Author: Semirhage
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Slashyness = boys wanting to kiss other boys. ::grin:: Angst, angst, and more angst.
Spoilers: All five books, I think. I can't remember at this point, though.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and all those other people that actually have some money. The only thing that I own is the plotbunny and the muse.
Summary: For the last couple of the weeks in the summer before his sixth year, Harry stays with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow. Unfortunately, he can't evade the burgeoning truth of himself and Voldemort. Angst, slash, and one-sided love. Oh, and RW/HG, in case that squicks you. =P
Archive: fanfiction . net, forever fandom, and my website. Anywhere else...just ask.
Author's Notes: This fic was actually an expirement to get me back into the groove of writing HP fics. All of the characters get severely pissy in these next few chapters, and fights spring up everywhere. O.O Anyway, reviews are pretty and shiny...and I like pretty and shiny things. .
( 2.4 ) Autumn's Cool Jealousy
Eventually, Harry decided that he would take Fred's advice and give his Firebolt a little exercise. He would be back on Gryffindor's team this year, and since he had not been able to practice since early in his fifth year, he decided it would be prudent to use his time wisely.
He had no ideas as to what Hermione and Ron might be doing, but his mind kept wandering to the possibilities. He nearly crashed into the ground at least five times, not to mention the countless trees that he brushed while turning.
By the time he decided he had flown enough, Hermione and Ron had returned from their adventure. Harry glared at Ron as he stomped into the kitchen.
"Harry, dinner's on the table," Hermione's soft voice floated to him. She seemed concerned, which melted the black haired boy's anger towards her. His emotions towards Ron, however, had not changed in the slightest.
Harry slumped in one of the chairs and took the plate that Hermione handed him. When he glanced towards Ron out of the corners of his eyes, he noticed that the red haired boy seemed nervous and sad.
"Harry," Ron started, then looked at his plate.
Harry's head jerked towards the boy. "What?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
"I just wondered if I could...talk to you," he muttered so that Harry could barely discern his words. "Only after dinner, of course," he added quickly.
"I'm not hungry anyway," Harry said despite his stomach's complaints. He was curious as to what Ron wanted to talk about so desperately.
He followed the red head from the room; Hermione did not come along. "What is it you want?" he asked cautiously.
"Well, I..." Ron mumbled, staring at his feet as he rocked from foot to foot. "You see, I... Well, I said some things that I didn't mean. Harry, I'm so-"
"Don't," Harry interjected. "You don't have to say that. You were right when you called me a prat. I don't know why I acted like I did. I guess I was just..."
"But, Harry, I shouldn't have overreacted. Hell, Harry, you didn't even say anything really nasty to me. I mean, why should I get so upset about Hermione-"
"...being an idiot. I mean, you're my best friend in the entire world. I can't believe that I got so flustered over nothing. I can't even remember what we were fighting about. How stupid could I get to think that-"
"You're not stupid, Harry. If anyone's stupid, it's me," Ron sighed.
"You? Are you kidding? You're the best chess player in the entire world! And what do I have to show for? Nothing, really..."
"Harry! You? You, who bested You-Know-Who several times, not to mention when you were a baby!"
"But I couldn't have done it without someone else backing me up. You don't need anyone to win endlessly at chess."
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but ended up laughing, joined soon by Harry. "Look at us," he finally managed to say through a fit of laughter. "First we were angry at each other, then we decided to apologise and ended up arguing again!"
"Well, we are a bit silly sometimes, aren't we?" Harry grinned at his red haired friend. "What made you speak the first word, anyway?"
"Well, Hermione asked me to-"
"It was all because of Hermione?" Harry asked sharply, green eyes narrowing.
"No, of course not," Ron promised. "Let's just forget about all of this, okay?"
He looked so sincere that Harry had to agree, even though the thought that Hermione was the sole reason for Ron's sorrow rankled him. Harry trailed Ron to the dining room where Hermione glomped both boys and exclaimed that she was happy they were friends again.
That evening the three crowded around a chess board. Harry and Ron played during the first round, then Hermione took Harry's place. The match seemed to last forever, and when it finally ended neither competitor offered Harry their chair.
Of course, Harry was not angry just because his two friends were ignoring him and practically drooling all over each other - no, of course not. He had other reasons, but at the moment the only one he could think of was right before his eyes.
When he was not able to stand being excluded any longer, Harry queried bluntly, "So, Hermione, remember what we decided yesterday? About the secret?"
Ron's head jerked from the board. "What decision? What secret?" His eyes were apprehensive and a little hurt.
Poor bloke, Harry thought. He must think that Hermione and I have something secret going on. Maybe I should act this out... "Nothing that you would know about yet," Harry shrugged as he scooted a chair towards the chess table, making sure to angle it close to Hermione.
The brown haired girl did not seem to comprehend the reasoning behind Harry's actions; in fact, she appeared to think everything was normal. "Well, it had to wait until we had the house to ourselves. You know...it makes secret telling easier." She winked at Harry.
