Title: 50 Words
Author: Eilla
Rating: PG
Summary: Ron and Harry go ice-skating. Well, they try to ice-skate. It's dreamy, angsty fun.
Merci beaucoup, mes beta lecteurs: Emma - everyone laughs when I ask, but really, does the water flush the other way? ;P Lainey - No, Harry wouldn't initially know how to ice-skate. Now I can imagine all the other things Harry doesn't know how to do... that Ron can help him with... ::snicker:: Jeff - don't worry, remember what happened with Spock? They always come back. :) Evil-Katt - lucky you, being in my computer graphics class means you get the attaching slash fanart. ^_~
Archive: Anywhere, just drop me a note to let me know where it's going.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were. Oh the misery.
Author's Notes: Slash, nothing particularly graphic. It's what you'd except on the WB, but not what you'd find in a romance novel. -_-' I hate those... This is my first real slash story, and if you think it sucks, that's ok. Just please give constructive criticism so I can get better, ok? Also, a very good song to listen to while reading this story would be Johnny Rzeznik's "I'm Still Here (Jim's Theme)." I didn't purposely fit the story to the song or anything, but it just goes. And free Kugel to anyone who can point out the quote I slightly twisted to fit this fanfic (Not the one at the very bottom).
1:00 AM.
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"You asleep?"
"Uh-"
"I mean, are you tired?"
"No, not really. I had all those Chocolate Frogs, and I think the sugar's gone to my head."
"You wanna do something?"
Ron pulled back the curtains. Harry, who was already up, grinned at him and opened the window both their beds were aside of. The snow started drifting in.
It was early March, and Hogwarts was in the middle of one of the nastier English blizzards. Literally.
Fred and George, it being their last year, had pulled off their greatest stunt ever, which was to bring the storm inside Hogwarts. Harry had gone down one morning, opened the entrance and found himself staring at a wall of snow. The corridors and classrooms were filled to the brim, spelled to react the same way as the outside. It couldn't be charmed away, and so school was basically cancelled.
With the exception of Hermione, who dejectedly stayed in her room and re-read all her textbooks until Ron and Harry dragged her out, everyone was thrilled. It would be at least a week out of schoolwork, and the Gryffindor common room was filled with people playing chess, checkers, Exploding Snap, cards, and all assortments of food. Since they couldn't get to the Great Hall for meals, the house elves were instructed to bring meals to the students, and everyone made use of the house elves desire to please. (Another reason Hermione was so grumpy.) Harry couldn't quite remember the last time he'd seen anything other than junk food.
On Wednesday night, a few days into the snowstorm, when Harry found himself wide-awake and restless. The girl's dormitory apparently had sleepovers every night and they were probably still awake, but the Gryffindor boys generally conked out around 11. At that moment he wanted to be doing something – there was no 'great mystery' or event that year, but he knew Voldemort was still out there and it made him even more uncomfortable knowing there was nothing he could do – yet.
Turning his thoughts away from intended Auror destinies and long abandoned Quidditch star dreams, Harry wondered about how he might finally convince Dumbledore to just let him just go home with Ron for the summer. He shifted on his side. It just wasn't fair that he had to stay with the Dursley's anymore. He supposed that he understood why Dumbledore left him at Privet Drive in the first place – he was more protected in a blood-relation household, and he had to have grown up in a Muggle home so he wouldn't get bigheaded. But he was 15 already, and now he knew about his past. It was time he stopped having to pay for it.
Harry cast a glance at the scarlet curtains around Ron's bed. He imagined for a second about having X-Ray vision, being able to see his friend sleeping behind the heavy material, being able to be Superman. He really wanted to spend one whole summer with Ron. And Hermione too, but Ron was more his best friend than Hermione could ever be. They – Harry and Ron – fought with her so much, her naturally haughty nature and sense of self-righteous continually irritating them to no end, even though they knew her heart was in the right place. But the one time Harry didn't have Ron right by his side, that stung. That had turned the world on its axis, kicked it to the other side of the galaxy and transfigured it into green cheese. Harry thought he might be going crazy, but sometimes when he was looking at Ron he thought his scar twinged, and something was warning him –
Harry turned on his other side. He wanted to do something. Get out, get out of the Gryffindor tower he thought he'd never get sick of, and just fly away, his Firebolt was right in his trunk, right in reach.
