A/N: Happy September 1st! In celebration of going back to Hogwarts, here's another chapter filled with utter angst. I'm so not sorry. I feel like I've gone off the deep end this chapter, because wow I've made Harry insane.
A huge thank you to Mists for reminding me that Ron's Patronus needed some air time. I'd almost forgotten about the poor thing!
Which eh, yeah, I know I've forgotten about a lot of things. I swear I want to write about Charlotte Fawcett, Cormac McLaggen, the Next Generation, and all the other plot points I've accidentally bypassed. I'm just focussed on keeping even the main plot going!
He wanted to speak to them so badly. Though—even when he could talk to Fleur—he was tired. He did everything tiredly, it seemed. Exhaustion pressed into every piece of him.
It wasn't that he was scared of them. But if any person entered his whole brain started screaming that they were human. He didn't want to start chucking flames, so would distract his messed up head with the sky.
It was like some part of him refused to speak English. Or his mouth died. He wasn't sure anymore, and Fleur and McGonagall didn't have those answers. They talked about 'flight or fight responses'. They spoke of therapy. They told him he ought to stop attacking Healers…which he knew, of course he knew! But his blasted brain wouldn't cooperate!
Still, he tried. However slow it seemed.
Harry looked small.
When they'd been kids, Ron had taken the mick about him being a speckled midget. Later on in Hogwarts, Harry had remained scrawny but their height difference hadn't been anything to remark upon. After the war (after Molly Weasley's feasts), Harry had finally looked healthy. It was enough that, when he'd been Head Auror, he'd made an imposing figure.
Now at hospital, it was like Harry had shrunk. His best mate resembled a fragile old man and a hopelessly lost boy. He also looked homeless, but Ron chalked that one up to the scraggly beard (why hadn't someone shaved that off yet?).
"I'm not calling you stark raving mad, though you've been better." Ron pretended to talk to Harry. Not that he wasn't talking to Harry, but the wizard wasn't giving any indication of listening. "See, I hate to break this to you, but you look like a hobo. You can't pull off a beard, or long hair, or…blimey, you need a shave. I'm guessing you're not a fan of sharp and pointy things these days, but razors can be your friend. Or a shaving charm. Because if Fleur comes in here and you're still this scruffy, she's going to shave you bald. She was planning it the other day while nefariously giggling. She was even plotting with Hermione about it. Yeah, Hermione! I couldn't believe it either. But she's been acting odd lately so, all in all, not actually that shocking."
He found it difficult to grab hold of the next words. "Hermione's started crying again. Good tears, she says. I've never been great at telling the difference. But I think she's lying, at least somewhat. Err, what I'm about to say? It's not to make you feel guilty."
Harry didn't respond. Curled up in a chair pushed against the window, his knees were folded up with his arms loosely wrapped around them. He stared at the sky.
"Hermione's been crying because she's been researching phoenixes," Ron continued in a softer tone, not taking much hope when Harry inclined his head (as his gaze still hadn't left the glass). "We did a lot of it when we were trying to find you. But now it's different. Now it's a diagnosis. So she's been crying a lot. The good and bad kinds."
There was a hefty silence. Ron tapped his fingers and struggled to explain. "There's this other patient, Jessica. She was this great girl with a loving mum, good friends, the whole lot. But now a dementor's sucking her dry from the inside. Or her insides are a dementor. No one's sure, but her mum can barely stand to get near her."
"Compared to all that, a phoenix didn't seem nearly as bad. The one time I said that to Hermione she called me 'naively optimistic' and shoved her notes in my face." Ron smiled faintly at this, though it didn't last through his next statement. "These birds, they're got obsessive personalities. Instead of something vague like dragons, with their 'yeah hoarding!', phoenixes are massively specific. They have one-track minds about two things: flying and their flock."
Ron leaned back in his chair. "That didn't come as some great surprise. It's the same argument I first used to convince Hermione you'd turned into a phoenix. It's so you it's ridiculous! Some of the others are nervous around humans, so I understand if you're 'unconsciously equating' us to Lestrange or something. But if that's not the problem, forget I mentioned it. It's some shrink's mumbo-jumbo."
"I also get why you can't stop staring at the sky and, I swear to Merlin, I'll sneak your Firebolt in as soon as I can. All that said, the one thing I can't understand? Your family's here. Your flock, family, doesn't matter. We missed you and it about killed us when you vanished. What's almost hurting as much? That you can't look at us. Why? Can you not see that we love you? Or did you forget. After all these years, are you really so dense that you…you…"
He couldn't finish. Giving an annoyed growl at himself, he forced his voice to lighten.
"Sorry about that," Ron began again with faux cheerfulness, trying hard to keep his voice from breaking. Or his hands from fidgeting. "I'm supposed to keep this light."
"Didn't forget."
The whisper was soft, ragged, and Ron almost missed it. After a moment of stunned silence, he was sure he'd imagined the words. But then Harry coughed.
"I didn't." The dark-haired man remained turned towards the window. The grip around his legs became tighter and the syllables flowed in and out of strength. But he was speaking. In a lucid and comprehensible (albeit out-of-practice) English. "But I…I can't, right now. I know you're flock and hurting. 'm sorry."
"Harry?" Ron knew he should be calling for Ginny, calling for the Healers, but he couldn't risk leaving this spot.
"But, but can't!" Harry at last turned to Ron, his hand making a small wave towards the glass. The whisper became desperate. "See? Mate's changed. Chicks' changed; new chick, dunno. Can't do that. But wind! Air! Sky! There! It's the same and I, I just…"
"That's what you're worried about?" Ron couldn't keep back a disbelieving snort, but stifled it at Harry's hurt expression. He stood and approached him, taking it as a good sign that there was no responding flinch. He knelt next to the occupied chair. "Sorry, sorry. That's a valid worry which isn't at all insane. You think they've changed, you know you've changed, and now you're worried you can't relate?"
Harry caught him in a long gaze, as though judging whether he was being serious or not. Passing the test, there was a slow nod. His hand trailed on the window, curling against the barricade.
