19. MISTAKES (PG-13) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: Mistakes
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,385
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language. Major angst. Cooking sherry.
Summary: Ron takes care of George.
A/N: First time for a POV not from Ron or Harry! And yes, lots of angst. It had been too long since I poked George with a stick, so I gave in to temptation.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
The pounding in my head seems to be echoing through the floor. I ignore it. There’s a bottle in my hand, so I raise it to my lips, mechanically, and take a large mouthful. The thudding continues but the fog is clearing. I can hear a voice calling my name.
“G’way,” I say loudly.
“George? Open the door!” the muffled voice says.
I decide to be more forceful in my approach. “SOD OFF!” I bellow.
There’s a muttering sound outside, then a flash of light. The door is blasted open with what seems to be an excessive amount of force.
“You broke my fucking door,” I mumble angrily.
“You wouldn’t open it,” Ron counters.
“Because I wanted to be left alone,” I say, scathingly. Another swallow. I’m too numb to feel the burn.
“You’re drinking that shit?” Ron gestures at the bottle of cooking sherry.
I shrug. “Ran out of everything else.”
He scans the line of empties on the table. “You drank your whole collection?”
“Not yet,” I say, sloshing the liquid left in the sherry bottle.
“Even that stuff Charlie brought back from Romania? The stuff that evaporated unless it was kept chilled and smelt like turpentine?”
“Yep,” I announce proudly. “And after half a bottle…it still tasted like shit.”
Ron shakes his head, incredulous. “You’re insane.”
I raise a finger to correct him. “No, I’m drunk.”
“You’re insane,” he repeats, “and you stink of puke.”
“Unfortunately. But there was no one around to care until you barged in so rudely.” I take another mouthful. “No one at all,” I add, all faint traces of humour gone.
“Where’s Lee?” Ron asks. “I thought he was going to be staying with you last night?”
I take a large gulp of the foul sherry. “He was.”
“But he’s not here.”
I smile, despite feeling no happiness at all. “He needed to be elsewhere. He left.”
Ron’s flushed face turns a deep crimson. Contrasted with his bright hair, it’s quite stunning. “He left? He left you alone last night?” Ron is gripping his still drawn wand tightly. “I’ll kill him,” he murmurs quietly, looking remarkably vicious. Hardly anything like the little brother I know.
“Not his fault,” I say, trying to placate him. It doesn’t work.
“Not his fault?! What could possibly be more important than keeping you company last night?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. “There wasn’t anything. He just needed to be elsewhere…anywhere else. Away from me.” Ron stops fuming and looks at me sharply and I look at my lap unable to meet his eyes. “I bollixed things up,” I say, quietly.
“Did you have a fight?” he asks.
“No. Not a fight.”
Ron looks confused. “Then what…?”
“I kissed him.”
There is a heavy silence. I hear Ron swallow loudly.
“I…I didn’t know…that you were…”
“I’m not,” I say firmly.
“But you…why?”
It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t help that I’m so messed up, myself, and that the alcohol is making it hard for me to think.
“I just needed…I don’t know. I just wanted to be close to somebody. To be near someone who missed him, who loved him too.” I shrug again. “I fucked up.”
Ron sighs, collapses into the chair opposite mine, holds out a hand, and I pass him the bottle. He takes a sip and swallows it with difficulty. “That’s disgusting,” he splutters, handing it back. “When did he leave?” he asks, after coughing a bit and clearing his throat.
“Nine o’clock.”
He blinks. “That’s not long ag -”
“Last night.”
He looks angry again. “You were on your own all night?”
“More or less.”
Ron looks like he wants to smash something. Instead, he says something under his breath that is highly uncomplimentary of Lee’s sexual preferences. I’m grudgingly impressed.
“Who taught you that one?” I ask.
“Charlie.”
I silently toast my absent brother. My other absent brother.
“So you just sat here and got drunk.”
“More drunk. I was already pretty far gone. Lee obviously wasn’t though. Well, not enough, anyway.” I giggle slightly hysterically.
“You stupid bugger,” Ron sighs.
“Failed bugger. Though not for want of trying.” I try to shake my head at my own lack of prowess, but the resulting pain makes me hiss and clutch my skull with my free hand. Ron looks at me sharply.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, with an edge in his voice.
“No. Not on purpose. He shoved me away, and I hit my head on the way down. I don’t think he saw it. He was out the door before I hit the ground. Things were a bit foggy for a while after. I had to go throw up.”
Ron has got up and is standing over me, gently parting my hair. One fingertip touches something that makes me yelp.
“No blood,” he says, looking closely. “But there’s a lump the size of a hen’s egg. You’ve probably got concussion.”
“Hooray!” I say with mock cheer, raising the bottle again, only to feel it being removed from my slack fingers. “Oi!”
“Which means you shouldn’t be drinking,” Ron clarifies. A second later I hear the glugging sound of the awful sherry being tipped down the kitchen sink. I think about going and saving it, but it just seems like far too much effort.
