prompts at the bottom
thanks to tiggs, ck, and shiba for betaing!
2147 words, by google docs
Forty-three.
That's the number of grey hairs Ron can count. It's funny; the number of grey hairs match his age. Does he just grow one every year? Probably not—he's seems to notice a lot more of them recently, with the increase of crime in the wizarding world.
Leaning closer into the mirror, he has a strong urge to pull them out, one by one, but he knows that Hermione would tell him off. According to her, pulling one gray hair out leads to three more growing.
Looking even further, he sees that the hairs are closer to white, not grey, which is slightly startling to him. White hairs seem even older.
"Dad!"
Ron sighs as he hears Hugo knock loudly at the bathroom door. He has no idea how long he's been in there, looking at himself in the mirror.
"I'm coming out, I'm coming out," he says, leaning back. He takes one last look in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair—including all the gray.
Hugo rolls her eyes at Ron as he passes him on his way to bed.
There's time tomorrow to dwell on his rapid aging. For now, Ron needs a good night's sleep. There's always more Auror work tomorrow.
"I'm retiring."
"That's nice."
Ron yawns, not really registering Harry's words. He has a huge pile of paperwork which, yes, he should've done earlier, but he can't change the past and he can't change the deadline, either.
It takes him another moment to understand what Harry just said.
"What?" he says, looking up from a report on some misuse of magic in Southern England. "You can't do that."
For the first time, Ron realises that he's not the only one who looks older. If Ron looks old, Harry looks ancient. His hair is more gray than Ron's is, the gray mixed in throughout, but besides that, his face is etched deep with worry lines and there are deep bags under his eyes.
Ron knows that being the head of the Auror department must've taken some toll on Harry, but he never realised how much it did, really.
"I can't do this anymore, mate. It's too much," Harry tells him, crossing the room and sitting in the chair on the other side of Ron's desk.
"What'll happen to us?" Ron asks. He understands that it's not an easy job but he doesn't want to let Harry just go. "We're the Dynamic Duo. Dynamic Solo sounds stupid," he reasons with him. It's not much, but maybe it'll help.
"I want you to take over the position," Harry says, not addressing Ron's point except for a small smile.
"Me?" Ron says, faltering.
Him, Ron Weasley, as head of the Auror department? Damn.
For just a second, Ron has no second thoughts about saying yes. He'll be able to rise in the Ministry like his father never did. Like his father refused to do. He'll be the head of one of the most powerful branches of the Ministry. He'll be out there, every day, watching every battle unfold right in front of his eyes.
And he'll be leading it.
He'll finally be able to step into the light, after so long in Harry's shadow. It's so tempting to take the job, right here, right now.
And then the record scratches, he's pulled out of his fantasy, and he remembers why he's being offered the position.
"You're going to leave?" he asks Harry. Maybe Ron should just let him go—Harry's looked better in their years of working at the Ministry together. Besides, Ron knows that Harry probably wants to spend more time with his children before they grow up; Rose and Albus are both starting their last year of Hogwarts. Ron feels the same way.
Also, Harry has his determined look on—his brows are furrowed and his face is set.
"I'm going to leave," Harry confirms, nodding. "I'd rather my best mate take over the job, but if you don't want it, it can go to someone else."
There it is. Ron knew it'd come up: the Best Mate card. It is true that Ron would probably be the most eligible after Harry, but Harry's the most eligible of everyone.
Still.
Head of the Auror Department.
"I'll do it," Ron says, nodding. "I'll take over the department."
"Great, mate," Harry says. He smiles at Ron, a big and genuine smile, and he looks younger already.
There's so much green and Ron is hoping none of it is coming from his side.
Then again, if it's coming from his side, that means it's not hitting his side, which is good. He doesn't want his men to be dead any more than he wants them to be murderers.
"Men!" Ron calls. He's pretty sure it's unheard—there's yelling and spells being thrown every which way. Light passes his eyes in flashes—red, white, purple, and green. So much green.
Why won't the listen to him and fall in? He's the head of the Auror department. He's the one the Aurors should listen to.
"Men! Fall in!"
Still, no one listens, even though it's a lost cause. The best thing they can do is retreat.
And then the green over takes someone and Ron can see them fall.
He's certain it's from his side.
"I failed."
Ron can't close his eyes without seeing green. It's like it's a ghost and it's following him around refusing to give up haunting him.
He failed his men. He should've been louder and made sure they were listening to him. He should've dived in front of them and saved them—his life is much less valuable than theirs.
There were three fallen. Three. That's three too many.
What sick person even makes a curse that could kill someone?
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Harry says, sipping coffee and looking at the stack of papers Ron threw in front of him—official resignation papers. They've gone out for lunch but Ron can't eat. It's funny; usually nothing stops his hunger, but today his failure is raining on his food, making it look disgusting.
"I lost three Aurors, Harry," Ron says to him. His voice cracks. He was the one in charge and he blew it. He wishes Harry would come back and take this burden off of him. He feels awful. He doesn't want to be the head anymore and he's only been on one mission.
"I've lost over twenty," Harry rebuts, raising an eyebrow at Ron. Harry's been retired for just over a week and he already looks better. He looks more rested, as if he's been carrying a huge rock for thirty-three years and he's finally put it down.
"You lost over twenty in thirty-three years. I lost three in a single week," Ron counters. His voice sounds flat, broken.
