A New Country
(PG-13 Pre-Slash)
(12/30/03)
by brensgrrl
"Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country."
-Anais Nin, The Diaries of Anaïs Nin
(Ron is 17)
Ron gathered himself as compactly as possible, knees to chest, fitting his lanky
six-foot frame onto the window seat. Pressing against the cold glass, he
stared out at the crescent moon and tried to settle his troubled mind.
He'd never been an insomniac in his life. Sleeping anywhere anytime had never been a problem. It was always just a matter of lying down, or sitting down and cradling his head on his arms, and he was able to make himself sleep almost instantly. Dreams were friendly, easy, refreshing. Simple. Quidditch and girls. Harry and Hermione.
But since Halloween, his dreams had been strange and silent wardens, imprisoning him in an enforced wakefulness. So much doubt, confusion.
Wonder.
They weren't nightmares; they didn't include spiders or anything like that. They were just so very fantastic and so very real that . . .
A hand on his shoulder.
"What's wrong, Ron."
"Nothing."
Harry pulled up a nearby chair and sat.
"I have noticed that you spend a lot of nights sitting just like this. Perhaps you want to talk about it?"
Ron shrugged. No. He certainly could not talk about it. Not to Harry.
"Look, Harry. I'll be fine. Why don't you go back to bed. It's our last time for Christmas shopping in Hogsmeade tomorrow."
Harry knew that he couldn't wring anything out of Ron.
"Okay. " Harry stood. "But whenever you want to talk about it. . ."
Ron turned back to his contemplation of the night.
Moon glow reflected off the snow-covered grounds, the ambient light reflecting up through the window to throw a pool of radiance on the ceiling.
Snow was falling, and huge fluffy flakes swirled in the wake of a light breeze and collected in a little drift on the ledge outside the window one by one by one by one. . .
*. . .Auror's robes swirling about his legs as he ran, hurtling into the blast crater, tucking into a roll dodging leaping to his feet, positioning back to back with him. Feel his heat protect hip to hip sweat mud cold spell spell spell counter-curse explosion air earth wind firestorm lightening ozone smoke dust blood bloody hell!. . .
. . .Snow-blind in the flashback of moonlight against the storm. Take one more step. Then another. Another. Can't feel hands, can't feel feet anymore. Can't feel arms or legs. So tired. Falling forward into the whiteness soft drifting floating crawling. . .
. . .Windowless room and firelight hand parting the bed curtains. Long thin arms opening so warm skin yielding mouth face voice face! face! face! want dark hair fanning over the pillow. . . *
Ron was standing, arms braced on either side of the open window, his bare feet on the ledge. His toes were blue with snow and cold moonlight.
Apparently he didn't have to sleep to dream anymore.
He had to talk to somebody about this.
He stood in front of the heavy door, the palm of his right hand resting against the wood. He felt no need to knock. He knew that the door was open and unwarded and that it would swing inward with a light push.
When he crossed the threshold, he saw that Snape was seated in one of the armchairs facing his desk, his back to the door. A stack of books was piled up on the floor next to him.
"What do you want, Mr. Weasley? By now, I thought you would be at the Three Broomsticks with your little friends, attempting the world's record for butterbeer consumption."
" I need to talk to you." Command voice.
There was the sound of a book snapping shut and then Snape stood and turned to face Ron.
"If this is about the comment that I made in class yesterday," Snape's voice was at ease and thoughtful, devoid of his usual cutting manner.
"No." Ron interrupted him, thinking that the best course in this would be to broach the issue as quickly as possible. "It has nothing to do with Potions Class."
"Well if this has nothing to do with what I teach, why in the worlds are you here?" A dismissive wave. " Surely this is something that you should be discussing with your own Head of House."
"I don't think that would be appropriate," Ron took a couple tentative steps toward the teacher, "you see, I've been sort of having visions, dreams. . .something."
Snape laughed. "Then Sibyll might be far more interested in what you have to say than I am. Good day, Mr. Weasley." Snape gestured toward the door.
Ron crossed the room to stand directly in front of the Potions Master, and reached out to touch his arm.