"I can work with that," Ron muttered. He thought of McGonagall's and Hermione's theories of what was going on. Sure, the phoenix might be in charge. But he knew Harry and this was such a Harry-problem he couldn't believe it! Forget about the other theories, he knew how to handle this. Nodding to himself, he addressed his daft best friend. "First off, you need a dose of reality. So I've gotta tell you, from the bottom of my heart, that you're the most oblivious, idiotic person I've ever met."
Harry blinked. Blinked again. Tilting his head, he was clearly debating if he'd misunderstood the words.
"You are." Ron strongly agreed with himself. "But it's okay, because I've gotten phenomenally good at emotional stuff the past year…Oi! Why're you looking at me like that? Are you snickering? Shush, you're just a mad phoenix. While I'm a sensitive, emotionally-savvy bloke."
Harry's snickering gave way to a low, chirpy chuckle. Ron chalked up a grateful victory.
"Shut it." The older wizard put on an annoyed face, innerly thrilled. "Fact is, you're oblivious. Which brings me to my point: Ginny's as crazy in love with you as she's ever been. More than ever, I'd imagine. Thinking you're a widow can do that to a person. But you can't be this stupid! As much as I hate thinking about it, my sister loved you enough to have three of your kids. One of whom you haven't even properly met yet! Oh no, don't look all depressed and mopey. You have a daughter to meet and three other pretty cool kids to get to know. Plus, I've saved the best bit for last! You get to catch up with all us amazing Weasleys. We know we're awesome, but we like to be reminded of this and fawned over from time to time. So, obviously, you're stuck with us."
Harry's brow creased, bewilderment stretching across his face. Ron first thought it was in reaction to the Weasley joke. But the next words didn't seem to match. "Why would…I was gone…?"
"Now you're back." Ron wasn't sure about this newest weird reaction. "Beware of the hugs. I'll try to combat some of them, but your kids will surely be the relentless ones. Also, I'm not getting in the way of mum strangling you. You're on your own there and I'm not even sorry."
"No I," Harry shook his head, outstretched hand now tapping the window, "I was gone. Shouldn't, wouldn't you have moved on?"
It was Ron's turn to be bewildered. He got a ridiculous notion as to what his brother-in-law was getting at. "Are you actually, hold up. Did you think we'd forget you or something?"
Harry's silence and downfallen face was all the answer he needed.
"You bloody IDIOT!" Ron's voice raised, even though Harry looked alarmed. "Losing you broke EVERYTHING! Now you're sitting here, acting like it's not a big deal? I spent ages comforting Hermione as she cried, while Ginny looked so lost, like she didn't know what to do. It was the worst day of my life when I believed you were dead! Yeah, THE WORST! Because at least with Fred we had a body, we knew he was gone. But not with you, oh no. Not Harry Bloody Potter. I didn't know how to tell Rosie she'd never know her Uncle and godfather, and it made me sick you'd never meet my son! Or your daughter, and Merlin, your children? Al and Lily were too young to get it. But Teddy had this look for ages, like he'd been expecting you to vanish. James never stopped asking about you. Ginny told loads of stories, but made you out to be some grand hero. I told him the proper stuff. The funny stuff, and he freaking loved hearing about you and our ridiculous adventures! But it was never anywhere near enough, all of us knew it."
Ron was breathing heavily by the end, voice raised and crackling. "I even found the Resurrection Stone, can you believe it? But you, you! Don't you dare say we forgot you. Don't ever think we stopped loving and missing you! DON'T USE THAT AS AN EXCUSE TO NOT COME BACK!"
Harry winced at all of the shouting. Ron saw this and took a low exhale. Then another, forcing himself to calm down. He knew it was a small miracle that the guards hadn't burst through the door (though he'd have a word with them about that—after all, their whole job was to barge in when they heard maniacal screaming).
"I'm sorry," Ron finished at last, voice back to a soft decibel. He felt horrible. "I didn't mean to yell. I'm not angry at you, I swear. I get that you need time and you'll have it. We'll be here when you're ready for us."
Ron began to stand, feeling ten inches tall. He was stopped by a weak grip around his wrist.
"Don't leave." Harry turned back to the window, though he now had on the smallest of smiles. "Don't feel like talking. But…listening's nice."
"Right then." A grin split Ron's lips, happy relief churning his stomach. Instead of going back to the other chair he plopped onto the unused bed. "Like I need an excuse to chatter. So, about that Firebolt I mentioned. I'd love to sneak it in. But Hermione's given draconian instructions to the hit-wizard outside that I'm to be checked for broomsticks. Even the Aurors are being checked, can you believe that? Too smart, she is. But here's what I'm thinking. George came up with this whole thing about a conveyor belt, banana peel, and pull-line. So really, all I need is to bribe a nurse to let me on the roof and we're gold! Operation Contraband Firebolt's a go."
Harry sat on the bed, legs tucked up against his chest. He breathed. Air flowed in and out.
He thought about seeing Ron yesterday. It'd been, good. So good to open up. He hadn't realised he'd missed speaking. He'd forgotten how easy it was to chat to the man.
If he'd been okay with Ron, maybe someone else would also be alright? He'd already talked to not-cat (Damn it, DAMN IT—she's Minerva McGonagall, remember) and fi—Fleur. They'd been alright. He'd been worried about the others, but Ron was totally human. Ron had been the same loud and brilliant bloke he'd always known.
Harry snuck a look at the person sitting at his bedside, before quickly looking back down at his knees. He knew he should speak. He wasn't quite scared, but maybe he was. What if he spoke and said the wrong thing? Or started squawking? She'd understand, he thought. But he couldn't mess up with her.
She was reading a book. Or not reading. She couldn't read when she was deep in thought, and she was sneaking glances at him as well. A similar thing had used to happen after long days. Where he'd be run down by a case and collapse in bed. She'd lay beside him and not-read a book until he was ready to groan and talk about it.
Though, maybe she was actually reading? He snuck another glance and caught her gaze for the barest of moments, before he quickly looked away. Yep, she was not-reading. That was it, wasn't it, she was waiting for him to speak. She'd been waiting for ages.