His Firebolt!
Harry got out of bed.
"The snow's not coming down that hard anymore," Harry said.
"So whaddya want to do?" Ron asked, pulling on layers of clothing.
"Ice-skating."
Ron paused, his sweater halfway down his torso. "In the middle of the night?"
"Well," Harry shrugged, "This way we can have the lake all to ourselves."
"Good point."
Dressed in winter robes, with Warming Charms set and Night-Vision spells ready, Harry got out his father's Invisibility Cloak and his broom. "Ready?" he asked.
Ron nodded, determined yet excited. He climbed on the Firebolt behind Harry, grabbing the binded part where the bristles were attached to the wood. Harry slowly pushed off the floor, and they levitated, floating out the window, where he stopped the broom so Ron could close the window and make sure no one else would wake because of the cold. Harry whipped the cloak around both of them, and then he grabbed the handle and flew.
They rode through the falling snow, the sky bitter around them. Ron tightened his hand's grip on the broom, behind his back, and locked his knees together, stomach lurching every time he slipped backwards. As great as the Firebolt was, it wasn't really a two-person broom. He usually liked to ride leaning on his arms, so his legs could swing in the open air beneath him. When he was flying casually of course, he'd never slack off during a game of Quidditch. He grinned to himself – there were two more grades ahead of him with plenty of potential Gryffindor players, but he'd made the Chaser position on the reserve team, even with Alicia as captain this year. He'd never felt more ecstatic then when Harry and Hermione had run to him from the stands, congratulating him, saying they knew he was talented enough to get the place all by himself. It was only a reserve position, but Hermione had given him an affectionate hug and Harry put his arm over Ron's shoulders, telling him he now had an official reason to borrow the Firebolt whenever he wanted.
They flew closer to the lake, and Harry steered the broom to circle around. Still high up, Ron saw a dark shape looming underneath the ice. It was a round blob, with legs sticking out. He shuddered violently, and then sat absolutely still as his problematic sitting position made it easy to fall off when shuddering. It looked very much like Aragog.
"What's that?" he hissed to Harry.
"It must be the giant squid. I think it's too far down under the ice to – well, to do anything," answered Harry. He flew downwards towards the edge of the lake and touched the ground. "O-kay!" He tossed off the cloak, both of them getting off.
"This is great," said Harry, animated. "I've never been ice skating before."
"What?" Ron was sitting in the snow by the ice (protected from the cold wetness by the charms they'd used), transfiguring his shoes into skates. He looked at Harry in amazement. "You've never skated before?"
"Well – it can't be that hard, it's just about balance, isn't it? I've got plenty of balance, I've been the Seeker for nearly five years now."
"Right." Ron got up and skated off. "I'm sure you'll pick it up real fast!" he called out.
Harry grimaced. That could have gone a lot worse. Why did the stupidest things have to come out of his mouth... he didn't really think skating was all that easy, but somehow bragging was easier than telling Ron about how the Dursley's had always locked him in his cupboard to take Dudley out for an afternoon of ice skating, hot cocoa and a movie.
He transfigured his shoes into skates, and pushed off onto the ice. Ok, he thought, this isn't so bad. Just stay up straight and –
FWOMP!
"Ow..." Harry massaged his wounded rear end. Crouching on all fours, he pushed himself up.
He was going backwards!
"Ah!"
FWOMP!
He was going to need some kind of helmet for his bum, at this rate.
Harry tried skating while half bent-over, arms out for stability. But the minute he stopped gliding and tried to move his foot he wobbled on the blade and, well – FWOMP!
