Title: Unprotected
Author: Skt
Genre: Harry/Ron, angst
Rating: PG-ish
Warnings/Spoilers: No warnings, really general spoilers
Word Count: Appr. 1600
Summary: Cause and Effect. A sequel to Preemptive Strike.
A/N: This is a sequel to Preemptive Strike, so you should probably read that first. Most of the inspiration for this is from the song "Cold" from Crossfade. I wasn't getting anything until I heard that song. No beta, so any and all mistakes are mine, and sorry.
Ron had been staring at his hands for a long time. He was pretty sure they hadn't changed in all that time, and they certainly hadn't done anything interesting, but all the same, he sat and stared. He tried to focus on them, and had been managing quite well for some time. He wasn't really thinking of anything, nothing besides his hands.
Certainly not where they had been, or more importantly, where they wanted to go.
It wasn't as difficult as he would have thought it to be - blocking out something so obvious. Apparently he'd been missing the point for quite some time. He knew he could be a little slow on occasion, but even he was stumped as to how he'd let the clue bus pass him by this time.
He should have seen it coming, and now that his mind was back on the subject it was impossible for him to ignore it. He felt as though he'd been thrown back several years, to when he was much younger. He could remember laying in his bed, scared because a noise or nightmare had somehow become a monster in his room. He'd lay in bed with his eyes squeezed shut, somehow convinced that only by seeing the monster would it become real.
He knew it illogical, but it didn't stop him from trying. For someone who was supposed to be brave he certainly had a lot of fears. And his metaphor really didn't work, because even though he was terrified, it wasn't of a monster.
He was more afraid of himself.
And dammit to hell, that wasn't what he meant either. He wasn't good at expressing himself at the best of times, and right now he was so far out of his depth as to be drowning in his own emotions and feelings.
He took a deep, steadying breath, and tried to focus. 'Think logically', the voice in the back of his mind said, sounding suspiciously (and a little worryingly) like Hermione. 'What's the cause, and what are the effects?'
Well the cause, that he could answer. The cause was Harry - or what Harry had done. The effects? Well, he was pretty sure sitting on his dorm bed staring at his hands in shock would be one. Everything else he jumbled together and counted as two.
He could practically hear Hermione sighing in irritation while rolling her eyes. 'Take it apart, Ron'. He blinked and tried to figure out where to start, randomly selecting something like he would randomly select a thread twisted with other threads into a messy knot. Just take one and start picking at it, hope that it's the right way to go.
Ron had never been a patient person. Years of being the last boy meant he had had to wait for everything - clothes, books, toys. He wasn't any good at waiting, despite all the practice. It wasn't something he'd ever been able to learn. It was more or less forced upon him, the way pain sometimes is. You can get through it better with practice, but it never hurts less. Sometimes it means it actually hurts more.
Most of Ron's childhood friends had met him through his brothers; more second-hand articles. Harry was the first friend he had made. And not just any friend, but the most famous and important boy in the entire wizarding world. The Boy Who Lived, and he picked Ron to be his friend. Ron had never forgotten that.
And Ron should have noticed something, right from that point. He'd never actually stopped to think what that meant. What every time Harry had done something like it had meant. He'd always been too wrapped up in bigger things, loftier dreams that he had no chance of achieving. Harry had always been so protective of himself, and sometimes it was like playing guessing games in the dark to figure out what he meant when he did or said something. Ron knew the other boy so well, better than anyone, but there were still things he couldn't see.
He did know, though, that he should have been paying more attention to the details, to the meanings and significance. Should have put it all together, obvious pieces to a puzzle whose picture he wasn't sure of yet. But he hadn't, because that would have involved thinking ahead, something Ron was monumentally horrible at. He was a terrible planner, and it was one of the reasons why he was constantly trying to play catch-up in most parts of his life. Behind in school work, missed a Quidditch practice, forgot to clean his room and do his chores. All the stupid small things that made him overlook the most important thing of all.
Ron had been Harry's best friend for years and in all that time he'd never had an inkling of what his friend had really felt. He wondered what kind of friend that really made him. Harry always saved the day, went out of his way to make sure that as few people got hurt as possible. He'd saved Ron's life, more than once. He'd never discounted what Ron had said or thought just because Ron was the youngest Weasley boy; more often than not he took his advice, just because it was Ron who had said it. In the most basic sense, he was a good person.
Ron had been relatively cold by comparison. How many times had he discounted what Harry had said or done just because it sounded impossible or unbelievable? And he still called himself Harry's best friend. He felt like he didn't deserve the title. All this time he had probably been discounting Harry's feelings as well, without ever realizing it.
Well, not discounting them, but ignoring them. Just like he ignored his own feelings. Things he had stopped at the source, not even bothered to think about, because he knew it would just end with him feeling hurt and lonely. He hadn't thought Harry would have felt the same way, and he needed Harry's friendship more than anything else.
He didn't want Harry to see the parts of him he didn't like to look at himself; it was one place where Harry had definitely surpassed him. Harry was never afraid to show the bad to Ron, and he didn't realize just how special it made Ron feel. To be the one who could make Harry Potter open up, expose who he really was. One of the reasons his hands were shaking. The dam of feelings cracked and broken, a flood of feelings threatening to overwhelm him. The way he felt about Harry he'd never felt about anyone else, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.
His mind was running in eight different directions, and despite his resolve to think it through logically, all he could manage was an unorganized stream of consciousness that was threatening to make him panic. He could think of a hundred reasons why this was a horrible idea, why he should stop thinking about it altogether. They'd barely become adults; for all practical purposes they were still kids. And as ashamed as he was to admit it, he knew if he let Harry know he didn't want to be more than friends, Harry would accept that. But he didn't know if that's what he really wanted. Wanted he needed was someone to explain it to, to help him organize his thoughts outloud.
Which was a little ironic, he had to admit. Normally he'd just do what he always did when he was confused or worried about something - go talk to Harry. He'd always been able to confide in Harry, he didn't think he could deal with the possibility he wouldn't be able to do that in the future. For whichever reason came first. His hands shook harder.
And as terrified as he was by both his feelings and Harry's, he was even more frightened by the idea that they might never have the chance to explore them.
Harry had slipped up, touched his wrist in an abortive gesture that spoke more of what he hadn't done than what he had. He'd looked at Ron, eyes wide but oddly resigned, like a parent whose child had done something wrong and left him to explain it. He'd opened his mouth to say something Ron hadn't been sure he would want to hear. He hadn't had the chance to actually say anything.
Harry was gone, and Ron wasn't sure if he'd make it back. Two minutes of hushed conversation with Dumbledore and he had disappeared, sweeping away with him everything Ron had come to associate with safety and comfort and love.
And if all that just... disappeared with Harry, where did that leave Ron?
He realized it wasn't just his hands that were shaking. It was his entire body, shivering with tremors that spoke of the fears he couldn't.
'Make it back to me, Harry. Please'.
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