"About you. And me. Together. "
tbc
(PG-13 Pre-Slash)
(12/30/03)
by brensgrrl
"Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country."
-Anais Nin, The Diaries of Anaïs Nin
(Ron is 17)
Ron gathered himself as compactly as possible, knees to chest, fitting his lanky
six-foot frame onto the window seat. Pressing against the cold glass, he
stared out at the crescent moon and tried to settle his troubled mind.
He'd never been an insomniac in his life. Sleeping anywhere anytime had never been a problem. It was always just a matter of lying down, or sitting down and cradling his head on his arms, and he was able to make himself sleep almost instantly. Dreams were friendly, easy, refreshing. Simple. Quidditch and girls. Harry and Hermione.
But since Halloween, his dreams had been strange and silent wardens, imprisoning him in an enforced wakefulness. So much doubt, confusion.
Wonder.
They weren't nightmares; they didn't include spiders or anything like that. They were just so very fantastic and so very real that . . .
A hand on his shoulder.
"What's wrong, Ron."
"Nothing."
Harry pulled up a nearby chair and sat.
"I have noticed that you spend a lot of nights sitting just like this. Perhaps you want to talk about it?"
Ron shrugged. No. He certainly could not talk about it. Not to Harry.
"Look, Harry. I'll be fine. Why don't you go back to bed. It's our last time for Christmas shopping in Hogsmeade tomorrow."
Harry knew that he couldn't wring anything out of Ron.
"Okay. " Harry stood. "But whenever you want to talk about it. . ."
Ron turned back to his contemplation of the night.
Moon glow reflected off the snow-covered grounds, the ambient light reflecting up through the window to throw a pool of radiance on the ceiling.
Snow was falling, and huge fluffy flakes swirled in the wake of a light breeze and collected in a little drift on the ledge outside the window one by one by one by one. . .
*. . .Auror's robes swirling about his legs as he ran, hurtling into the blast crater, tucking into a roll dodging leaping to his feet, positioning back to back with him. Feel his heat protect hip to hip sweat mud cold spell spell spell counter-curse explosion air earth wind firestorm lightening ozone smoke dust blood bloody hell!. . .
. . .Snow-blind in the flashback of moonlight against the storm. Take one more step. Then another. Another. Can't feel hands, can't feel feet anymore. Can't feel arms or legs. So tired. Falling forward into the whiteness soft drifting floating crawling. . .
. . .Windowless room and firelight hand parting the bed curtains. Long thin arms opening so warm skin yielding mouth face voice face! face! face! want dark hair fanning over the pillow. . . *
Ron was standing, arms braced on either side of the open window, his bare feet on the ledge. His toes were blue with snow and cold moonlight.
Apparently he didn't have to sleep to dream anymore.
He had to talk to somebody about this.
He stood in front of the heavy door, the palm of his right hand resting against the wood. He felt no need to knock. He knew that the door was open and unwarded and that it would swing inward with a light push.
When he crossed the threshold, he saw that Snape was seated in one of the armchairs facing his desk, his back to the door. A stack of books was piled up on the floor next to him.
"What do you want, Mr. Weasley? By now, I thought you would be at the Three Broomsticks with your little friends, attempting the world's record for butterbeer consumption."
" I need to talk to you." Command voice.
There was the sound of a book snapping shut and then Snape stood and turned to face Ron.
"If this is about the comment that I made in class yesterday," Snape's voice was at ease and thoughtful, devoid of his usual cutting manner.
"No." Ron interrupted him, thinking that the best course in this would be to broach the issue as quickly as possible. "It has nothing to do with Potions Class."
"Well if this has nothing to do with what I teach, why in the worlds are you here?" A dismissive wave. " Surely this is something that you should be discussing with your own Head of House."
"I don't think that would be appropriate," Ron took a couple tentative steps toward the teacher, "you see, I've been sort of having visions, dreams. . .something."
Snape laughed. "Then Sibyll might be far more interested in what you have to say than I am. Good day, Mr. Weasley." Snape gestured toward the door.
Ron crossed the room to stand directly in front of the Potions Master, and reached out to touch his arm.
"About you. And me. Together. "
tbc