"Stupid skates." He sat down cross-legged.
"Easy as pie, right?" He could hear the laughter in Ron's voice as he skated up beside Harry. Ron looked down at his friend. Harry just made a face. "Oh, c'mon." Ron reached down and pulled him up by the arm. "Just hang on."
"Don't hold me responsible if I pull you down with me."
"Ok."
"And don't ever tell anyone that I didn't know how!"
"Ok."
"You're going to blackmail me someday."
"You said it, not me. Now," Harry had one hand on Ron's shoulder and the other clutching his arm, "first you have to move with widdle baby steps, okie-dokie?" he mocked.
"Shut up." Harry shuffled his feet. He managed to keep moving along at a very slow rate. "Harry Potter, the great and powerful penguin," he muttered. Ron laughed. Harry tried moving in strides just a little longer than what he was doing.
"Where did you learn to ice skate?"
"You noticed the pond in the garden was too small, didn't you? There's this Muggle center nearby our house, and during the summer it's just open space but they freeze it over in the winter, and Mum took us all. You know, before we wen-umph!" Harry toppled on his blades and knocked into Ron. They scrambled for a few seconds before Ron just grabbed Harry and uprighted the smaller boy. "As I was saying," Harry went red, hoping Ron wouldn't see through the falling snow, "we went, all the time, before we came to Hogwarts. It's a great place to learn actually, because you get these buckets to lean on while skating, and they give you – oh, bloody hell."
Ron stopped and pulled out his wand. Pointing at Harry's feet, he transfigured the skates again. Harry could now stand upright, and when Ron put his wand away he found he could skate just fine as well.
"Double-bladed skates," said Ron, grinning. "Sorry, I forgot about them."
"S'ok."
They kept skating for a while. It was, thought Harry, a kind of cross between walking and flying. You moved your feet at the same pace as if you were walking, but you could feel yourself going much faster. Perfect for just thinking, much better than a regular stroll around the lake. His arm was still linked through Ron's.
"So," said Ron, after a particularly interesting ice-skating tale involving a ten year old Fred, Muggle girls, and an enchanted gorilla suit, "D'you think Hermione is still up in the common room studying?"
"Nah, she fell asleep. I didn't think it'd be proper to drag her up to the girl's dormitory, so I just moved her to the couch and gave her a blanket."
"Good, she needs some sleep. That girl doesn't do anything but study anymore. It's not human."
"No, it's Hermione."
They talked about the upcoming OWLs, and how they might try and skim by the Potions part. "I don't see what the big fuss about them is, anyway," said Harry. "I'm not really good at anything except Quidditch, so that's the only job I'll try and get. Except now that I can't-"
"Can't? Why can't you play professional Quidditch? You were the first first-year player in over a century!"
"Um," Harry tried to divert the topic, "Well, what are you going to do when you get out of Hogwarts?"
Ron groaned. "Don't remind me that we only have two years left, please. Getting some shoddy job, buying a flat, paying taxes, having to vote for gits like Fudge. And this is only if I don't end up some 45 year old bachelor still living with his mummy. I don't wanna grow up."
"Relax Peter Pan. I'm sure you'll find something you like. You could..." Harry quickly listed in his head the things he knew Ron was good at. "You could be a Quidditch commentator. Or a professional chess player."
"I'm not that good at chess, you just suck at it."
"Oh thanks."
Harry shook his head; snow was starting to clump on his eyeglasses. "Well something about Quidditch or chess because you know so much about them. Maybe you could work at a magazine."
"My spelling's horrible. Besides, there aren't any chess magazines I'd like to work at anyway, they're all for stuffy old widowed wizards." And, Ron ruminated to himself, they read like an instruction manual. No way he'd ever write like that.
"Maybe you should start your own chess magazine."
"Right. Good one, Harry."
