Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for the QL Reserve League - S1, R12, Chaser 2: Write about your OTP making up after a fight.

Written for Hogwarts, Assignment 7: Performing Arts: Task #1 - Adagio: Write about someone supporting their partner.

Word Count - 1036

Aches And Pains

"I don't know why you thought I would support you putting your life on the line, Harry! Field Healing is dangerous and you damn well know it!"

"I can't talk to you about this anymore," Harry said, shaking his head as he turned away. "You're being unreasonable, Kingsley!"

"You're trying to put yourself needlessly in danger, Harry! You can't have expected me to be pleased by that?"

"You're my boyfriend," Harry growled. "Not my father! Stop trying to act like you can tell me what to do!"

He walked out of the living room, slamming the door behind him for good measure. Breathing hard, Harry considered going into the kitchen before he decided against it. Kingsley would only follow him—persistence was one of the traits Harry often admired in his boyfriend, but not when they were arguing.

He was like a dog with a goddamn bone.

Instead of the kitchen, Harry walked down the hallway towards the front door, and pulled his boots on, using a charm to tie the laces. Grabbing a jacket from the hook, he let himself out of the house and onto the pavement.

Hopefully a walk would help clear his head a little bit.

…

Kingsley stared at the door that Harry had just slammed for a long moment before he sighed deeply, rubbing a hand across his temple.

Why did Harry have to be so damn stubborn?

If it was anyone else, Harry would see Kingsley's point of view—and probably agree with it. Putting himself into the field was a bad idea; for the same reason that Harry himself had decided that being an Auror was only asking for trouble.

As a healer, Harry could still help people—in fact, he could help more people—but keep himself safe at the same time. The scar on his head meant people would aim for him on purpose, not as an Auror, but as Harry Potter, The Man Who Won.

Being a field Healer was exactly the same thing, only more dangerous, since Harry hadn't had the specialised training that the Aurors had in defending themselves!

Kingsley sat down in his favourite armchair, his head resting in his hands.

Maybe he could have handled it better.

…

Walking the sleepy village they called home wasn't really calming Harry's temper.

He knew that Kingsley wasn't trying to be controlling, he really did, he just… hated being treated like he didn't know his own mind, or like he couldn't look after himself.

The streets were empty as Harry walked, not even a stray cat to sit and stroke to pass a bit of time on with. Harry knew he had to go home, and he knew that he and Kingsley had to talk about it like adults.

They'd promised to never go to bed without solving a row, and the sky was darkening as the hour got later.

Harry just didn't know what he was supposed to say. He knew Kingsley had good intentions, and he knew that the older man was only worried about him being hurt, it just rankled. He was old enough to know his own limits, wasn't he?

With a sigh, Harry tugged the collar of his jacket up to guard against the autumn wind, and turned for home.

Nothing was going to be fixed while he was out walking the streets.

…

Kingsley heard the door open and close quietly, the wards letting him know Harry was home even before the sound alerted him. There was a quiet pause, and then the soft sound of footsteps.

Moments later, Harry entered the room and curled up in the corner of the sofa, biting his lip. Kingsley took just a moment to admire the sight before he held his hand out for Harry to take—which he did—linking them across the gap between the sofa and the chair.

"Feel better?" he asked, taking in Harry's rosy cheeks and slightly chapped lips, abused by the cold weather.

Harry grimaced. "I shouldn't have walked out. I'm sorry. I just—" He cut himself off with a shake of his head.

"I overreacted," Kingsley allowed. "You were right that I can't dictate what you can and can't do. I just… I worry about you, and knowing that you're out there in the field, it scares me."

"I know. I do understand, Kingsley."

Kingsley squeezed his hand. "I know why you want to do it, and I admire your desire to help people. So, how about a compromise?"

"Hmm?"

"I won't nag… too much," he stipulated with a grin, "if you promise to do some extra training in defence with me before you start doing field work."

Harry twisted his lips into a smile. "I can do that."

Kingsley tugged on Harry's hand until Harry took the hint, standing from his place on the sofa and flopping down into Kingsley's lap.

"I love that you want to help people," Kingsley murmured, pressing his face against Harry's shoulder. "I just don't want you to do it at the expense of yourself."

"I'll be careful," Harry promised, leaning into Kingsley's chest.

"I'll make sure you're safe," Kingsley replied. "I'm going to put you through your paces until you can defend yourself with one hand tied behind your back and your eyes closed."

"Seems a bit excessive," Harry snorted.

Kingsley shook his head. "I want to support you, Harry. I was wrong to say I wouldn't, but I just… I need to know that you're safe. This is the only way I can do that."

"I know. It's fine, I'm glad you care so much."

"I love you, of course I care!"

"I love you too."

…

Harry really, really, hated his boyfriend.

He lay on the floor, panting hard, his workout wear drenched in sweat. Kingsley stood above him, smirking, not a single thing out of place and barely a single drip of sweat on him.

"You said training," Harry complained, "not torture!"

Kingsley just laughed and offered him a hand up. "Come on, I'll run you a bath and make lunch."

Harry grumbled as he stood. He wasn't sure if he preferred Kingsley being so supportive of his decision.

Arguing was almost better; at least it didn't ache so much!