered, flushing, as the older boys stared.
At the call of their mother, they disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared. Harry peered through the window and watched the odd family interacting.
The mother advanced with a handkerchief on the boy she’d called Ron, before. He ducked back out of her reach, held up his hand in a stopping gesture and rubbed at his nose himself.
“It’s still there!” she scolded, her hands moving in a sharp pattern as she spoke.
Ron’s face broke in a broad grin and he skipped back again, his hands dancing, obviously communicating something cheeky if the twins’ burst of laughter and Molly’s indignant huff were anything to go by.
“You’ll be the death of me!” she declared, throwing her hands in the air.
Ron’s face became earnest, and he patted a clenched fist against his chest. Even Harry could figure that one out, especially when the woman softened and pulled Ron in for a hug.
“Behave yourself,” she said when they pulled apart, hands emphasising her words.
Ron’s look of hurt innocence fooled nobody and provoked another round of laughter.
The other, smaller boy with thick-lensed glasses sidled up for a hug, too. Ron fell into deep, silent discussion with the twins, interspersed by frequent glances at the window of his train compartment. The younger boy was saying something to his mother in a thickly accented voice, his hands moving in what was clearly a query.
“It won’t matter, John. I promise you. The teachers have made arrangements for your classes, and I’m sure you’ll make plenty of new friends who’ll help you out,” the woman was reassuring him, with speech and gesture. “Percy’s a prefect this year. You can go to him or one of the teachers if anyone bothers you or Ron. All right?”
John, nodded, though he seemed far from certain, and his mother gave him a final squeeze before the whistle blew and the children had to hurry for the train.
Moments later, slowly, with a great deal of grinding and squealing and chuffing, the train began to move, pulling away from the platform where the woman stood alone, now, smiling and waving, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief.
The platform had disappeared from view completely when the compartment door opened and Ron stepped inside. After glancing about the empty interior, he gestured to encompass the whole space, then pointed to himself, and then the seat opposite Harry.
“Of course,” Harry said automatically, and then, belatedly, he nodded firmly.
Ron broke into a grin and sat down, studying Harry a little curiously, but not enough to make Harry squirm.
The doorway was suddenly full of ginger headed boys. The twins and John were peering in, eyes flicking between Ron and Harry. John met Harry’s gaze, blushed, and looked away. He was holding a grey rat, stroking it in a way that suggested the movement was more calming to him than to the rat, which appeared to be asleep.
A twin’s hands fluttered an inquiry. Ron shrugged casually as an answer, but he looked a little green and shuddered at the other twin’s reply. Ron made a very clear shooing motion with one hand, and looked offended at his brothers’ raucous laughter.
“Chicken,” John said, accompanying it with a gesture that made his meaning plain. The rat had been carefully tucked away in his pocket only moments beforehand.
Ron responded with a two fingered salute, and the three boys left, still laughing.
Harry felt confused and left out, and it must have shown, because when Ron’s blue eyes met his, Ron fumbled in his pocket for a notepad and a stub of pencil. He moved across and sat down next to Harry, so that Harry could see the paper without craning his neck.
Fred and George asked me if I wanted to come and see Lee’s giant tarantula with them, Ron wrote in a messy but legible scrawl. I’m terrified of spiders, even little ones, and they know it. Bastards.
Harry laughed aloud as the banter between the brothers became clear. He was startled when Ron joined in.
I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley, Ron added, then offered the pad to Harry.
I’m Harry Potter, he wrote back.
Ron didn’t look entirely surprised, as the twins had, and gestured at his own forehead. Harry blinked, before realising what Ron was asking. He pushed up his fringe to show the lightning scar.
Ron’s hands began to move in a question, before he stopped himself and took back the pad and pencil. Do you remember it happening?
Green light. Nothing else, Harry wrote back.
Ron nodded, and still looked highly impressed.
Can I ask you a question? Harry wrote, after a long hesitation. Ron shrugged and nodded. Why can't you talk if you can laugh?