"No, really!" Harry tugged on Ron's arm. He'd just thought of the idea, and wasn't about to let it get shot down. "You said there weren't any chess magazines for younger people, so start one yourself. You can have – you can have interviews with players, and you can give tips and stuff, and you can test out and give reviews on all the chess sets," he struggled to think of some more ideas.
Ron looked thoughtful, but still apprehensive. "Yeah, but where would I get the money to start one? And I've no idea how to run anything anyway."
The answer to that was easy. "I'll help finance it. And so would Fred and George when they go into business, and your Mum and Dad too, if you're serious about it. And Hermione can help you figure out how to run everything."
Now Ron looked on with a kind of quiet excitement. "My own magazine..."
They were coming up to the spot at the bank where they'd started. "Everything will turn out ok," said Harry, almost to himself as well as Ron.
"You'd help promote it, right?" Ron looked at Harry earnestly. "Be on the cover and do ads and stuff. 'Cause you know, of how famous you are."
"Yeah," Harry trailed off in a monotone. He didn't think he was that famous anymore. Not with people thinking he had gone crazy and killed Cedric.
He stopped where the broom and cloak were laid, and flumped down in the snow, alongside with Ron. The world was a hazy view of white. "Gah, I can't see a thing."
"Harry, mate, that's because your glasses are covered in snow." Ron reached over and plucked them off Harry's face. "You've still got the tape on them...? I think you need new glasses. How long have you had these anyway?"
Ron was a large blur of black and then red on top. Harry had to lean in to see him – it was one of those things, where you had to see to be able to hear. "Since Aunt Petunia bought them for me. They work ok, and besides, I don't wanna look pretentious or anything."
Ron shrugged, and wiped the last of the snow from the lenses. "Here," he said, perching them back on Harry's nose, "now you can see again." With his sight intact once more and still up close to Ron, Harry could see his friend's face in perfect detail. Every freckle, the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes – Harry's own eyes widened just a little when he realized Ron must have begun shaving. And then –
"Are you sure you can see yourself? You've got a mass of snow clumped all over your eyelashes, how can you even open your eyes?" Harry put his hand out, using his fingers to dust off the snow.
"Harry, a-are you touching my eyelashes?" Ron asked in bewildered tone of voice.
Harry stopped, his fingers right where they were, right about Ron's face. Move! his mind said, completely embarrassed. But he was just frozen, literally, just couldn't help staring right into the blue eyes that were an inch away from his own, and they didn't seem too angry or offended with him.
When they drifted away it took Harry a second to realize Ron was now staring at his mouth – and then their heads kind of knocked together and he felt lips brush against his own. For a second, he thought he could feel himself rise out of his own body and see Ron kiss him. It was gentle, and curious – just soft touches, seconds of warm contact, and when Ron had to open his mouth to breathe Harry thought he could taste the Chocolate Frogs Ron had eaten. The hand he'd been holding up then fell down and stroked the side of Ron's face, skin-to-skin sensations making the rest of him feel abysmally cold. He could feel Ron's mouth, wet and pliant, and then Ron's hair under his fingertips and his scar burned –
He broke off, biting down an awkward half-moan. It was hard to think rationally when he just wanted more, more of Ron's mouth and more of his skin, and when the hell did fate suddenly decide he should lust after his best friend?
"Harry?" Ron's voice had a low, raspy timbre – full of doubt and painfully exposed.
"Voldemort," said Harry abruptly. One word – one wizard – and it made everything that much harder. Harry didn't even want to think what would happen if the Death Eaters knowingly captured the boyfriend of The Boy Who Lived. Boyfriend. And Merlin, all of a sudden that was exactly what he wanted. He tried explaining it to Ron, and make him see he would be in even more danger than he already was as a Weasley and friend to Harry. Ron appeared to slump in defeat, shoulders hunched over, staring at the ground. Harry knew he was thinking it was his own problem, and that it was his clothes, his family, his hair, his impoverished stature, and the last thing Ron needed was another blow to his self-esteem.
