2. HEAT (PG) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: Heat
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Pre Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,410
Rating: PG
Warnings: Minor twin related angst. Unresolved sexual tension. Clueless!Harry and Hot!Ron get wet and dirty.
Summary: It's a hot day, and Ron doesn't want to do anything.
A/N: This is another return to the meandering style of Tea and Apples. However it's another prequel - set only a short time after Miss Him, so don't expect loads of happy.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
Summer heat has wrapped the Burrow in a stifling blanket. There isn’t any possible place to go to escape it. I’m stretched out on my bed, waiting for the small relief nightfall will bring. My t-shirt is clinging unpleasantly in all sorts of places and every breath seems to take a ridiculous amount of effort.
A pathetic sound echoes from below and to the right of me. It takes a long time to summon the energy but eventually I roll onto my side and look down.
“Ron?”
I hear a whimpering noise that I take as a reply.
“We could go downstairs. The floor is stone down there. It might be cooler.”
“Uh uh,” he grunts. “Mum. She’ll make me put clothes on.”
Ron is stretched out limply on the bare boards wearing nothing but his boxers.
“We could go swimming,” I suggest, thinking of the chilly, murky depths of the pond.
“Sunburn,” he grumbles in response.
Two days ago we’d spent most of the daylight hours in the pond. Not actually swimming, of course. I swallowed more muddy water than I cared to think about when Ron took it upon himself to throw me in while I was still undressing.
“This means war!” I declared, once I’d cleared my mouth of muck and my hair of pondweed. Afterwards we sat in the shallows until being called in to dinner.
The result? My nose and the back of my neck were slightly hot and sensitive. Ron, however, was pink and raw from head to toe. His skin seemed to glow with a light of its own.
“Not funny,” he moaned, as Ginny openly sniggered. He muttered a word at her in response that earned him a very sharp look from his mother.
“Just for that, Ronald Weasley, you can wait until I’ve finished serving! Maybe that will teach you to hold your tongue rather than use that sort of language in my kitchen.”
Ron promptly displayed the anguished features of a martyr to Mrs Weasley, who was unmoved. When she turned back to her pots and pans, Ron directed a very rude hand gesture at Ginny, which she returned, giggling unashamedly.
The obvious pain he was suffering even prompted George, when he appeared, to make a brief return to form by slapping him heartily on the back. Ron had roared deafeningly and chased his older brother around the kitchen, and for a good ten minutes everyone seemed to forget there had been a war.
That was until Ginny unthinkingly set the table with one plate too many.
When she noticed her blunder, she looked as though she might be sick. George’s animated face became closed again and he excused himself quietly to go to his room.
“George!” Ron implored. He made to follow but stopped when the sudden movement made him hiss with pain.
“Let’s get that mended.” Mrs Weasley had fixed a smile on her face but she sniffed a little, as though she were developing a cold, while she passed her wand over Ron’s stinging flesh.
George didn’t reappear until late in the evening to eat his reheated meal alone, but he did reappear. It was better than it had been.
I’m starting to get a crick in my neck, so I slide from the bed to sit cross-legged beside Ron’s prostrate form. His eyes open just a fraction.
“I miss the swarms of Dementors,” he moans. “They made me bloody miserable, but at least it wasn’t so hot.”
I snort and am gratified to receive a weak grin in return. I had laughed without thinking and it was obviously a good day, despite the heat. Only a few short weeks ago, he wouldn’t have made a joke at all.
Just when George had started venturing from his room for the first time in over a month, Ron went into a slump of his own. Overnight he became somehow brittle. At first I thought I’d done something wrong.
“Nah, mate,” he said with something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Just, you know, working some stuff out. Thinking.”
“Oh. Okay then.” I hadn’t wanted to press him further.
Trapped in the volatile cauldron that was the Burrow just after the Battle of Hogwarts I felt simultaneously like I was home but also horribly uncomfortable and guilty. I’d liked Fred, but I didn’t have the deep relationship the other Weasleys had had with him. I was an outsider here, intruding on their grief. There were days when Ron’s good humour would be dulled completely and it was almost like being back in that tent again in the woods. I would catch myself glancing at his neck expecting to see the Horcrux hanging there.
Ron spent a lot of time with George. They were catching up with the backlog of Wheezes orders, and making preparations for the eventual reopening of the Diagon Alley shop front.
“I would have thought you’d be going back to Hogwarts to get your NEWTs with Hermione,” I said, and was surprised to see Ron flinch a little. His reaction confused me.
Is he having second thoughts about Hermione?
“I don’t think I’ll bother,” he said, attempting to sound casual and sounding nervous instead.
He must be. I realised suddenly. Blimey, I never thought I’d see that happen.
“Besides,” he continued more enthusiastically, “I think George wants me to help, you know, when the shop opens again.”