"I'm sorry," someone said quietly. Harry realised it was him. He gulped, not daring to look up. "I love you. But I don't know what to do."
A tap as the book was put down.
"Same here," she whispered as well. Her voice was teary and huskier than he remembered. How much had she been crying? "I love you. I missed you so much. I don't know what to do either."
Harry made a small, amused sound. "What a pair we are."
She gave an answering snort. "Hopeless to the end."
"Completely," Harry agreed, and it was the simplest thing in the world. He couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to her! It'd been building up in his mind until he was ready to scream, so he'd forgotten this obvious thing. He'd forgotten a lot of stuff. He thought of what she'd said before, the number of one-sided conversations she'd choked out while he stared at the sky. "You said the chicks are healthy?"
"Yes they're, safe and sound."
He realised too late he'd said the wrong word and squeezed his knees tighter. "Damn it, damn it, I'm sorry. I, I meant the kids, but my mind's filled with nonsense and I, and I—"
"It's okay! Shh, it's okay. You said nothing wrong."
There was a touch and her hand was on his and he jerked back and nearly fell off the bed, and dear god why's he so messed up he couldn't touch her? Couldn't so much as look at her?
"I'm sorry," his voice rattled out, breathing ragged. Maybe he was shaking? Who even knew anymore. "Sorry. Didn't mean to jump."
She was silent for a long moment. "I won't touch you, is that alright? I won't make any sudden movements."
"Okay, okay."
"What if we take a small step?" she nearly cooed, her voice gentle. "If you don't want to, that's absolutely fine. But if you'd like, you could look at me?"
Why was this easier with Ron? Sure, he'd barely touched or looked at him. But he hadn't been nearly this bad around him! She was his mate, why was he acting like this? Love for her was bursting out of him and yet he flinched away. He cared so unbelievably much, but was tripping all over himself, and he'd been silent for too long, and surely she thought he was crazy, mainly because he was insane, and why wasn't this easier?!
…oh.
Right, because he unbelievably cared. He'd give anything not to mess this up, so he was messing it up. He tried to fight down his nerves and the squawks. He slowly looked up, meeting her gaze.
This wasn't a hazy face from half-forgotten memories. It also wasn't the obscured features through a phoenix's gaze. It was just, her. She didn't have on makeup and her freckles shone. Her lips were lightly parted and god, if only he could kiss her. Her eyes, though, were what drew him in. They weren't like chocolate, just like her unshowered hair didn't resemble fire. Her brown eyes were tired but hopeful.
This was the woman he'd loved for years. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.
"Harry?" Ginny hesitated, a million questions on her lips. The pale pink lips that she was biting, looking so uncertain, and had they ever been uncertain around each other? Not for ages and he couldn't stand the hopelessness filling her gaze; there was a trilling filling his ears and he had to do something to make her less sad and—
Oh.
Okay then.
So he was definitely crazy, good to know. Thankfully, Ginny seemed alright with him jumping her in a snog. He focused on that. He gathered her close, the kiss deepening as her hands curled around him.
Something was singing in his head. Harry gave another thought to his downspiralling sanity, before willing the bird to shut up and let him enjoy this.
"Merlin," Ginny gasped between nibbling his neck, "I missed you. This is okay, right?"
"Right," Harry said back, thankful he hadn't spoken to the pretend bird aloud. He smooshed her hair up as she joined him on the bed, her dress fluttering around his legs.
"I'm not moving too fast?" She was flushed and pleased, though worried. "I don't want to rush you. Or if you'd prefer to talk—"
He kissed her again, stopping the words. Now that he'd made the leap to touch it was like he'd been starving for a year.
Or, maybe he had been starving. Which he firmly wasn't thinking about. He was going to focus on unzipping Ginny's dress and unstrapping her bra (oh good, he could still do that blind). "You're beautiful," he murmured in answer instead, trailing kisses down her neck. "I missed you. And love you. We can talk later but—"
"No, no talking! Sweet Merlin." Ginny gasped as her dress fell. She pulled his shirt up and off. "Though you're healthy enough for this?"
"Here's hoping." Her curves were pressed against him, cushiony breasts and legs that wrapped around him, all with a silk dress that stubbornly clung to her torso.
"That's good enough for me," Ginny muttered as she flung the shirt aside. The two were now laying on the bed. She looked at him for a long moment, hair falling around them like a veil.
Harry wondered what she saw. He knew he looked disgusting and was surprised by the longing in her eyes. He was skin and bones! That, and the new scarring. How could she stand doing this? "This isn't…is it just pity?"
She blinked, gaze confused.
"I'm crazy. And a skeleton, that's not good. I'm probably burning you." Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to see her confession. He didn't blame her, but he didn't want to see her pity. "I'm so crazy I thought this was real for a minute! But it's only you being kind and…that's fine. You don't have to do this."
Her fingers moved down his cheek; he had to stop himself from flinching. "Harry," her words were calm, a melody the phoenix sung to, "that's not what's happening. I love you. We just took it too fast."
"Shut up, shut up!" Harry shouted at the bird to be quiet. Then realised he'd said it aloud. Oh no no no! She already thought he was nuts, he didn't have to prove it. He could feel her getting off of him, what must she think? How disgusted was she? He hadn't asked, but maybe they weren't even married anymore. He'd been gone a year, after all. Of course she'd start dating again, and this had simply been her pitying the crazy guy. Like she'd still be his mate! Or, or maybe she'd been scared? He'd jumped away, then he'd jumped her, and he'd been burning Healers and Aurors and not-cat…
"Harry sweetie, calm down. Everything's fine." She cooed but he could barely hear her over his dwindling thoughts and the phoenix's confused howling. "You don't have to transform! I'm not going to do anything, we'll just sit here and…" her voice trailed off, "crap."
Mate was staring at him and she was so big and sad. He tweeted, trying to make her feel better. She smiled though he didn't think it'd worked? She was crying a little.
