A/N: This is my first story. I've been on this site for a really long time and finally decided to contribute. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it and reading so many other stories on this site.
I'm going to ask that you review. I know I don't always review the stories I read but as this is my first one I want to hear some feedback! Thank you.
This takes place around the first September/October after the war.
All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP. If I did I would pay off the debt my parents have from putting three kids through college!
Harry Potter sat at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen of the Burrow. The sun had long ago set and the night was at its darkest, only punctured by the glow of a full moon that seeped through the window over the sink.
Harry ran a hand through his hair before he could stop himself. With a sigh, he dropped his hand, the old scars "I must not tell lies" shone in the moonlight. Harry gave them the faintest of glances before turning his attention to the bottle in front of him.
He picked at the label with bitten fingernails, as he had been doing for nearly an hour, before picking up the bottle and downing another mouthful. Slamming the Firewhiskey back to the table at which he had had so many great memories, he tried to forget the memories that seemed to haunt him.
The creaking of the stairs went unnoticed as Harry took another swig.
Ron has awoken to find his best mate missing from the cot in which he slept next to Ron's own bed. On instinct, Ron climbed from his warm blankets and made his way down to the kitchen knowing, beyond doubt, he would find Harry there.
As Ron walked into the heart of the Burrow, he observed his friend in silence. Harry had always been troubled. The war had only brought him more stress rather than the relief they had all expected. The burden of loss weighed heavily on Harry. He not only had his own sorrow to cope with, but the sorrow of those who fought at Hogwarts and had seen their loved ones died as Harry had.
Ron watched Harry meet with the anguished and shake their hands and one by one put their burdens on his shoulders. All of this hours after he had defeated Voldemort. It wasn't fair. But then again, when had Harry's life ever been anything but unfair?
"Hey mate," Ron said as he sat down across from Harry.
Harry raised his eyes in response while still picking at the bottle's label.
"Nightmares?" Ron asked as he reached for the shot glass Harry had abandoned.
Harry shrugged in response as if answering verbally would send him over the edge of exhaustion he constantly teetered on.
Ron grabbed the bottle from Harry's battered hands and poured himself a shot, throwing it back easily before setting his gaze back to his best friend. He noted the dark circles under Harry's eyes, his slumped demeanor, his chewed fingernails, the way his teeth always seemed to be clenched and the crease in between his eyebrows. His face was the definition of war-torn.
"Harry," Ron began with a sigh, "I know you're having a rough go of it but you have to get some rest, mate."
Harry continued to sit silently. Unsure if his friend was listening, Ron continued,
"Kingsley says you're constantly going. You never stop, not even to eat. You've got to slow it down. I know you're trying to help rebuild but between that and Teddy and the nightmares you're going to collapse soon.
"Hermione and I are dead worried about you, mate. Not to mention Mum and Dad. Ginny's going spare at school. You never write her. You haven't even opened her letters. I know you were putting up a cheery front for her over the summer but you have to have known she would see through it. We all did.
"It was maddening having to watch you plaster on this fake smile," Ron paused for a moment. He had never said any of this to Harry before and he didn't know what made him say it on this particular night. He felt exasperated as he noticed Harry did not seem to have taken in any of what he had said.
"Harry-" Ron began in a weary voice as the man he addressed raised the near-empty bottle again and swallowed another mouthful of whisky.
"What?!" Harry snapped as he met Ron's eyes for the first time. "What, Ron? What do you want from me? I know I've been a shit boyfriend and shit best mate and a fucking waste of space for the past two months. Can't you just let me finish this bottle in peace?"
Ron, almost taken aback by Harry's sudden response, but not entirely surprised, kept himself calm. This was a tough feat for Ron, who had always argued back with Harry. He usually couldn't keep calm during an argument. That was Hermione. But, Ron knew that this was not Harry. At least not the Harry he knew. This was a Harry clouded by sleep deprivation, anxiety, too much responsibility and near-suffocating expectation of the wizarding world.
"Why, Harry?" Ron asked in a steady voice. "Why should I leave you alone? So you can get pissed and wallow in self-deprecation instead of actually talking about your problems."
"My only problem right now is whether this Firewhisky will knock me out with or without nightmares," Harry said, matching Ron's steady voice before knocking back the last of the Ogden's finest.
Ron knew he would probably be carrying Harry to the couch within the hour. With this in mind, Ron figured he had one last shot to make Harry listen before Harry was too far gone.
"I know you're tired of everyone around here hovering over you and wanting you to talk," Ron began in an almost pleading voice. "But Harry, you have to realize that we are all scared shitless we are going to find you dead one day. Whether from the drinking or the exhaustion or from your fucked up mind telling you that everyone would be better off without you. Because mate, that's just not true.
"We hover around because we love you. I know that sounds a bit fluffy but it's true. We're worried. I'm worried. Hermione's worried. Mum's about to call in a mind healer. I won't even try and stop her. I just want my best mate back. I just want you back to normal."
"When have I ever been normal Ron?" Harry countered almost instantly.
"Maybe that's the problem then," Ron replied just as quickly. "Maybe you haven't had a chance to find normal. If it takes playing hours of Quidditch or staying inside reading books or walking around Muggle London you have to know that I will help you find some peace, some normality."
"Even if all I want is to sit inside and read books all day?" Harry slurred with a smirk.
"Well, I know Hermione would keep you company if that's what you wanted to do," Ron said, grateful to bring some levity to the conversation even if it was drunken levity.
Harry seemed to contemplate this for several moments. Ron almost thought he had started to pass out. Then, Harry gave the briefest of nods.
"All right," he said. "I'll try. I want normal. Or as close to normal as I'll ever get. I want to sleep through the night again. I want to be able to write to Ginny without the letter sounding like a suicide note. I want to play Quidditch with you. I want to teach Teddy how to fly eventually. I want to feel balanced again. Is it weird that even with all the shit we went through at Hogwarts I felt a sense of balance in my life?"
"Maybe," Ron replied. "But it's like you said. When have you ever been normal? Maybe a little chaos is what keeps you sane. A little chaos. Right now you have nothing but chaos."
Again, Harry contemplated Ron's words. They slowly soaked in, as did the alcohol. Ron could see Harry gradually slump even further into his chair. Their talk was coming to an end.
"Do you think she'll forgive me?" Harry questioned drunkenly.
"I'm sure she will," Ron said confidently.
"Okay," Harry mumbled. "Let's go for organized chaos."
"Is that a promise?" Ron asked.
"Ask me again in the morning," Harry sleepily said as his eyes began to close.
Ron sighed as he stood up and headed toward the other side of the table. He heaved Harry out of his chair and all but carried him out the kitchen and onto the living room sofa. Harry passed out and didn't move as Ron covered him with a blanket.
"Night, mate," Ron said as he walked to the rickety stairs.
As he ascended the staircase, Ron contemplated the conversation he had just had with the person he knew best and knew him best.
When he reached his bedroom, laid in his old bed and covered himself with his orange comforter, Ron nearly prayed that the moonlight chat hadn't been for naught. The worry of Harry forgetting his agreement to accept help kept Ron from closing his eyes.
It seemed while Harry would sleep a drunken slumber, Ron would take over as that night's insomniac.