I quickly forced a smile onto my face that I hoped was more convincing than Ron’s had been. His and Hermione’s relationship was none of my business. “That’s great!”
Ron seemed relieved and continued, elaborating some of the plans he and George had been making, and the awkward moment had passed.
I was uncomfortable sitting on the hard wood but Ron wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to move. As much as I shifted and fidgeted, the boards dug painfully into the base of my pelvis and tailbone and they weren’t getting any softer.
I’d been informed bluntly by Ron that I was the owner of the world’s boniest arse a week ago. I’d slipped on a Quidditch magazine he’d left in the middle of the room and fallen right back onto him where he was stretched out on the bed.
“Gerroff!” he yelped, shoving me onto the floor roughly, looking pained as he rubbed his injured thighs.
“Sorry…” I said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”
That hadn’t been a good day. Ron had glared at me, picked up his abused magazine and turned to lie facing the wall to read it. I’d left after about ten minutes. I couldn’t stand the silence.
After about an hour, he came to find me and apologised for overreacting.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “I understand. It’s a hard time for you. For both of us.”
Ron had looked away and flushed hotly, embarrassed. I quickly turned the conversation to safer topics. He was never that comfortable talking about his feelings and I didn’t know if I could really deal with it if he wanted to talk about anything. The events of the past year were still fresh in all our minds.
My arse is going numb and I’m bored out of my skull so I reach out and grab his arm.
“Come on, you miserable git. Let’s go and sit out in the orchard or something, under the trees.”
An angry grumble is his only response. I sigh, and slump my shoulders.
Ron’s wrist is still in my loosely clasped hand. His skin is trying to expend heat from every inch. Under my thumb I can feel his pulse tapping away like a baby bird escaping an egg. My fingertips rest on a raised and marbled line; I stroke it with my index finger idly and Ron sucks in a sharp breath. I glance at his face - his eyes are wide and alarmed - and then quickly down at the patch of skin my fingertips rest on.
“Oh, shit,” I exclaim, dropping Ron’s arm as if it burned me. “Your scars…I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No!” Ron squeaks, too quickly and forcefully.
“Are they bothering you? Maybe your Mum should take a look…” I reach for his arm again and he snatches it back out of my reach. Then he’s on his feet and through the door with remarkable speed for someone complaining of heat stroke.
“Shower,” he mumbles mostly to himself before disappearing from sight completely. “Cold shower. Yes.”
<- 1. Miss Him c@r 3. Scars ->
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Pre Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,410
Rating: PG
Warnings: Minor twin related angst. Unresolved sexual tension. Clueless!Harry and Hot!Ron get wet and dirty.
Summary: It's a hot day, and Ron doesn't want to do anything.
A/N: This is another return to the meandering style of Tea and Apples. However it's another prequel - set only a short time after Miss Him, so don't expect loads of happy.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
Summer heat has wrapped the Burrow in a stifling blanket. There isn’t any possible place to go to escape it. I’m stretched out on my bed, waiting for the small relief nightfall will bring. My t-shirt is clinging unpleasantly in all sorts of places and every breath seems to take a ridiculous amount of effort.
A pathetic sound echoes from below and to the right of me. It takes a long time to summon the energy but eventually I roll onto my side and look down.
“Ron?”
I hear a whimpering noise that I take as a reply.
“We could go downstairs. The floor is stone down there. It might be cooler.”
“Uh uh,” he grunts. “Mum. She’ll make me put clothes on.”
Ron is stretched out limply on the bare boards wearing nothing but his boxers.
“We could go swimming,” I suggest, thinking of the chilly, murky depths of the pond.
“Sunburn,” he grumbles in response.
Two days ago we’d spent most of the daylight hours in the pond. Not actually swimming, of course. I swallowed more muddy water than I cared to think about when Ron took it upon himself to throw me in while I was still undressing.
“This means war!” I declared, once I’d cleared my mouth of muck and my hair of pondweed. Afterwards we sat in the shallows until being called in to dinner.
The result? My nose and the back of my neck were slightly hot and sensitive. Ron, however, was pink and raw from head to toe. His skin seemed to glow with a light of its own.
“Not funny,” he moaned, as Ginny openly sniggered. He muttered a word at her in response that earned him a very sharp look from his mother.
“Just for that, Ronald Weasley, you can wait until I’ve finished serving! Maybe that will teach you to hold your tongue rather than use that sort of language in my kitchen.”
Ron promptly displayed the anguished features of a martyr to Mrs Weasley, who was unmoved. When she turned back to her pots and pans, Ron directed a very rude hand gesture at Ginny, which she returned, giggling unashamedly.
The obvious pain he was suffering even prompted George, when he appeared, to make a brief return to form by slapping him heartily on the back. Ron had roared deafeningly and chased his older brother around the kitchen, and for a good ten minutes everyone seemed to forget there had been a war.
