Title: Silent Tears
Author: IndigoNight
Summary: Slowly, in the dead of night, in that dark, empty room, a single, silent tear slid down Harry Potter's cheek. It was a tear for the lost, a tear for the hurt and the broken, but most of all; it was a tear for himself.
Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!
Pairing: RonxHarry
Setting: Sometime after HBP
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.
Spoilers: Mild, for OotP
Warnings: Slash, don't like, don't read
Author's Note: Just a fluffy little ficlet I wrote. Please review!
Enjoy!
Harry sat completely still. He didn't blink, didn't shift, barely even breathed. The glow from the dying embers in the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his over-bright eyes glisten like twin polished emeralds.
He stared into the fire, but didn't see it. There was a feint crack as a log broke, sending sparks flying toward the dark-haired boy, but Harry didn't hear, he didn't notice.
Instead the-boy-who-lived's mind was filled with the screams of the lost. He could smell, not the peaceful, soothing fire smoke, but the acrid, revolting reek of burning flesh, of misfired spells that smashed into stone, causing it to explode and send stinging chips into the skin of anyone with range. Before his mind's eye paraded endless pictures, Cedric Diggory's body falling limp to the ground; Sirius' gaunt face, twisted in surprise before disappearing behind that cursed veil; bloody, mangled faces, bodies, minds; crying mothers; screaming siblings, lovers and friends; on and on until he wanted nothing more than to scream himself, to scream for it to stop. But it didn't, nothing could make it stop, nothing.
Slowly, Harry's shoulders began to shake. Still, he didn't move, didn't blink, didn't make a sound. His breathing hitched. People were screaming, holding their hands to him, pleading, begging, 'Save us, Harry Potter, save us! Only you can.' Fire danced and swirled before Harry's eyes, even as the embers in the fireplace all but went out. The blood and smoke that assaulted Harry's nose sent his head reeling.
Would that damn screaming never stop? Please, please, let it stop. But it never did, it never would. Never… Never… Never…
Slowly, in the dead of night, in that dark, empty room, a single, silent tear slid down Harry Potter's cheek. It was a tear for the lost, a tear for the hurt and the broken, but most of all; it was a tear for himself.
x8x8x
Ron woke with a start. He sat up quickly, his heart pounding, already searching for the sound of screaming or the smell of smoke and blood. Then he remembered that they were safe at Hogwarts, a temporary sanctuary while they nursed their wounds before jumping back into the front line.
He sighed a breath of relief, wondering vaguely what had woke him as his eyes swept the room, landing on Harry's bed. It was empty. Slowly Ron slid out from under his warm blankets.
Sometimes his best friend really scared him. As hard as the war had been on him and everyone else, he knew that none of them could even imagine half of what Harry felt. He would never understand how Harry managed it. He always kept stoically on, he never lost his temper, he never cried, in fact, Ron could barely remember the last time he'd seen his best friend show much emotion at all. Of course, one could always argue that Harry simply didn't show it when others were around, but the dark-haired boy hadn't been left alone. There were always guards around, easily within earshot at the very least, and throughout Ron had been one of them. The two friends hadn't been separated for more than a minute or two really since the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts. And never once had Ron heard or seen Harry cry.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and froze. There Harry was, sitting, his back perfectly straight, in his favorite old arm chair from their school days. The fabric of the chair was so faded that Ron couldn't even tell what the pattern had once been, its legs were cracked and wobbly, and the stuffing had practically all fallen out, but still, Harry had favored it.
Now, Harry had it pulled up in front of the fire, angled so that from the bottom of the stairs where he stood, Ron could only see a dim silhouette and a flash of raven hair.
"Harry?" Ron asked tentatively, crossing the room to his friend.
Harry jumped and hastily rubbed his arm across his face, but not before Ron saw the single tear track glinting half way down Harry's cheek.
Ron didn't know what to say at first. Quickly he glanced around, but found no other chair close enough, so he knelt on the faded rug at Harry's feet.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked lamely, unable to think of anything else.
Harry tried to smile, tried to nod, tried to reassure the redhead, but instead another tear slipped out. He didn't make a sound, not one, but his lower lip began to tremble slightly, and two more tears slid out. Then the next thing Ron knew, Harry just folded over, his face buried in the shoulder of Ron's pajama shirt, his uncontrollable raven hair partially obscuring Ron's vision.
At first Ron stiffened, entirely unsure of how to react, but as Harry's trembling increased, Ron reached up and awkwardly wrapped his arms around his best friend's shoulders. Harry slid off of the chair to sit on the floor with Ron, allowing the redhead to pull him closer.
They sat like that for what felt like hours, and maybe it was. Kneeling together on the floor, Harry's face buried in Ron's shirt, Ron's arms wrapped carefully around Harry's violently shaking shoulders. At long last, Harry's trembling slowed, and the tears stopped, but still they didn't move. They sat in silence, Harry had yet to make a sound, and Ron was afraid of disturbing the moment.
At last Harry pulled back, wiping his face and resting back tiredly against the wobbly legs of the chair.
"I'm sor-" Harry started.
"No," Ron cut him off, "Its good to cry, to let things out."
"I do," Harry admitted quietly.
"I've never seen you."
"There are ways to make it unnoticeable," Harry wasn't looking at him. His emerald eyes, still clouded with emotion, were carefully trained on the moth-bitten, faded old rug they were sitting on. Ron was beginning to understand now, he wondered how many nights Harry had lain, barely more than a few feet away from him, and cried without him ever noticing.
"I suppose…" Harry started, still not meeting his friend's eyes, "When you grow up with a family that doesn't care, that only takes pleasure in your pain, you learn not to let it be seen."
Ron nodded. "I care," were the only words he could find to say, "Hermione… we all care…"
"I know," Harry cut him off, "Too much." Ron frowned, confused, but before he could ask, Harry continued. "You all, you have to see just as much as I do. You have your own worries, you don't need me to dump mine on you too."
"I want you to," Ron found himself saying, before he had even time to think. Harry's head shot up quickly, too many emotions dancing in them to read. "I-I want you, to be able to tell me things, what's on your mind, Harry. You don't have to do this alone."
Harry's eyes were swimming again, and his weren't the only ones. Ron reached up a shaky hand; a small part of his brain wondering what he intended to do with it. Gently he brushed away a lock of dark hair, then a freshly escaped tear. He felt Harry tremble slightly under his touch, heard a sharp intake of breath. His hand planted itself firmly on Harry's check, gently caressing it. Harry didn't draw away, so he leaned in closer, his eyes entranced with the delicate way Harry's lower lip quivered.
Ron paused, just for a moment, his eyes flickering up to meet Harry's shining emerald ones, as though asking permission. Harry's lips opened slightly with a small gasp as Ron's finger traced over them. Closer and closer Ron leaned, closing the gap between them, savoring the moment.
Then their lips met. It was a soft, tentative caress at first. Uncertain, unsure, a little scared, but quickly it deepened, fired by need. Need to feel each other, to taste each other, to know each breath and match it perfectly. Before they knew it, Ron had gently pushed Harry to the floor and sat straddling him, their hands working in time as they ran up and down each other's bodies.
They pulled apart for breath, their foreheads resting together as they panted in time. "No more silent tears, ok?" Ron whispered. Harry barely had time to nod meekly before Ron swooped him back into a passionate kiss.