“What did you hit, anyway?” he says, re-emerging, dropping the now-empty bottle with the others.
“Don’t really know. Maybe the edge of the table?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t smash your head in,” Ron says, sounding slightly alarmed.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Weasleys have thick skulls. Having good aim and a strong arm is only one half of being a Beater. Most of the games I played in at school I got a decent tap at least once.”
Ron is unimpressed. “Most of the games at school you didn’t go and get wasted afterwards.”
I smirk. “That’s what you think.”
He rolls his eyes. “You should at least try and sober up a bit before this evening. You’re just lucky it was me that found you, not Mum.”
I groan. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Ron blinks at me, as if I’ve started speaking Gobbledegook. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I continue to look blank.
“You seriously forgot?” Ron looks disbelieving. “Busiest day of the year ring any bells? Customers lined up at eight am, waiting for the doors to open?”
I feel all the blood drain from my face. Today isn’t just my twenty-first birthday. It’s April Fools’ Day.
Before I can dash from the room and fall headlong down the narrow flight of stairs to the shop, Ron has pushed me back into my seat and held me there firmly with both hands. I struggle, but he’s stronger than I remembered, and my muscle tone isn’t what it used to be since I stopped playing Quidditch.
“Let me go, you twat! We have to open the shop! What time is it?”
“Stop fighting me, you bloody idiot! The shop’s open! It’s been open for over an hour.”
I slump, then panic a little again. “But you’re here. They’ll be stealing -”
“No, they won’t,” Ron says, still not letting go of me, his eyes fixed on mine. “Because Harry’s down there stuffing things into bags and Percy’s working the till and trying his best to flirt with the really fit female customers.”
“But…but why? How?”
Ron loosens his grip. “When I got here and saw you weren’t around, I thought you might have gone on a bender. I waited half an hour to see if you’d show, then I owled Harry and Perce because I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage the crowd myself.”
“The shop’s open?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes,” Ron says clearly.
“We’re not going to lose money?”
Ron shakes his head. “If anything, I think the delay in opening made them more excited. They nearly trampled Percy when he opened the door.”
I shut my eyes, lean forwards and cradle my face in my hands. Ron’s large hand rubs my back as I sniffle and sob like a bloody kid.
“Fucked everything up…” I moan.
After a while, Ron hoists me up and half-carries me to my bedroom. He helps me undress, tucks me in, and when I ask him to, he lies next to me until I fall asleep.
<- 18. Presents c@r 20. Inexperience ->
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Ron/Harry
Word Count: 1,385
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language. Major angst. Cooking sherry.
Summary: Ron takes care of George.
A/N: First time for a POV not from Ron or Harry! And yes, lots of angst. It had been too long since I poked George with a stick, so I gave in to temptation.
The Teapot 'verse Series
Chapter List HERE
Future Fics HERE
Teapot Cookie Fics HERE
The pounding in my head seems to be echoing through the floor. I ignore it. There’s a bottle in my hand, so I raise it to my lips, mechanically, and take a large mouthful. The thudding continues but the fog is clearing. I can hear a voice calling my name.
“G’way,” I say loudly.
“George? Open the door!” the muffled voice says.
I decide to be more forceful in my approach. “SOD OFF!” I bellow.
There’s a muttering sound outside, then a flash of light. The door is blasted open with what seems to be an excessive amount of force.
“You broke my fucking door,” I mumble angrily.
“You wouldn’t open it,” Ron counters.
“Because I wanted to be left alone,” I say, scathingly. Another swallow. I’m too numb to feel the burn.
“You’re drinking that shit?” Ron gestures at the bottle of cooking sherry.
I shrug. “Ran out of everything else.”
He scans the line of empties on the table. “You drank your whole collection?”
“Not yet,” I say, sloshing the liquid left in the sherry bottle.
“Even that stuff Charlie brought back from Romania? The stuff that evaporated unless it was kept chilled and smelt like turpentine?”
“Yep,” I announce proudly. “And after half a bottle…it still tasted like shit.”
Ron shakes his head, incredulous. “You’re insane.”
I raise a finger to correct him. “No, I’m drunk.”
“You’re insane,” he repeats, “and you stink of puke.”
“Unfortunately. But there was no one around to care until you barged in so rudely.” I take another mouthful. “No one at all,” I add, all faint traces of humour gone.
“Where’s Lee?” Ron asks. “I thought he was going to be staying with you last night?”
I take a large gulp of the foul sherry. “He was.”
“But he’s not here.”
I smile, despite feeling no happiness at all. “He needed to be elsewhere. He left.”
Ron’s flushed face turns a deep crimson. Contrasted with his bright hair, it’s quite stunning. “He left? He left you alone last night?” Ron is gripping his still drawn wand tightly. “I’ll kill him,” he murmurs quietly, looking remarkably vicious. Hardly anything like the little brother I know.
“Not his fault,” I say, trying to placate him. It doesn’t work.