Ron didn’t look affronted. Rather, he simply took the pencil and wrote, I can still make noises. There’s nothing wrong with my voice. It’s just too hard to learn to make sounds like words when I can’t hear them. They say I snore, too. LOUDLY, he added with a slightly sheepish grin.
Harry laughed. Ron had filled the page, so he flipped over to a clean one.
Everyone in my family signs anyway, so it doesn’t matter, Ron continued, then paused for a moment, as though thinking. It’s harder for John, I think, because he can hear a bit. He just wants to fit in. That’s why I think he’s going to be in Hufflepuff. Not because he’s stupid or anything, Ron clarified, with a defiant glare.
Harry nodded agreement, even though he had no idea what a Hufflepuff was. From what he’d seen of John, he just looked shy, not unintelligent.
Is it hard to learn? Harry asked. To talk with your hands, I mean.
I’ve always talked this way, from when I was a baby, Ron answered. But Mum and Dad learned when I was born, and they were pretty old by then. So it can’t be that hard, he concluded with the arrogance of youth. Do you want me to teach you?
Harry nodded, and Ron grinned enormously.
What do you want to learn first? Charlie taught me some wicked swearwords. Just don’t say them around my brother Percy unless you want him to turn bright purple. It’s an incredible colour, but he’s a prefect now, so he might give you a detention.
Harry fell about in giggles, and before he’d even shaped his hand clumsily into the signs for Ron’s and his own names, a friendship had been forged.
<- Inconceivable
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Gen
Word Count: 1,214
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU. Spiders (mentioned). Fluff.
Summary: Some things change, some stay the same.
A/N: Takes place on 1st September, 1991
More of an epilogue to Inconceivable than a sequel, really. (Yes, I said the E word. Sorry.)
You should read that story first, if you haven't already.
This story contains some stuff that belongs to JKR and all those other people. In particular, some dialogue that I've taken verbatim or paraphrased from Chapter Six (The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters) of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (p. 71-74 of the Bloomsbury paperback edition).
The mother of a gaggle of redheaded children showed Harry the trick to getting onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and now that he was here, it was all a bit overwhelming, in a truly marvellous way. His case presented a problem, heavy as it was. The twins from the red haired family, identical down to the last freckle, helped him wrangle it on board.
“Thanks,” he gasped, wiping his damp face with his hand.
“What’s that?” one of them asked, pointing at Harry’s face.
“Blimey. Are you-?” the other ventured.
“He is. Aren’t you?” the first said with certainty.
“What?” asked Harry, utterly confused.
“Harry Potter,” they said in unison.
“Oh, him. I mean, yes, I am,” Harry stammered, flushing, as the older boys stared.
At the call of their mother, they disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared. Harry peered through the window and watched the odd family interacting.
The mother advanced with a handkerchief on the boy she’d called Ron, before. He ducked back out of her reach, held up his hand in a stopping gesture and rubbed at his nose himself.
“It’s still there!” she scolded, her hands moving in a sharp pattern as she spoke.
Ron’s face broke in a broad grin and he skipped back again, his hands dancing, obviously communicating something cheeky if the twins’ burst of laughter and Molly’s indignant huff were anything to go by.
“You’ll be the death of me!” she declared, throwing her hands in the air.
Ron’s face became earnest, and he patted a clenched fist against his chest. Even Harry could figure that one out, especially when the woman softened and pulled Ron in for a hug.
“Behave yourself,” she said when they pulled apart, hands emphasising her words.
Ron’s look of hurt innocence fooled nobody and provoked another round of laughter.
The other, smaller boy with thick-lensed glasses sidled up for a hug, too. Ron fell into deep, silent discussion with the twins, interspersed by frequent glances at the window of his train compartment. The younger boy was saying something to his mother in a thickly accented voice, his hands moving in what was clearly a query.
“It won’t matter, John. I promise you. The teachers have made arrangements for your classes, and I’m sure you’ll make plenty of new friends who’ll help you out,” the woman was reassuring him, with speech and gesture. “Percy’s a prefect this year. You can go to him or one of the teachers if anyone bothers you or Ron. All right?”