Maybe she does get it. This could be interesting. Sliding in his chair so that his shoulder was touching Hermione's, Harry grinned lazily at his red haired friend. "There are some things that are...easier...to deal with when there aren't so many people around. You know...to make the space smaller."
"Harry, Hermione," Ron interjected. "If you two have some secret...thing...going on, you don't have to tiptoe around telling it outright. I can handle it if you two are dating, you know."
He looked so flustered at that moment, Harry thought as his eyes roamed over his friend. Ron's auburn hair was dishevelled, almost as if someone had ran their hands through it, his face was flushed in frustration, and his eyes were wide and disbelieving. At that moment, Harry would have admitted everything.
Before Harry could say anything, Ron had sprang to his feet and dashed up the stairway. The sound of a door slamming resounded throughout the Burrow.
Sighing, Harry headed towards the stairs. Time to appease Ron and tell him that there was nothing going on between Hermione and him. Sometimes, the redhead could be damned difficult to deal with - surely, he could tell that they had not been serious. Harry had never had one thought like that about Hermione! For some reason, though, the fact that Ron had annoyed him. He should be happy for him... Right?
Harry knocked on Ron's door, only to receive an incoherent reply. "Ron, it's me...I need to talk to you," Harry pleaded as his knuckles rapped the door quietly.
The door opened slowly and Ron's form appeared in the doorway. "What is it, Harry?" he asked wearily. "I'm tired of games, so if that's what you want go play with someone else."
For several seconds Harry moved his mouth, but no sound emerged. "I don't want to play any more games with you, Ron. I want to...to apologise."
The auburn haired boy bit his lip uncertainly before pushing the door open to admit Harry in. "Want to sit?" he asked hesitantly, motioning to his messy bed.
"I..." the black haired boy shrugged. "However you want me."
Ron arched his eyebrows at Harry's statement, his lips quirking into an amused smile.
"Not in that way!" Harry exclaimed, feeling his face become engulfed in flames of embarrassment. "You're too much of a pervert, Ron," he mumbled as he perched on the edge of the single-wide bed.
For some unknown reason, Harry felt the worry and tension leaving his body. Maybe was Ron's laughter and happy smile was what broke through his stony resolve, or maybe Harry was just finally relaxing after the previous weeks of torment and torture at the Dursleys. The black haired boy decided the latter was the cause.
"So are you trying to hint that you aren't one as well, Harry?" Disbelief was written across Ron's face.
"I never said that," he said, his lips twitching as he forced away the laughter that was building within him.
"So...let's talk," Ron said, his voice suddenly serious.
Harry floundered for a few moments, caught unawares. He had hoped that Ron had forgotten, but obviously he was not daunted that easily. Harry mentally smacked himself for fooling himself into thinking that Ron might be such a ditz. "Well, I just wanted to apologise. I - You were right. I was playing a game with you, Ron. I just didn't think that Hermione would jump in on it as well." By the way Ron's eyes and face fell, Harry could tell that the conversation was not going extraordinarily well.
"You mean that you and Hermione lied to me?" Ron asked, his voice faltering.
"We didn't lie to you," Harry protested. "We never said we were dating."
"Yeah, you're right," Ron admitted, and for a moment Harry was relieved to think that the red haired boy would drop the subject. "But your body language said what your words didn't. Damn, Harry, why? Why?"
The black haired boy winced at Ron's quiet pleading. "I didn't think-"
"Obviously, you didn't," the red haired boy quipped curtly. "You know I like Hermione, Harry. You know I do. Why did you do it? Why?"
When he realised that Ron was waiting for a response, Harry shrugged. "You shouldn't have taken me so seriously. You know I'm not interested in Hermione."
"So it's my fault now that I see what you want me to see and believe what you want me to believe. It's fun as long as it's your way, isn't it, Harry?" Ron paused, and when the dark haired boy didn't say anything, continued, "I'm tired of putting up with your shite. I'm tired of everything you put me through, day in and day out. I'm tired of putting up with your wacky emotions and sick sense of humour. And most of all, Harry, I'm tired of you."
"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "It was just a bloody game, Ron!"
Ron glanced at him sadly. "Maybe to you," he whispered before exiting the room.
Harry fell from the edge of the bed to the floor, but did not move. "What have I done?" he wondered aloud. Nothing had gone as he had planned - he had imagined him, Ron, and Hermione joking and laughing, not fighting with each other. In his fantasies during the weeks he was with the Dursleys, they would all go flying and practice Quidditch (even if they had to drag Hermione into that one). He had never envisioned Ron hating his guts. That was the last he would have wanted to happen. Not after the fourth year. Not after the last year, after... Sirius.
Harry choked on the emotions he was holding back. He wrapped his arms around his legs which were scooted against his chest. As he rested his head on his knees, his thoughts concentrated on all the what-ifs roaming through his mind. The predominant of which was where he and Ron were still best friends, happy and carefree...
To be continued...