Round 12

Prompt: Write about a platonic friendship

Optional Prompt(s):

7. "I've forgotten what it's like to feel young."

14. (word) fix

A/N: I don't really know what happened. This just popped out.

Word count: ~2000

By the time Ron arrived at the coffee shop, Harry was already waiting for him with two cups in hand. Smiling sheepishly, Ron took the one that Harry offered him. It smelled like a strong ice brew with a dash of vanilla: his favorite.

"Sorry, I'm late," Ron said, wishing he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

Harry threw him a warm smile and shrugged. "It's alright. I wish I could've picked a later time to meet but things have been...a bit crazy. Want to sit?"

Ron nodded and followed behind Harry as he led them to a table tucked in the back corner of the small cafe. Harry had certainly developed a talent for finding spots outside of the public eye. The table was as rustic and quintessentially Muggle as the rest of the place, with a stained tablecloth and mismatched chairs. Ron sucked a bit of coffee through his straw and felt a jolt as the chilled liquid slid across his tongue. The setting may be discreet, but at least the coffee was exquisite.

The two boys slid into seats across from each other, silence listing like an ocean between them as they sipped at their beverages.

Harry set his cup down on the table, his fingers worrying at the cardboard sleeve. "I guess it's been awhile, huh?"

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Since Christmas, I think."

A flash of guilt ignited in Harry's eyes. "Really? It's been that long?"

Ron drew in a breath and held it. He'd barely been around Harry for two minutes and already the tension was mounting. Though why, he didn't know. It was a mystery he'd been unable to solve for the better part of six months. "I think so. The last time everyone was together was for Bill's birthday and you had to miss that, remember? Because of the trials?"

"Oh, right. Yeah." Harry frowned and carded his fingers through his wild mess of hair. The muscles in his jaw were working furiously, as if he was chewing on his thoughts. Whatever they were, they didn't appear to taste pleasant. "How's Hermione doing?"

"She's doing fine," Ron replied, trying to keep his tone conversational. "Better than fine, actually. You know 'Mione — she doesn't have a setting below insanely focused. At the rate she's going, she'll probably be Minister of Magic before she hits thirty."

For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry cracked a real smile. It was the same smile that he'd always worn back at school after they'd done something marvelous and doubtlessly dangerous, and Ron's heart cracked at the sight of it. The familiarity of it was a destructive force.

Ron had to take another drink and clear his throat before he was able to speak again. "How's Gin?"

"She's great. The Harpies are treating her really well, though they do set a pretty strict schedule. I think she feels guilty about leaving me home alone so much."

"Home alone? Don't you have Auror training? I thought you'd said you were going back."

Harry's smile dropped so quickly it was as if Ron had slapped it off of his face.

Ron's stomach plummeted. He was an idiot — an absolute, complete, and utter idiot. "Look, I didn't mean to pry—"

"No," Harry said, waving him off. "No, it's fine. Really. I'm just — it's a sensitive topic is all. That cover story the Prophet had about me dropping out..."

"But you didn't drop out, yeah? You just took a break is all. Nothing wrong with taking a break. Screw the Prophet, mate. They'll write anything that gets them a few knuts, no matter how bogus the story is."

Harry frowned, worrying at his coffee sleeve once more. His eyes dropped to the table and the muscles in his jaw went back to work. In all their years of friendship, Ron had never seen him like this before. Not even during the year they'd spent hunting Horcruxes after everything had gone to shit. The aftermath of the war had been hard on everyone, but not the same way it had been hard on Harry. He had felt the pain of it differently than everyone else.

"Listen, Harry—"

"I've been approached about a book deal."

Ron faltered and tripped over his words. He stared at Harry like a blank-faced git, waiting for the effects of the topic whiplash to fade. "I — what?"

"K. J. Wirlong sent me an owl earlier this week. She wants to do a book about me. Well...a book series, really."

Ron blanched. "K. J. Wirlong! The K. J. Wirlong?"

"So you've heard of her?"

"Heard of her? Who hasn't? She's like, insanely famous. I'm talking Gilderoy Lockhart levels of famous. Merlin, I must sound just like Hermione right now. Did you save the letter she sent you? 'Mione would probably kill to get her hands on a Wirlong signature."

Harry nodded. "She's welcome to the letter if she'd like it."

"Bloody brilliant. So she wants to do a book about you?"

"A series, yeah. She's thinking of writing seven actually — six which detail each year at Hogwarts and then one for that last year where we, well...you know." A shadow flickered across Harry's face, darkening the edges of his smile.

Ron's eyes flicked down to Harry's hands, watching as a tremble took hold. The lights overhead flickered softly as magic disrupted the air, drawing the attention of a few surrounding patrons.

"Well that's great, mate," Ron said, reaching across the table and settling his hand over Harry's wrist in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He could feel Harry's magic like a line of ants beneath his fingertips. "Really. If anyone has the chops to write your story, it's her. Even I made it through a couple of her novels. Hermione made me read them, of course, but still; they were good."

"Well good. That's—" Harry drew in a deep breath and pushed it back out "—good. Because, if it's alright with you, I'd like youtobetheoneshewritesabout."

"Uh, come again?"