That was until Ginny unthinkingly set the table with one plate too many.
When she noticed her blunder, she looked as though she might be sick. George’s animated face became closed again and he excused himself quietly to go to his room.
“George!” Ron implored. He made to follow but stopped when the sudden movement made him hiss with pain.
“Let’s get that mended.” Mrs Weasley had fixed a smile on her face but she sniffed a little, as though she were developing a cold, while she passed her wand over Ron’s stinging flesh.
George didn’t reappear until late in the evening to eat his reheated meal alone, but he did reappear. It was better than it had been.
I’m starting to get a crick in my neck, so I slide from the bed to sit cross-legged beside Ron’s prostrate form. His eyes open just a fraction.
“I miss the swarms of Dementors,” he moans. “They made me bloody miserable, but at least it wasn’t so hot.”
I snort and am gratified to receive a weak grin in return. I had laughed without thinking and it was obviously a good day, despite the heat. Only a few short weeks ago, he wouldn’t have made a joke at all.
Just when George had started venturing from his room for the first time in over a month, Ron went into a slump of his own. Overnight he became somehow brittle. At first I thought I’d done something wrong.
“Nah, mate,” he said with something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Just, you know, working some stuff out. Thinking.”
“Oh. Okay then.” I hadn’t wanted to press him further.
Trapped in the volatile cauldron that was the Burrow just after the Battle of Hogwarts I felt simultaneously like I was home but also horribly uncomfortable and guilty. I’d liked Fred, but I didn’t have the deep relationship the other Weasleys had had with him. I was an outsider here, intruding on their grief. There were days when Ron’s good humour would be dulled completely and it was almost like being back in that tent again in the woods. I would catch myself glancing at his neck expecting to see the Horcrux hanging there.
Ron spent a lot of time with George. They were catching up with the backlog of Wheezes orders, and making preparations for the eventual reopening of the Diagon Alley shop front.
“I would have thought you’d be going back to Hogwarts to get your NEWTs with Hermione,” I said, and was surprised to see Ron flinch a little. His reaction confused me.
Is he having second thoughts about Hermione?
“I don’t think I’ll bother,” he said, attempting to sound casual and sounding nervous instead.
He must be. I realised suddenly. Blimey, I never thought I’d see that happen.
“Besides,” he continued more enthusiastically, “I think George wants me to help, you know, when the shop opens again.”
I quickly forced a smile onto my face that I hoped was more convincing than Ron’s had been. His and Hermione’s relationship was none of my business. “That’s great!”
Ron seemed relieved and continued, elaborating some of the plans he and George had been making, and the awkward moment had passed.
I was uncomfortable sitting on the hard wood but Ron wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to move. As much as I shifted and fidgeted, the boards dug painfully into the base of my pelvis and tailbone and they weren’t getting any softer.
I’d been informed bluntly by Ron that I was the owner of the world’s boniest arse a week ago. I’d slipped on a Quidditch magazine he’d left in the middle of the room and fallen right back onto him where he was stretched out on the bed.
“Gerroff!” he yelped, shoving me onto the floor roughly, looking pained as he rubbed his injured thighs.
“Sorry…” I said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”
That hadn’t been a good day. Ron had glared at me, picked up his abused magazine and turned to lie facing the wall to read it. I’d left after about ten minutes. I couldn’t stand the silence.
After about an hour, he came to find me and apologised for overreacting.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “I understand. It’s a hard time for you. For both of us.”
Ron had looked away and flushed hotly, embarrassed. I quickly turned the conversation to safer topics. He was never that comfortable talking about his feelings and I didn’t know if I could really deal with it if he wanted to talk about anything. The events of the past year were still fresh in all our minds.
My arse is going numb and I’m bored out of my skull so I reach out and grab his arm.
“Come on, you miserable git. Let’s go and sit out in the orchard or something, under the trees.”
An angry grumble is his only response. I sigh, and slump my shoulders.
Ron’s wrist is still in my loosely clasped hand. His skin is trying to expend heat from every inch. Under my thumb I can feel his pulse tapping away like a baby bird escaping an egg. My fingertips rest on a raised and marbled line; I stroke it with my index finger idly and Ron sucks in a sharp breath. I glance at his face - his eyes are wide and alarmed - and then quickly down at the patch of skin my fingertips rest on.
“Oh, shit,” I exclaim, dropping Ron’s arm as if it burned me. “Your scars…I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No!” Ron squeaks, too quickly and forcefully.
“Are they bothering you? Maybe your Mum should take a look…” I reach for his arm again and he snatches it back out of my reach. Then he’s on his feet and through the door with remarkable speed for someone complaining of heat stroke.
“Shower,” he mumbles mostly to himself before disappearing from sight completely. “Cold shower. Yes.”
<- 1. Miss Him c@r 3. Scars ->