John, nodded, though he seemed far from certain, and his mother gave him a final squeeze before the whistle blew and the children had to hurry for the train.
Moments later, slowly, with a great deal of grinding and squealing and chuffing, the train began to move, pulling away from the platform where the woman stood alone, now, smiling and waving, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief.
The platform had disappeared from view completely when the compartment door opened and Ron stepped inside. After glancing about the empty interior, he gestured to encompass the whole space, then pointed to himself, and then the seat opposite Harry.
“Of course,” Harry said automatically, and then, belatedly, he nodded firmly.
Ron broke into a grin and sat down, studying Harry a little curiously, but not enough to make Harry squirm.
The doorway was suddenly full of ginger headed boys. The twins and John were peering in, eyes flicking between Ron and Harry. John met Harry’s gaze, blushed, and looked away. He was holding a grey rat, stroking it in a way that suggested the movement was more calming to him than to the rat, which appeared to be asleep.
A twin’s hands fluttered an inquiry. Ron shrugged casually as an answer, but he looked a little green and shuddered at the other twin’s reply. Ron made a very clear shooing motion with one hand, and looked offended at his brothers’ raucous laughter.
“Chicken,” John said, accompanying it with a gesture that made his meaning plain. The rat had been carefully tucked away in his pocket only moments beforehand.
Ron responded with a two fingered salute, and the three boys left, still laughing.
Harry felt confused and left out, and it must have shown, because when Ron’s blue eyes met his, Ron fumbled in his pocket for a notepad and a stub of pencil. He moved across and sat down next to Harry, so that Harry could see the paper without craning his neck.
Fred and George asked me if I wanted to come and see Lee’s giant tarantula with them, Ron wrote in a messy but legible scrawl. I’m terrified of spiders, even little ones, and they know it. Bastards.
Harry laughed aloud as the banter between the brothers became clear. He was startled when Ron joined in.
I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley, Ron added, then offered the pad to Harry.
I’m Harry Potter, he wrote back.
Ron didn’t look entirely surprised, as the twins had, and gestured at his own forehead. Harry blinked, before realising what Ron was asking. He pushed up his fringe to show the lightning scar.
Ron’s hands began to move in a question, before he stopped himself and took back the pad and pencil. Do you remember it happening?
Green light. Nothing else, Harry wrote back.
Ron nodded, and still looked highly impressed.
Can I ask you a question? Harry wrote, after a long hesitation. Ron shrugged and nodded. Why can't you talk if you can laugh?
Ron didn’t look affronted. Rather, he simply took the pencil and wrote, I can still make noises. There’s nothing wrong with my voice. It’s just too hard to learn to make sounds like words when I can’t hear them. They say I snore, too. LOUDLY, he added with a slightly sheepish grin.
Harry laughed. Ron had filled the page, so he flipped over to a clean one.
Everyone in my family signs anyway, so it doesn’t matter, Ron continued, then paused for a moment, as though thinking. It’s harder for John, I think, because he can hear a bit. He just wants to fit in. That’s why I think he’s going to be in Hufflepuff. Not because he’s stupid or anything, Ron clarified, with a defiant glare.
Harry nodded agreement, even though he had no idea what a Hufflepuff was. From what he’d seen of John, he just looked shy, not unintelligent.
Is it hard to learn? Harry asked. To talk with your hands, I mean.
I’ve always talked this way, from when I was a baby, Ron answered. But Mum and Dad learned when I was born, and they were pretty old by then. So it can’t be that hard, he concluded with the arrogance of youth. Do you want me to teach you?
Harry nodded, and Ron grinned enormously.
What do you want to learn first? Charlie taught me some wicked swearwords. Just don’t say them around my brother Percy unless you want him to turn bright purple. It’s an incredible colour, but he’s a prefect now, so he might give you a detention.
Harry fell about in giggles, and before he’d even shaped his hand clumsily into the signs for Ron’s and his own names, a friendship had been forged.
<- Inconceivable