"Look, it's not what I want either, ok?" said Harry. Ron snorted spitefully. "It isn't! But do you honestly think I want to keep putting people at risk? Put you in even more danger?"
"Do you like Quidditch?"
This, thought Harry, is not the time for dumb questions. "Of course, but-"
"And how mad are you at – at Voldemort, for taking away your chances of getting paid to play?" Ron looked back up, anger in his expression.
Furious. Frustrated. Depressed. The one thing that he was truly good at, all by himself, the anti-thesis in the face of everything the Dursley's had told him, and he loved it, every new game started was the same as the first time he'd mounted a broom and defied the law of gravity.
"So?"
Ron took a breath. "I got bashed in the head with a marble sword when I was eleven so you could go on and find the Philosopher's Stone. I stood up on a broken leg to tell a murderer he'd have to kill me before getting to you, when I was thirteen." He stopped, unsure if what he was saying made any sense. "And last year, Dumbledore calls me to his office to tell me an enchantment inside a golden egg has proven that I'm the person you'd miss the most. And for that I let myself be tied down to a stone monument a mile underwater. Harry, I'm not Cedric. I'm not going in this completely innocent. I would turn the world upside-down, and I'd do it all for you."
Ron cautiously leaned forward and Harry let himself be kissed again. "Don't let Voldemort take away everything you want, ok?" he murmured, brushing Harry's bangs back and tracing his scar with a fingertip. "Don't let him win before he even starts." It was the first time anyone had done that, and his scar prickled with hot electricity. Ron was oblivious to it, and after a few moments sat back on his haunches.
How would he be able to live with himself if Ron was hurt because of stupid teenage lust?
How could he stand himself if he didn't take the risk of making this – whatever had suddenly developed between him and his best friend – work out all right? He had the right to a normal life, and so did Ron.
Harry inhaled, building up steam. He hoped he was making the right choice.
"Ok."
Ron tilted his head, as though Harry had just said 'Moo.' "What?"
"Ok, let's – let's go through with – us," Harry choked out the last word, though not painfully. "But only if we keep it a secret."
Ron scrunched his eyes. "You don't want anyone to know about me and you?" He paused. "Me and you. We're a – we're actually an 'us'?"
Harry smiled. "Yeah. And the only way to stay an," Harry thought he must have the goofiest grin on his face, "item, is if we're both alive and well."
"But we get to..." Ron's voice lowered again. Harry wondered how much of this new, quiet Ron he was going to see in the future. "We get to be together?"
Harry just scooted over and hugged Ron, starting another head-on snogging session.
"Well good," said Ron, in-between kisses, "because for a second there I thought I was being incredibly selfish about me being what you wanted. I was wrong! How could anyone not want me..."
A few minutes later, they heard the distracting hooting of an owl.
"Almost forgot it was the middle of the night," said Harry in a muted voice. It still looked like daytime to him.
"Wonder who the owl is for," added Ron.
Harry sighed, burying his face in the niche of Ron's neck. "We gotta go."
"Five more minutes?"
He kissed Ron's throat, only just tasting the salty warm flavor. "No more minutes. My cloak is soaked through and I think the Warming Charms are starting to wear off." Speaking into Ron's skin, "It won't go back to the way it was before when we get back to Hogwarts, I promise."
"Ok. I guess... I was kind of scared it would turn out to be a dream." Ron held out his clothed arm, wet from snow like the rest of him, and decided not to comment.
Slowly untwisting themselves, they climbed Harry's Firebolt again. Harry put the cloak over them; still a little worried someone might see them. Worried for more than just losing house points now.
"You ready?" he asked.
Ron moved in closer, wrapping his arms around Harry's chest instead of the broom this time, holding on to him in a relaxed balance as they rose above the ground.
"Yeah," he breathed, as they flew back to Gryffindor tower. "Let's go."