He glanced around before nibbling on his wing. How to stop mate from crying? Hers weren't like his healing tears, these were just sad. He hopped onto her. Most of the human cloth was gone so he was careful with his talons. He laid on her, head resting below her chin. Singing would help her. Singing made everything better. "Tweeeee twwweeee."
"Hi love," mate sighed. She sat up and gathered him to her, smoothing his feathers and kissing the top of his head. He nuzzled closer. "I'm so sorry for messing up. Though, for the record? I'm very much in love with you and you aren't a 'skeleton'. You're healing. Whenever you're ready, there's nothing I'd like more than to take off the rest of these clothes."
He tweeted quietly. He didn't understand everything, but his mate's cuddle was comforting. He hadn't realised humans could be this warm. "Twee tweeee."
"I love you too." Her hair floated around him like flames. He reached out a talon to try to catch some before it flickered away. "Come back soon."
"I'm better today. I swear I am, I won't freak out. I'm sorry about yesterday and I completely understand if you're freaked out…and maybe I'm freaking out a little bit, but it's mainly embarrassment because I'm still mortified about yesterday—"
She held a finger to his mouth, stopping his rambling.
"Harry." Ginny put her hand back down. "I've 'freaked out' about many things this past year. I'm sorry to say that you readjusting doesn't hold a candle to that. You'll have to try harder to even compete!"
Warmth filled his stomach. Warmth was already there, the fire was already becoming normal. But this was a soft warmth that felt like he was being hugged. He remembered why he loved her so much. "Is that a challenge?"
"If you'd like. But I was thinking last night and I came up with a plan for today."
"Oh?" The warmth slightly left him. Though he was doing better, he was concerned he'd freak out about being touched again. How much could Ginny put up with?
She seemed to read his mind and grinned saucily. "As much as I'd love to 'catch up', I figure we really ought to take it slow. I also want to avoid overly emotional topics. Then the perfect solution popped into my head." She leaned in, faux serious. "Wanna hear about a year's worth of Quidditch?"
Harry blinked. Then burst out laughing. It felt unbelievably good to laugh, even if it ached. "A year's worth of—blimey Gin, did you memorise all the scores?"
"As well as the notable player transfers." She leaned back with a bright expression. "Tell me you aren't impressed."
"I mean, it is your job." He scratched his head. He made a mental note that he should get a haircut.
She kept staring at him expectantly.
"Alright," Harry laughed, the feeling coming more easily with each passing moment, "I'm impressed. You memorised it all last night?"
"Of course not, don't be silly." Ginny scoffed. "It's my brilliant memory. I have practically perfect recall!"
Harry looked at her oddly. This was the same woman who'd left her wand in the fridge on multiple occasions (even though she was vocal about not trusting the 'chilly muggle contraption'). She'd also once insisted that a demiguise was hiding her broomstick. The broom was, subsequently, also found in the fridge. "Uh huh," he said, unconvinced.
"Uh huh!"
"Sure love."
"Do you want to hear about Puddlemere or not?"
He absolutely wanted to hear about it. "Fine fine, you win. Regale me with Quidditch."
The bookwormy woman was here! Bossy woman? Bushy-haired person? She might have worms for him, at any rate. And AHHHHHHH he'd wanted to talk to her! She always made things make sense and he was so confused. She was here, SHE WAS HERE!
He pulled the startled witch into a hug, all but jumping on her. She caught him and he was glad and she was smiling so all was well.
"Missed you," he mumbled what he thought were the right human words. She gave a choke so maybe they weren't, but he'd tried. "I'm confused! Not-cat 'xplained stuff and fire lady kinda did, and mate talked 'bout flying, but I super missed you." He pulled back, looking at her shocked face. "Can you help?"
Her expression melted. He thought that maybe he'd accidentally let loose some flames, before he remembered it wasn't literal.
Her fingers glided down his cheek. His furry cheek: oh, how he missed his feathers. "I will absolutely help you. What do you need?"
He instantly brightened, startling her again. "YAY! I don't get things. Like, at all. Why can't I set fire to stuff? What's up with wands? Or thumbs? Why're humans poking me? Why're we humans? Where're my chicks? Where am I? Why can't I be bird? I like birds. Can I jump outta window?"
As his questions trickled off she gave him a long look, eyes widening further. She opened her mouth: "Err…"
He inclined his head. 'Err'? That was a funny word. Was that the answer to everything? Humans were odd.
The smart woman took some breaths, grabbing onto him to steady herself. "You cannot jump out of the window."
He pouted. "But whhhhy?"
She seemed to catch her balance. Then a stubborn look came over her. "Harry. Are you a human now?"
"Ye'h."
"Do humans have wings?"
He frowned, sad at the reminder. "Nah."
"Can humans fly?"
"No."
"So," she said evenly, cupping his chin with her hand, "you can't fly. If you jump out you'd hurt yourself."
He glanced down. He didn't wanna think about this. He wanted to be a bird!
The book lady lifted his chin back up. Something in her gaze told him she understood. "I'm so sorry you're confused," she said quietly. "Do you remember what…not-cat's been saying? That your mind's going in and out? Soon, you won't be as confused."
"But I—" he struggled for the words, then sighed. He didn't know what to do. "When'll I get stuff?"
"Soon." She reassured him. "When that happens, we'll have a human-to-human chat. Until then? I'll explain all about opposable thumbs. They're quite useful to grab things with, you know."
He batted away the sadness. "But taaalllons," he protested.
"But thhhuuummbs," smart lady imitated. They smiled at each other. He thought that maybe it was okay he didn't get stuff.
Harry gave a rough laugh, glancing away from her as she entered. "You have the patience of a saint. I'm sane now, so you know."
He heard Hermione taking a seat. She took his shaking hand in hers. "That's good," she said quietly. "Though, I had fun talking with the phoenix. He's…different."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Another hand was around his, a choke in her voice. "I missed you so much."
Harry turned to look at her. All eyes were red-rimmed. "Missed you too." He leaned against her as she did the same. He almost felt good. "But I lied. I'm still insane."