“Not his fault?! What could possibly be more important than keeping you company last night?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. “There wasn’t anything. He just needed to be elsewhere…anywhere else. Away from me.” Ron stops fuming and looks at me sharply and I look at my lap unable to meet his eyes. “I bollixed things up,” I say, quietly.
“Did you have a fight?” he asks.
“No. Not a fight.”
Ron looks confused. “Then what…?”
“I kissed him.”
There is a heavy silence. I hear Ron swallow loudly.
“I…I didn’t know…that you were…”
“I’m not,” I say firmly.
“But you…why?”
It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t help that I’m so messed up, myself, and that the alcohol is making it hard for me to think.
“I just needed…I don’t know. I just wanted to be close to somebody. To be near someone who missed him, who loved him too.” I shrug again. “I fucked up.”
Ron sighs, collapses into the chair opposite mine, holds out a hand, and I pass him the bottle. He takes a sip and swallows it with difficulty. “That’s disgusting,” he splutters, handing it back. “When did he leave?” he asks, after coughing a bit and clearing his throat.
“Nine o’clock.”
He blinks. “That’s not long ag -”
“Last night.”
He looks angry again. “You were on your own all night?”
“More or less.”
Ron looks like he wants to smash something. Instead, he says something under his breath that is highly uncomplimentary of Lee’s sexual preferences. I’m grudgingly impressed.
“Who taught you that one?” I ask.
“Charlie.”
I silently toast my absent brother. My other absent brother.
“So you just sat here and got drunk.”
“More drunk. I was already pretty far gone. Lee obviously wasn’t though. Well, not enough, anyway.” I giggle slightly hysterically.
“You stupid bugger,” Ron sighs.
“Failed bugger. Though not for want of trying.” I try to shake my head at my own lack of prowess, but the resulting pain makes me hiss and clutch my skull with my free hand. Ron looks at me sharply.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, with an edge in his voice.
“No. Not on purpose. He shoved me away, and I hit my head on the way down. I don’t think he saw it. He was out the door before I hit the ground. Things were a bit foggy for a while after. I had to go throw up.”
Ron has got up and is standing over me, gently parting my hair. One fingertip touches something that makes me yelp.
“No blood,” he says, looking closely. “But there’s a lump the size of a hen’s egg. You’ve probably got concussion.”
“Hooray!” I say with mock cheer, raising the bottle again, only to feel it being removed from my slack fingers. “Oi!”
“Which means you shouldn’t be drinking,” Ron clarifies. A second later I hear the glugging sound of the awful sherry being tipped down the kitchen sink. I think about going and saving it, but it just seems like far too much effort.
“What did you hit, anyway?” he says, re-emerging, dropping the now-empty bottle with the others.
“Don’t really know. Maybe the edge of the table?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t smash your head in,” Ron says, sounding slightly alarmed.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Weasleys have thick skulls. Having good aim and a strong arm is only one half of being a Beater. Most of the games I played in at school I got a decent tap at least once.”
Ron is unimpressed. “Most of the games at school you didn’t go and get wasted afterwards.”
I smirk. “That’s what you think.”
He rolls his eyes. “You should at least try and sober up a bit before this evening. You’re just lucky it was me that found you, not Mum.”
I groan. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Ron blinks at me, as if I’ve started speaking Gobbledegook. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I continue to look blank.
“You seriously forgot?” Ron looks disbelieving. “Busiest day of the year ring any bells? Customers lined up at eight am, waiting for the doors to open?”
I feel all the blood drain from my face. Today isn’t just my twenty-first birthday. It’s April Fools’ Day.
Before I can dash from the room and fall headlong down the narrow flight of stairs to the shop, Ron has pushed me back into my seat and held me there firmly with both hands. I struggle, but he’s stronger than I remembered, and my muscle tone isn’t what it used to be since I stopped playing Quidditch.
“Let me go, you twat! We have to open the shop! What time is it?”
“Stop fighting me, you bloody idiot! The shop’s open! It’s been open for over an hour.”
I slump, then panic a little again. “But you’re here. They’ll be stealing -”
“No, they won’t,” Ron says, still not letting go of me, his eyes fixed on mine. “Because Harry’s down there stuffing things into bags and Percy’s working the till and trying his best to flirt with the really fit female customers.”
“But…but why? How?”
Ron loosens his grip. “When I got here and saw you weren’t around, I thought you might have gone on a bender. I waited half an hour to see if you’d show, then I owled Harry and Perce because I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage the crowd myself.”
“The shop’s open?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes,” Ron says clearly.
“We’re not going to lose money?”
Ron shakes his head. “If anything, I think the delay in opening made them more excited. They nearly trampled Percy when he opened the door.”
I shut my eyes, lean forwards and cradle my face in my hands. Ron’s large hand rubs my back as I sniffle and sob like a bloody kid.
“Fucked everything up…” I moan.
After a while, Ron hoists me up and half-carries me to my bedroom. He helps me undress, tucks me in, and when I ask him to, he lies next to me until I fall asleep.
<- 18. Presents c@r 20. Inexperience ->