He blinks and can see the green lights again. He hates green. He's never going to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day again.
"And you think I don't know how you feel?" Harry asks. Ron really wishes Harry would lower his eyebrow. He doesn't want Harry's 'I'm the Chosen One and I've seen horrors unknown to earth' speech. Ron knows that. He's been Harry's best friend since they were eleven.
"You didn't fail, right off the bat," Ron says miserably. "I've been handed this huge responsibility and I don't know how to handle it. I should've said no. I'm not eligible for this."
"You're the most eligible there is," Harry argues. "You've been out there, with me and Hermione."
"Maybe," Ron says. He knows that Harry's point is true, but at the same time, what did he do? He didn't seem to do much but complain. He hates to look back at it, but he knows that it's true.
"And as for failing right away, of course I did. Do you not remember? You were there," Harry says. He puts down his coffee cup and fixes Ron with a harsh stare.
Ron thinks for a moment, but he doesn't remember the details of the first mission Harry led. There have been plenty more since then and it doesn't stand out in Ron's memory, even though it was probably his first mission, too.
"What happened?" Ron asks.
Then it hits him as Harry looks down at the table with a guilty look.
"Sturgis," Ron whispers. Harry nods.
Ron remembers now—Sturgis Podmore, one of the members of the Order, died while on a mission with them. Ron can't say that he feels sad about Sturgis—he never really knew him—but Harry seems to be beating himself up, even now.
Then again, Ron did really know the three of his men that died during his mission and he feels sick thinking about them.
"Not only Sturgis, though. I failed, also," Harry says, looking up at Ron. His eyes are slightly glossy. "Hestia Jones, too. Two of the best Aurors here and because I failed at leading them, they died. Hestia saved my aunt and uncle and my cousin and I couldn't even save her." Harry falters, looking awful.
Ron closes his eyes tight. He's seeing the green, again, instead of the blood red his eyelids usually show.
"I still don't think I'm cut out for this job."
Everything in Ron is screaming at him. He's the head of the Auror department. He's one of the most important people in the Ministry, right up there with the other heads.
He's just going to give it up?
He hasn't spent much time in the bathroom lately, counting his gray hairs. He's been too exhausted after work to bother, but he's pretty sure his forty-three has doubled. At least.
"This is your problem," Harry says, giving a big sigh.
"What's my problem?" Ron asks, his eyes snapping open. He thought that Harry wanted him to be the head. Now he's going to insult him?
"You always doubt yourself. You're always good enough, but you never believe that yourself. You need to stop doing that."
"Except I'm not good enough!" Ron argues. If he was good enough, he wouldn't still be seeing the green. He wouldn't still be seeing the body falling, engulfed in green.
"You are," Harry argues back. This is the problem, Ron supposes, about them both being Gryffindors; neither of them are likely to give up. "I failed that first time, too, yes, but you know how I got over it?"
"How?" Ron asks. He'd love to know, really, because it seems like he'll always wear this feeling of guilt.
"I realised that these people, these Aurors, this is what they signed up for. They knew that they might die and they still took that chance. They died protecting their family and friends and they don't blame me for them dying."
Harry stops and Ron lets that sink in.
He's finding it a little difficult to believe and accept, but he knows that Harry's right. Harry's always right. Maybe Harry should've been a Ravenclaw.
"How do you know they don't blame me? I could've done a million things better."
"But you didn't," Harry points out. "And that's okay," he adds. "I know they don't blame you because—" Harry hesitates. There's something that crosses across his face, something that's almost close to fear. "I found the Resurrection Stone," he whispers, so quiet that Ron almost misses it. "I talked to my parents and Sirius and Remus. They don't blame me. That gave me some closure, considering that they were the ones that didn't sign up to die for me."
Ron is quiet. That's a startling statement.
"What happened to the stone?" he blurts out, unable to stop himself.
"I dropped it in the Forest. I don't want it."
Ron pauses. Harry just dropped one of the most powerful items? He doesn't want it?
Ron's stomach drops as he realises that there's really no way for him to know for sure if he's not blamed; the Forbidden Forest is way too big to search. Then he feels guilty for wanting to find it—the people brought back are supposed to be sad. They're supposed to want to stay dead.
Which, Ron supposes gives him his answer.
If the dead want to stay dead, then they probably are happy dead. They probably don't blame him.
"Now, about these papers," Harry says, motioning to the mound of papers Ron started filled out, prepared to resign. It seemed so long ago; Ron forgot about them until now. "I'm not going to help you resign. I believe that you can do this. If you really want to resign, you do it yourself."
"No," Ron says, taking the papers back and making a mental note to throw them out on his way back to the Ministry, "you're right. I'll stay on." He blinks and he can still see the green, but it seems lighter and fainter, like it's distant.
Harry smirks and he looks genuinely pleased at Ron's decision. "Good."
for:
the houses competition [gryffindor, hoh, themed - green]
auction challenge [dynamic]
pinata challenge [friendship]
couple appreciation [only one gender]
film festival [a confession]
writing club [disney - eeyore; amber's attic - 20; showtime - that guy; days of the month - world wish day; count your buttons - harry potter; lyric alley - but i live with that; sophie's shelf - police brutality; lo's lowdown - heroes]
guess the name [pretzel]