"What's new?" Hermione muffled back a sob before flinging herself around Harry and squeezing him in an embrace. "I'm so glad you're here."
He held her just as tightly. Why couldn't he stop crying? "This, this doesn't seem real."
"It will," she said firmly, though her words broke. "Just give it time."
Harry was sitting on the floor, legs crossed. The edge of the curtains was burned. The bed was scorched. He had his head inclined in a bird-like tilt and his focus was on the staring contest with the little girl on his lap. She—with bright red curls lapping her ears and fists tucked beneath her chin—had an equally unblinking gaze. Her look of concentration seemed remarkably out of place on the one year old.
Ron stopped at the doorway. Though he opened his mouth in surprise he was quickly shushed. It was only then he noticed Ginny sitting at the side of the room. She beckoned him over to her, keeping a finger pressed against her lips as she did. Not knowing what else to do, he moved towards his sister. Though he kept an eye on Harry and Lily, neither had noticed him. Or cared. Likely the latter.
"What's, ah—" Ron whispered, crouching by Ginny and gesturing at the staring two.
"I think it's good?" she gave a helpless shrug, voice soft as to not disturb them. "They've been at it five minutes now."
"Wow. I'm shocked she's sitting still that long."
"You and I both." Ginny paused. "The boys are at mum's. Jamie's…"
"Hesitant, yeah." Ron watched the two. Though he'd imagined there would be long overdue father-daughter bonding, he hadn't expected this. What were they staring at each other for? Was something surprising or…oh. Huh. "Did they both expect the other to be a bird?"
She gave another helpless shrug, whisper as quiet as ever. "Harry? Definitely. Lily? Who knows."
Lily started to giggle, inclining her head like her dad. A beam unraveled over Harry's expression as he gave a sort of chirpy laugh. She happily echoed, clapping her hands as he carefully folded her in his arms and into a deep hug.
Ron gave his sister a pointed look, voice still low. "You have a really weird family."
"Thank Merlin." She gave a soft smile, more relaxed now that father and daughter were gleefully chirping together.
Ginny had gone for tea.
That is, George and Bill had snuck up behind her, stunned her, and pulled her out of the hospital room with a shout of getting cuppas and a cheerful wave back at Harry. The patient had given a smile at the turn of events. Seeing as how it'd been Harry who'd given whispered mentions that Ginny hadn't properly slept or eaten in a week, this wasn't surprising.
So Ron found himself on, well…
"I don't need a guard," Harry said. His voice was more confident today.
…on guard duty. Maybe babysitting duty. He wasn't sure but didn't mind either.
"Sure. But you need a babysitter." Ron crossed his arms, deciding that, yes, 'babysitter' was a decent enough description.
Harry humphed but didn't argue. If Ron was being honest, this bothered him. His friend used to argue about everything. Not like Hermione did, that is, in her screamy-screechy-sexy way. Harry had been more of the passive aggressive or brutally sarcastic type. Someone who could drive an army to a halt by giving them an unimpressed stare. Or by comparing them to ruddy animals.
Since Harry had been back he hadn't been arguing. He protested the rubbish hospital food and nutrient potions, but those were half-hearted gestures at best. Even the few times he'd accidentally referred to the last year, he hadn't been angry. Or furious, like the rest of them. He'd been hurt. Sad. Twitchy. Quiet, as though he was in his own world.
Like right now, for instance. Harry was leaning against the headrest, gaze directed at his hand. Ron felt it said a lot about their friendship (as well as his phenomenally high toleration for impossible things) that the first thing he noted was how thin and bony his friend's wrist and palm were. It was only after this that he saw Harry was wandlessly conjuring flames from his fingers, threading them into a braid. They twisted in the air.
"Should I just," Ron gestured weakly at the flames. Harry looked up but didn't stop, "not ask?"
Harry pursed his mouth, as though deciding what to say. He turned his attention back to the fire, effortlessly continuing it. "Coping mechanism."
"Coping mechanism?" Ron exhaled.
"Yeah." He snapped his fingers, causing the braid to unravel into tiny bursts. After a few seconds all that remained was shinier air from the heat. "There wasn't much else to do. Not that I was awake often, but…" he hesitated, not quite meeting Ron's gaze, "it was boring."
"I'd imagine," Ron said faintly. He knew that if Hermione were here, she'd pounce on Harry's obvious sentence change. She'd soon deduce if, instead of 'boring', he'd meant to say it was depressing. Or enraging. Or insanity-inducing. But she wasn't here and Ron had his own methods for dealing with this sort of thing. "So you're a pyromaniac now."
Harry's head swung towards him, mouth agape.
Ron wasn't finished. On the contrary, he was lightening to this. "Don't worry, I get it. Charlie went through a phase like that once. Multiple times, actually, then he never stopped. Let me know if it evolves to blowing things up."
"Git." Harry huffed. Ron let out a silent cheer at the smile on his face. "I'm not setting things on fire."
"Yet," the other wizard finished for him. "You aren't setting things on fire yet. I'm telling you, embrace the inner pyro. It'll make things smoother and—umph!"
Though Ron acted annoyed and retaliated at the tossed pillow, he was inwardly thankful. Harmless or not, this was the closest Harry had gotten to arguing in ages.
Then there were bad days. Days where Ron could talk for hours and Harry wouldn't speak, or so much as glance at him. Or move from the window.
There were days where Harry wouldn't react but needed to eat. Where he needed to get something down, drink water, and take the foul smelling medicine. Where he'd flinch at a touch but didn't fight against a gentle hold, didn't notice the choke at how light he was, didn't protest being fed while kept in place by an arm circling him. These were the only times Ron didn't speak much. It was harder to ignore the madness when his starved and fevered brother was leaning against him: breath shallow, green eyes glossy, and mind out in the wind.
For some bizarre reason, the Healers weren't overly concerned. But the rest of them were. Many a Weasley had cracked and gone to desperate lengths to get the wizard to react when he retreated.