Harry took another deep breath and released it. He was shaking in earnest now, his arm quaking beneath Ron's fingers. "I've just — I've been thinking about it a lot, and it's not a story that I think I can tell. Not now, at least. And besides that, I don't think my story is the important one."

"Harry, what are you talking about? You're the bloody savior of the wizarding world. If there's any story worth writing, it's yours."

Harry shook his head, his gaze refusing to leave the refuge of his coffee cup. "I don't think so. I mean, yeah, I defeated Voldemort, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like I never really had a choice. From the moment he killed my mother, he validated that prophecy and sent me down my path. There's a reason they called me the Chosen One — I was chosen by whatever crazy fates control the universe. But you and Hermione..." Harry looked up then, and his eyes were a tumultuous sea of green. "Neither of you could've possibly known what would happen when you became friends with me, and yet both of you stayed anyway."

"Of course we stayed," Ron said and willed Harry to understand why.

"There's no 'of course' about it, Ron. But the fact that you can even think that way is exactly why it's your story she should write."

Ron squeezed his friend's arm even tighter. "Harry..."

"You guys are the brave ones. Not me." The lights flickered once more, the glass bulbs rattling in their casings. "I mean, it's been nine months and I still can't...I still can't..."

Harry's magic erupted beneath Ron's hand, causing the table to jerk. In the blink of an eye Ron was hauling the other boy to his feet and pulling him out of the cafe. They made their way around the back of the building and into an alcove next to a dumpster.

Ron placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and gripped him tight. "Breathe," he ordered.

Harry was like a leaf in the wind, his body racked with tremors and sweat dripping from his pale brow. The dumpster whined as the metal began to warp and bend, and scraps of trash were whipped up by a sudden and violent wind. The magic that filled the air was potently bitter.

"Breathe, mate," Ron ordered again. "It's all over. We made it through. Everything's alright."

"Is it?" Harry could hardly get any words out between the torrent of his breaths. "Are you sure? What if he comes back again? What if—"

"He's dead, Harry."

Pulling Harry in, Ron wrapped his arms around his best friend. Harry sagged against him like a rag doll and the storm surrounding them began to settle. Ron continued to hold him tightly, until his breathing grew even and every ounce of nervous magic drained out of him.

Shaking his head, Harry stepped back and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve while Ron pretended not to notice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...freak out."

With a frown, Ron rocked back and forth on his heels. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "You've been having episodes again?"

Harry looked at him, his mouth a fixed line.

"Is that why you've been avoiding us?" Ron asked.

The words hit with such force that Harry actually staggered back. Guilt flooded his features and Ron couldn't help but wonder if it was catching. He felt sick with it.

"I've caused you all so much worry already."

"Harry…"

"No, Ron," Harry said, color rising into his cheeks. "I'm sick of holding everyone back from healing. I'm sick of the fact that I can't go anywhere without being reminded of who I am. And I'm sick of being the one that the story is always about. I've done my part. Why can't everyone just let it go?"

"Because you saved us!"

Something in Harry burst. "And some bloody savior I am! I can't even hold it together long enough to share a coffee with my best mate! It's like I've forgotten how to live. I've forgotten what it's like to feel young. And nothing I do seems to fix it. I'm stuck here in this place that doesn't move while the world keeps spinning around me! After everything you've done for me, how can you expect me to drag you down into that? Haven't I caused you enough pain?"

The moment hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Fred's face swam to the forefront of Ron's mind. The pain of losing his brother had been near insurmountable, and there had been moments that he wasn't sure he would make it through. But through it all he'd known, deep down, that Fred hadn't died so that he could give up. Fred had died so that he could keep on living. And Harry...Harry had died for that too.

A violent and unexpected wave of helplessness swelled and crested in Ron's blood. He surged forward, crowding Harry back against the brick wall. "Now you listen to me; I know that things have been hard. I know that all you want to do is hole yourself up somewhere because you think you'd be saving us from some kind of burden, but don't you ever, ever, think even for one second that I'd let you. I'm not Hermione — there are very few things I know for sure — but I do know that you are my best friend and there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

Harry blinked, his eyes glassy and tear-stained. "But— "

"No buts. You're stuck with me. Hermione too. Period. Got that?"

Ron released him, and they separated with a shared exhale. They stared at each other for a moment lost in time. Ron's mind was a whir of hope and panic and relief.

The first hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth. "I always knew you were a masochist."

"Growing up with five older brothers will do that to you," Ron replied evenly.

Both of them burst out laughing, their tension released into the open air. It was a force that neither of them could stop once it started. Laughter swung between them like a pendulum, as if they were feeding off some mutually unspoken understanding. It left Ron feeling lighter than he had in months.

Harry was the first to regain his breath. "So does that mean you'll do the books?" he asked.

Rolling his eyes, Ron grinned at him and began making his way back to the front of the cafe. "How about we do them together?"

Harry jogged to catch up to him. "I've already been thinking of what the titles could be."

"Doesn't Wirlong get to decide that?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm sure she'd take suggestions. Like, the fifth one could be called 'Dumbledore's Army'."

Ron hummed. "Yeah, and maybe the third one could be called 'Help, My Rat is a Man!'"

"Absolutely brilliant."