Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Seven.
Position: Keeper
Position Prompt: Use Spider-man 3 for inspiration
Word Count: ~ 1410
A huge thank you to my amazing beta(s): DinoDina
Go Wanderers!
Also written for The Golden Snitch forum. Through the universe: Event Horizon — (feeling) utterly lost
A/N Elements of Spider-Man 3 that loosely inspired this story: everybody having a dark side, betrayal and anger between friends, secrets, memory loss, hospitals, Peter proposing to Mary Jane (you know, the big Yes).
It all made me think of when Hermione attacked Ron with birds because she was jealous, but Ron in this is definitely more forgiving than I feel towards her at the moment...
AU, what if scenario
Not sure if this deserves a warning, but just in case, as I don't want to upset anyone: blind!Ron
What Ron expected from Harry was but a little word, but they were three letters to be spoken with tremor and uncharacteristic caution. A harmless word when you consider it in the right context, perhaps one of the most used in the world, and definitely one that had to exist in any tongue. The word that could open the door to the highest happiness. And now Ron was demanding it from Harry in the worst possible way, a sacrifice that he had no way to determine whether his best mate would consider too big, too unfair, too… evil.
Once, a look at Harry would have told Ron anything he needed to know, those bright green eyes always so easy to read, but now…
Not any longer, he thought bitterly.
"Harry, please..." He bowed his head, embarrassed, more of habit than anything else — it's not like he had been holding Harry's gaze anyway. As expected, darkness followed him so he couldn't see the white starched sheet of his bed in the Hospital Wing, but he was sure he would have found it pretty interesting. He still ran a finger down its edge, marvelling at his new ability to perceive the thin fibers it was made of.
Drawing senseless patterns on the sheet, he focused on Harry again when he felt a soft shuffle — oh, so Harry had been standing the whole time. Or maybe Ron had just missed the moment when he had gotten up in distress.
"Sit down, Harry. You make me nervous," he said.
"How —?"
How did you know? Ron's mind supplied. Harry was understandingly a bit uncomfortable, unsure as to the best way to address the delicate subject of Ron's condition.
His eyes being as they were was a lot to process for the both of them, and being unable to see his best friend unsettled him, but after six years, Ron knew his best mate well enough to predict most of his reactions, which helped a little, provided some sense of continuity.
Not even before would he have needed to look at Harry to know that, when Ron had told him to sit down, his best mate's eyes had widened, the gesture making his glasses slide down a little. Sure enough, he got an annoyed huff from Harry, followed by a little tic as the glasses were shoved back too hastily.
Ron smirked, a little thing, no more than a twitch of his lips. "I heard you shuffle your feet. Apparently, it's true what they say about… about people… you know —" He waved at himself. "— like me." He felt breathless, he felt like a coward, he felt a lump in his throat, and he collapsed against the pillow behind him. He hadn't been able to say it still, and he cursed himself for it.
Once again, he uselessly looked away from the point Harry's voice had come, blackness never leaving him.
Blackness. Not the reassuring one of the night, not the dark mantle littered with stars. Complete darkness. Just that, just the absence of light.
Ron gritted his teeth. This shouldn't have happened at all. Not when someone had finally chosen him, loved him.
Sorry, Harry.
He couldn't see him, but he could still feel his presence. He focused on the direction Harry's breath came from, hesitated for a brief moment, and reached out for him, the urge to feel his best friend's warmth overwhelming. When he found Harry's hand — or maybe it was the other way around — it was calloused and solid, anchoring him.
He felt so lost, so in need of even a little guidance. He had never realized how much he relied on his sight before.
For a brief — vengeful? — moment, he talked himself out of this plan, but it was Hermione, and he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing she was blaming herself — as she should, a bitter voice whispered, but he did his best to ignore it. There were worse things than losing his sight… Seeing his loved ones suffer would always be one of them. It would always be his weakness, his blind spot, the only thing that could make the scale tip towards what always were the brightest or the dumbest decisions of his life.
But in this case… Was it mercy or punishment?
He freed his right hand from Harry's grasp and ran it through his hair. No, for her own sake, Hermione must forget as soon as possible. For their friendship sake, they all must forget. Something had shattered, and Ron just couldn't find all the pieces. It was no coincidence that she was not here.
"Please, mate," he said again. "We both know she won't come." If he was sure she would, he'd Obliviate her himself.
"Ron…" It was a sigh, maybe a plea, but there was gentleness and care and concern behind it.
Ron's heart ached as guilt twisted his stomach, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. Harry had to be the one to take care of Hermione's memories, while he would personally take care of Harry's once he got out of here. He wouldn't let his best mate carry such a big burden on his account.
Just one word, Harry. Come on. Just one word. Unfair as it is.
He almost felt Harry's grave gaze on him, before a soft "Yes" reached his ears.
Oddly enough, the sigh that escaped Ron's chest was not one of relief. His throat dry, he still managed to say, "Thank you, Harry," but all he could do was wonder why he felt like such a huge deceiver, why the word Harry had spoken had run through him like Fiendfyre.
"Harry," he said. "Harry, Harry —" He had no idea what he was trying to say. He just knew that it needed to be said and that Harry — who indeed hummed in understanding and reassurance — would get it, as always.
Fumbling around in the dark, he grabbed Harry's hand again and squeezed it, hoping he could soon wake up from this nightmare where he used his best friends, who were like siblings to him, in such a way. That was not him… It was not. But on the other hand, forgetting it all would be such a blessing to him too.
Please.
Please, please, please.
Please.
He'd give his life for them.
Let them be all right.
He just wanted the friendship between the three of them to be fixed.
He didn't even care about being blind. Personal pain he could take, maybe he even deserved it, but this? Was it right to sacrifice something he didn't own? Was it right to sacrifice their memories?
He waited with bated breath, but no one came to him with the answers that, deep down, his heart already knew.
"Wait," he said, suddenly realizing something. "I'd like to talk to her first. I —" We haven't forgiven each other yet. If Hermione, his Hermione, had attacked him so viciously, maybe he had done something wrong too, right? He shook his head. "Will you convince her to come here some day?" Ron's ears flushed as he felt his own voice so insecure, so clingy. He refrained from adding, But don't leave me alone with her, please. Instead, to save face, he added, "There's no hurry, though. Apparently, I'll enjoy my stay here for a long time. I'll be just here."
Maybe he wasn't so ready to face her yet.
This time, Harry's "Yes, of course I will" was like a soothing balm. Forcing him to choose between himself and Hermione had never been Ron's intention, and not because he feared Harry would choose her. After all, Harry had always been the only one who actually saw him. But Harry had already lost so much in his life. The least Ron could do was be sure that the little safety net around his best mate wasn't weakened; and that included Hermione.
"You're the best, Harry," Ron said, grateful beyond words that his best mate was there to catch him while he felt himself slipping and falling.
The next thing he knew, the mattress sagged as something hard and warm was pressed against his face — Harry's chest, Ron realized as soon as he felt the slightly accelerated heartbeat — and two arms encircled his shoulders, protectively. Pushed together by that hug, some broken pieces inside Ron fixed.
The three of them would be fine.
They had to be.
I feel so mean for writing it...