Molly had snuck in feast after feast, trying to entice Harry away from the glass. Arthur and Percy traded off telling stories about what was happening in the world and the Ministry. Angelina, Charlie, and Audrey snuck in broomsticks to hold a Quidditch match, one which Harry took no notice of. George got banned from St. Mungo's three separate times by setting off Filibuster Fireworks in the room (there would have been more bans, but the hospital surrendered once it became clear they couldn't keep the man out). Fleur also tried fire, and when the orderlies tried to kick her out they learned why one shouldn't irritate a quarter Veela. Not that any of these explosions managed to distract Harry from the sky.
Hermione's thought to bring in a golden snitch was simpler and quieter, and the fluttering ball did sometimes get Harry to glance at it. Rose would talk Harry's ear off even more than her dad. Lily and Albus scampered over him, becoming only more determined the days their father remained listless (that is, Albus climbed—Lily drooled). Ginny was tightlipped about what exactly she did to turn Harry's attention from the window, but admitted it didn't always work. Though she did smugly say she had a high success rate.
Ron focussed on how the bad days were slowly being replaced by good ones. He carefully put aside how the bad days still outnumbered the few times the animagus managed a smile or a laugh.
Then there were the odd days. Where Harry would think he could fly. When he absolutely couldn't.
"SIT! Holy Merlin, sit. Stay." Ron chucked the man around and plopped him on the bed, levying his weight to keep him there. "You don't have wings. No jumping off tables! SIT!"
Harry didn't seem sheepish. He seemed confused and ruffled, but was more annoyed at having to stay still. "Fly."
"NO!"
"Fly!"
"Bloody hell, absolutely not." Ron continued to hold on, not trusting the man in the least. "I'm sure if the window wasn't charmed, you'd have jumped out of that!"
"FLY!"
"It's like arguing with a toddler. Don't go setting me on fire!" Ron grunted, pushing back against Harry's attempt to get up. He pulled out his wand. "Expecto patronum. Yo, Ginny. Your husband thinks he's a bird. Come here before he chucks himself off something that…uh…" his message trailed off as he noticed that Harry was no longer trying to stand. Instead, the man was staring at Ron's Patronus.
"Doggy?" Harry murmured so quietly that Ron hardly heard it. The silver terrier yipped and darted between the man's legs.
Ron flicked his wand to cancel the message, but kept the Patronus going, staring at it weirdly. Harry was now trying to pet it which—in fairness—the Patronus seemed to enjoy. Ron hesitantly got off the man and was happy when he didn't dart to the window. "That's my Patronus. You miss dogs? We can get some real dogs in here."
"Doggy," Harry said firmly, lurching forward to give the silver dog a huge hug. Ron was amazed he could even do this with a spell. Though it didn't explain why Harry was doing this in the first place. The guy was clearly out of his mind, but this behaviour was weird-weird. "Missed you."
Ron stared as his best friend hugged his Patronus like it was his only lifeline. What was going on? Then, Harry 'missed' the dog? What would…oh. "You," Ron struggled to speak, "you got my messages?"
"Doggy."
"You got them." Ron spoke in amazement, sliding to kneel on the ground. Harry still had his arms wrapped around the barely-tangible spell (who, in turn, was merrily licking his face). "You miss my Patronus."
There was a sniffling noise. Harry had barely cried since being in hospital, though now his shoulders were tightening and a moan came from his throat.
"…which means you were awake to get my messages." Ron finished the thought, going from joy to helplessness in moments. Harry largely hadn't spoken about Lestrange and the records on him were incomplete. So they'd still hoped that maybe, just maybe, the Sweenies had mainly kept him drugged and asleep. "You were awake. You remember."
"Doggy."
"Yeah mate, a doggy." Ron hesitated, his hand wavering above the man's heaving back. "I'll cast it for you as much as you want."
"I'm not sure if I should be furious at you," was what Harry tossed at Ron as the latter entered the hospital room.
Ron froze a few steps in, startled. Because Harry was saying something vaguely threatening without being prompted (saying anything at all without being prompted). To add to the oddness? Nothing was on fire and, wonder of wonders, he'd shaved. He was also acting like a human and speaking in sentences, which was always good.
"I'm glad the beard's gone." Ron recovered, tossing a pack of Ice Mice candies on the blanket before slouching into a seat. Harry ignored the candies, keeping his narrowed eyes on the newcomer. "It was too scruffy, even for you. Vagabond hobo I'm thinking. It wasn't a good look, all things considered."
"Hermione told me." Harry leaned towards him, gaze searching for something. Comments about the non-existent beard were ignored. Ron took the short pause to stare right back and decide that, yes, Harry now looked much more like the best mate he'd lost. "She surely thought I'd thank you. She's right proud of you, even. Wouldn't stop beaming about your 'hidden brilliance'."
"Hah, like it's hidden." Ron laughed, though Harry's behaviour was putting him on edge. He tried to figure out what Hermione could have told him. Hopefully it was nothing too embarrassing, like about him crying or other sentimental tosh. "Why am I brilliant this time?"
Harry examined him closely. "Apparently you're being called a genius by everybody, not just Hermione. Myself? I'd call you stupid, wishful, and bull-headedly stubborn!"
Ron hadn't the faintest what he was speaking of, but had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. "What're you on about?"
An exhausted, disbelieving laugh escaped Harry. He rubbed at his eyes. "A year. A full year! The criminals said they'd killed me, the public thought I was gone, and the Ministry had declared me dead. Even Ginny was grieving me! Only one person thought there was a chance I was alive."
"Ah, that. You're welcome."
"I WASN'T THANKING YOU!" Harry exclaimed, head dropping to his arms with an exhausted groan. "All of you tortured yourself for a year. Everyone else saw sense and moved on. But no, not you! Not the stubborn arse who kept dragging up the past. You chased after dangerous Death Eaters!"
"Hold on. 'Dragging up the past'?" Ron repeated, a beat of anger sweeping through as he realised what Harry was saying. He tried to keep his temper in check, reminding himself that his friend was sick and, apparently, brain damaged. "You wish I'd believed you were dead? So it was a mistake to keep looking for you? Sorry about that, mate. Guess I should've left you in that hellhole with the 'dangerous Death Eaters'. After all, you think I shouldn't have tried to find you!"
"YOU DIDN'T MOVE ON!" Harry cried out. Ron regretted wishing the other wizard would recover enough to start arguing. He'd forgotten how loud his shouts could get. "Ginny told me she was in denial for ages, convinced I was going to stroll right back in. She was sobbing when she said this. She felt guilty for having moved on, for living! I told her that was rubbish. That even if I was gone I'd have wanted her to be happy, not wallowing in the past. It was bad enough she was like that for so long, but you? You took the bloody cake!"
"I knew you were alive," Ron gritted out, disregarding any hold on his temper. "I wasn't the only one who thought that either, Hermione and others agreed. Also, a year isn't that long. But whichever way? I was right. I followed the clues and, low and behold, saved your ungrateful arse!"
"Why can't you get it?" Harry leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He seemed to wilt over the pillows. "I didn't want you to be in danger or to be miserable. Any of you. Holding onto some stupid, false hope—"
"That turned out to be true!" Ron knew the perfect argument. He only hoped it didn't hit too below the belt. "But fine, you want me to go along with it next time everyone thinks you're dead? No problem, you've got it. On one condition." He waited to continue until Harry had cracked his eyes open and met his gaze. "Say it ever seems like I'm dead, but you have a nagging doubt it's all rubbish? I want you to toss it and move on with your life. Move on and forget me. Because, apparently, that's the only way to be happy! If you think it would've been easy to leave you for dead, you should have no problem returning the favour. So what of it? We have a deal?"
Harry didn't say a word. He stared at Ron, eyes widening.
A long pause swelled.
Ron smirked, crossing his arms smugly. He knew he'd won and wasn't afraid of milking it. "You're being an idiot. Apologise and proclaim my genius, then shut up and eat your Ice Mice."
Harry mutely shook his head, coming out of his shock. His words were croaky and embarrassed. "I'm…I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, you're brilliant, and being right once in your life doesn't make you a genius." He crossed his eyes as he squinted at the end of the bed. "Ice Mice?"
"I figured they were a good mix." Ron shrugged, anger already forgotten. Grabbing the packet he held it out to Harry. "Mice 'cause birds like them—urck, your form absolutely loves them. Then I thought, shouldn't ice be to phoenixes what spiciness is to humans? So you, being impossible like that, ought to love the—umph!"
Harry, ignoring the offered treats, sprung up to wrap his best friend in an embrace.
"Thanks for not leaving me there," the younger wizard mumbled against Ron's coat. The latter, dropping the packet in surprise, quickly returned the hug.
"Like I'd do anything else," Ron muttered back, careful not to squeeze him too tightly. He blinked to clear his suddenly irritated eyes. "Just don't tell Hermione I'm being sentimental. She'd never let it go."
"Don't tell her or Ginny I yelled at you." Harry seemed in no hurry to end the hug. Ron was cool with that. "I think they've gotten even more terrifying."
"You haven't seen nothing yet. We've been dosing mum with calming potions. Once she's off them…"
"Oh god," Harry's voice was little more than a groan. "Killing me with kindness."
"They're going to try." Ron was sympathetic. He even patted Harry's back. "I'm guessing now's a bad time to mention the fanatic reporters, or how you're more famous than ever?"
"Shut it," Harry scowled, unimpressed. Still, his continuing hug spoke otherwise. "I'm not that grateful you found me."
"Rescued you."
"Found me, you wanker. I'm not some damsel in distress."
"You were trapped in a cave behind a dragon…"
"I'm never hearing the end of this, am I."
"Nope, never. Nor am I forgetting how long this hug's lasting."
"So I missed you, shove off."
"Missed you too, scarhead."
"Oh, really mature."
The silence enveloped them. Ron had no desire to move. It was comforting to know that his daft best friend was right here. Safe, mainly sound, a bit sane. Hugging him back and not awkwardly shuffling or fidgeting away like he used to. Not everything was alright: he could feel Harry's bony shoulder blades beneath his shirt, the heat rolling off the man was higher than any fever, and there was a knot in Ron's throat and a thick pressure behind his eyes.
"Love you," Harry's voice was croaky. His embrace was oddly strong.
"Love you too," Ron managed to get out, his words cracking and burning. He leaned his head against Harry's, no longer caring if his hug was too tight. "Don't you ever, ever scare us like that again."
There was a muffled laugh that sounded more like a hiccough (and a hint of his old sarcasm). "I'll avoid getting kidnapped. Great advice."
"It's fantastic advice!" Ron snatched onto the banter and held it with a vice-grip, ignoring the pressure breaking and tears dripping down his face. "Most people can follow it just fine. But oh no, not the great Harry Potter."
Ron had high hopes that night. He told Hermione about the 'heart-to-heart' and that Harry was opening up (he might've skipped over one or two minor details). His wife was equally thrilled and they'd both gone to sleep more easily than they had in ages.
The next day Ron was mainly stuck at the Ministry. But, in finishing the day's caseload, he looked forward to dropping by St. Mungo's before heading home. He'd been smiling as he'd walked past the guards and pushed open the hospital room's door. But the cheerfulness faded as he got a proper look into the bedroom. Harry was hunched up at the window, staring out of the glass. Only Percy reacted at his entrance, and this was to send his brother a wane smile from his bedside seat.
Ron swallowed the frog in his throat. He let the door swing shut behind him. "Hey Perce. How long has he—"
"All day." Percy knew the question before it'd been asked. He stretched, adjusting his glasses. "Ginny was here before me. It looked like she'd been crying. From what I could gather not even her, ah," he coughed, equal amounts sad and embarrassed, "her methods worked."
"But I…" Ron trailed off, hopelessness sinking back in. He gave a startled look at the listless Harry. "He was great yesterday. Shouting and snarky, basically his old self."
Percy fidgeted, like he wanted to respond but was at a loss for words. Ron sighed.
"Go on, I'll stay here 'til the next shift."
"Ron, I—"
"It's fine," Ron thudded out, grabbing another chair and pulling it to the window. "I have some free time. Say hi to Audrey and the kids for me."
Percy again looked like he was going to say something, but stopped. Getting up and taking his coat, he sent Ron a stretched smile and Harry a hesitant gaze. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Sure, sure." Ron didn't look at Percy as he left, only heard his footsteps and the opening and shutting door. After this, he spoke up. "I thought you were doing better."
Harry was leaning against the window, eyes dim and half closed. His nose, cheek, and hand were weakly pressed against the fogged glass.
"That was a breakthrough, wasn't it? I was positive it—" Ron stared at him hopelessly, slumping farther in his seat. "You were almost normal. More clingy sure, but I thought…"
There was no response. With a sudden whirl of anger Ron jerked forward, taking Harry's chin in his hands and forcing the glazed eyes towards him.
"ANSWER ME! REACT! I'M RIGHT HERE!" Ron bellowed, fright and temper grabbing hold. But even as he spoke he could see Harry's glossy gaze drifting back to the window. It didn't matter if he shook the man or screamed at him: he took no notice of it. "I'm right here. So what if you're broken, hurting, or whatever? Tell me what's wrong and I'll bloody well fix it!"
Only silence.
"What's wrong with you?" Ron steamed, still clutching Harry's chin (though an arm was now woven around his back, supporting the swaying man). "Acting sane one day and like a vegetable the next. I'm supposed to go along with it, pretending everything's peachy because you have good days? IT'S NOT GOOD! It's messed up! You're out of your bloody mind and the Healers are clueless! Even on the 'good days', you won't talk about what happened. Which fine, I can't imagine the trauma. But I'm starting to think this is because of that! Because this is what you do, what you've always done: you bottle up everything until it explodes!"
"But I can't do a damn thing. You know why? 'cause you won't remember this, not clearly at any rate. On your next coherent day I'm going to skirt around Lestrange, like I always do! So I have no idea what you remember. Do you remember dying? Being beheaded? Do you remember the pain and being stuck in a cage? Well I don't know, because I'm a coward and can't ask!" Ron's expression clenched. "I'm too afraid of setting you off…nah, that's a lie. I just don't want to know. You need help and you need to talk to someone, but I hope that person isn't me. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Ron was breathing heavily, hands shaking. Gently (ever so gently) he set Harry back against the seat. Even slightly turned his head so that he could more easily stare out the window. He ran his sleeve against the glass, lifting the fog so that the wizard had a better view. Harry took no notice of any of this.
"I hope you aren't remembering," Ron said in a small voice. "I hope these aren't flashbacks."
"OH! Sweet Merlin, no, I'll come back." Ron slammed the hospital door as quickly as he'd tried to enter. He shot a glare at Dmitri, who was guarding the room. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Dmitri bit back a grin. "Because I thought it'd be funny?"
"Git." Ron shivered, stalking off. "Next time my sister's in there, bloody well warn me!"
He was glad Harry and Ginny were feeling better. It didn't mean he wanted to see that.
"What's that?" Harry gestured at the strange object on his bedside table. Ron fidgeted, not needing to look. "It was there when I woke up. Did one of the kids leave it?"
Ron cleared his throat, mouth stiff. "It's a present. For you."
"Brilliant." Harry scratched his head. "What's it for?"
Ron hoped his face wasn't as red as he thought it was. He felt the heat build in his cheeks. "I got it as a Christmas gift for you last year. As part of one? I thought the stuffed toy lion was cute, I dunno." He was definitely blushing. It was bad enough he'd held onto the thing, why'd he go and put it on the table? "It made me think of those ridiculous model lions Seamus tried to make the 'mascots' of our dorm. Y'know, the ones that tap-danced? So, yeah. A stuffed toy. You can laugh at me now."
Ron wouldn't bring himself to meet Harry's gaze. So being tackled in a hug came as a surprise.
"Oh. Ah, okay." Ron patted Harry's back as he was embraced. "You're welcome?"
"You kept it for me!"
Ron's mind froze at Harry's teary words, the hug only becoming tighter. He'd made Harry cry. Harry had initiated another hug. Harry was currently sobbing on his shoulder. "Mate? Did I break you?"
"You're so stupid!" came Harry's bleary answer, muffled against Ron's petrified chest. "Who, who buys a, a gift for a missing bloke?"
"It isn't a big deal. I hope you like it, but I didn't mean for it to make you—" Clingy? Mental? "—upset."
There was a drawn-out silence.
"Why am I acting like this?" came Harry's thudding voice. His arms continued to clench his friend.
Ron would guess it was because of trauma or the like, except this was also freaking him out. Did Harry get a personality transplant? Harry was supposed to be moody, sarcastic, and hesitant with touches. Where did this stranger come from? Someone who truly wore their heart on their sleeve, who sought 'emotional comfort'? What even was this!
"The phoenix." Ron wasn't sure where this answer had come from. Harry hiccuped, pulsing his hands in the fabric of Ron's shirt. "Phoenixes are more emotional and playful than humans. Maybe that's why you're acting—" Clingy? Mental? Insane? "—like this."
Harry gave another sob and Ron nervously patted his back. "My head's messed up!"
No shit. "No, no it isn't. It'll be okay. Shh, calm down, s'alright."
A/N: I weirdly love hurt/comfort fics. The problem is how quickly they can become ooc, since most of the characters in the HP universe have the emotional range of a teaspoon (who are so not comfortable with hugs, oh my gosh). So to add in this theme, I figured that Harry would have to be bewildered about why he was seeking comfort, and Ron would be equally bewildered by the change in his friend. Ron's a good bloke (and traumatised himself), so he'd return the hugs and stuff. But there's no way you can have hurt/comfort between Ron and Harry without both characters feeling flabbergasted and out of place.
I can't have Harry sobbing on Ron's shoulder and have both characters be totally chill about it. Which is fine. They aren't comfortable with overtly sentimental stuff: that's Hermione's thing.