By Kay
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, the third movie would have never happened. ::groans::
Author's Notes: SLASH, Harry/Ron style. Just to warn y'all. Things have been hectic here… okay, and they've just sucked a lot, and I hate the world… but I'm hoping to get back on track with my fanfiction here soon. To prove this, I actually huffed out this little piece of ugly fluff that's layered in OOC so thick, you could cut it with a wand.
Enjoy. Post-Hogwarts/War. I'm taking liberties with the twins again.
It was the hottest day of the summer, but Harry couldn't have been happier.
The sky was a light blue, dotted with cotton wisps of clouds and the viciously glaring sun that had everyone fanning themselves in exhaustion. The heat had been continuing all week, heedless of any pleas for rain, leaving the ground a dry and cracked mess of dead earth under everyone's bare feet. Even with the sun scorching everyone's skin, however, Harry Potter had never had a better time at the Burrow.
When they'd called him at home-- during spring clean up, no less, as he stood helplessly in front of the mess that was his apartment-- Harry almost hadn't believed his ears. It wasn't that he didn't keep in touch. He really did. Hermione and Ron would have killed him if he hadn't, so there were always letters and quick chats in Diagon Alley to keep things current, but things had been so busy during that time. And with the war over, people were rebuilding their lives. He didn't want to get in the way of that.
Trust Ron to break him out of his self-imposed isolation, of course.
'Stupid idiot,' the redhead had said over the phone, and Harry could just see his smirk on the other end. He'd been proud to figure out the Muggle contraption. Even smugger when he realized he'd backed Harry into a corner. 'Is that why you've been avoiding everyone? Get your arse over here, Mum wants to invite you for the summer.'
'Really?'
'No, she's just lying to you.' A pause, and then exasperated, 'Of course she did, Harry! You didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did'ja?'
He'd flushed; not because he'd been thinking that, but because he'd almost forgotten it himself as the days grew busier.
'Stay for a while,' Ron had urged. 'We miss you.
'I miss you.'
And so, naturally, Harry went.
"Would you like some lemonade, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked him, smiling gently at the older youth that befriended her son so long ago. She held out a tray, a few clear glasses of liquid placed on it. Harry smiled shyly at her-- the years hadn't erased his gratitude towards the poor family, nor his love for the woman who took to him like he was her own.
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said, accepting the glass. He laid back in the armchair, taking a sip and watching as the rest of the family scurried around the yard of the Burrow, complaining about the heat as they set up a large picnic table and chairs. Somehow, though he'd protested, everyone had shown up and decided to throw him a birthday party. While it touched Harry in a way that made him swallow the thick lump in his throat and beam tearfully at Ron-- who'd grinned and cuffed his shoulder-- he didn't want everyone to make such a big deal about it.
Like that was going to stop them.
"Oi, Harry!" Bill called, his red hair longer than ever, "Grab another couple chairs while you're by the kitchen door! We need…" He turned around and counted under his breath.
"Two more!" Ginny called before he could finish. She flashed a large, white smile at her older brother's disgruntled expression. Harry laughed from the doorway, taking a quick gulp of all the lemonade and wiping his mouth quickly.
"Thanks for the lemonade, Mrs. Weasley," he said hurriedly, "I'll just place it in the sink, will I?"
"That would be lovely, Harry." She started heading for the group of redheaded boys tangling together the picnic tablecloth, cursing as they unfolded it and tried to place it correctly. "Now, I must make sure they don't hurt themselves… honestly, they're this old and can't even fold correctly, goodness…"
Harry watched her go with a grin, his hand on the door to the kitchen. As he was following her with his emerald eyes, he caught sight of a familiar scene.
'Heh. They stuck Ron with table setting duty.'
Almost as though he heard his thought, his best friend looked up from across the yard, catching his eye and raising an eyebrow. Harry could almost hear the, 'What d'you think you're doin', eh, Harry?'
Hearing the voice in his head, Harry felt warm. Warmer than the heat of the sun, warm in a way that made him relax and smile almost giddily at his best friend. Ron returned the grin, his white teeth a bright contrast to his tanned, freckled face and flaming red hair. His white shirt was ripped off at the sleeves, sticking to his chest and shoulders, prompting him to make a face at Harry and wave a hand as if saying, 'It's too hot! I'm going to faint!'
Harry doubted it. The years had been kind to them both-- Harry, who played Quidditch regularly still, maintained a sleek and wiry form, though his messy hair was never completely conquered. Ron, on the other hand, had grown much like he'd started-- his bones jutted out, though the awkward angles had slowly softened into slender and firm features, leaving him with a skinny but tough adult body. In the sunlight, much like today, his red locks of hair seemed to be on fire, glowing fiercely under the focus of the light.
He looked amazing that day.
Even as Harry thought that and felt himself go red in the face, he ducked into the kitchen. It had been really odd lately; things between Ron and him had been different somehow. It was harder now, and yet so much easier. Sometimes it was like it always had been, the two of them laughing over some bad joke or sharing stories of their weeks. Sometimes, though, strange things would happen. They would glance at each other for too long, silent and connected through an invisible, incomprehensible line. Other times, Harry would find himself staring at Ron much like he had just done, startled by an odd attractiveness and magnetism that radiated from his friend. It hadn't been there before. At least, he didn't think so.
Ron was touching him more, too. They'd always done things before-- a pat on the back, a cuff to the shoulder, a few times when he'd gripped the redhead's arm to get his attention. But it was different now. They'd be in the kitchen, soft and quiet in the mornings, all alone, and Ron would reach past him to get something on the shelf. Except he didn't bother going around him, just reached over and his hair brushed Harry's cheek, and his chest was pressed against his arms, and if he'd just reached around and pulled, he would have been--
Harry closed his eyes at the memory and groaned.
The kitchen door banged open.
"Well, well, well--"
"If it isn't--"
"--just the person we wanted to see!"
Only two people ever talked like that. Harry groaned again, mentally this time, and opened his eyes. The twins grinned at him cheerfully, broad shoulders blocking the exit as they looked at him like…
Like he was their prey.
Suddenly, Harry felt very nervous.
"Hey, Fred. George," he mumbled, eyes casting around the kitchen for something. Anything. "I was just… just…"
"We wanted to have a talk with you," one of the twins said. Judging from the more serious eyes-he always had a slightly more contemplative personality than his brother, despite what they seemed-it was George. Maybe. "It's very important."
"Much more important than lawn chairs."
"See, it's about Ron."
"Ickle Ronniekins, our baby brother."
"Oh," Harry said weakly. Something instinctively told him he wasn't going to enjoy this. "That's… okay. Sure. What's up?"
The twins exchanged unreadable looks, and what was probably George finally answered.
"We want to know if your intentions towards him are pure."
That hadn't been expected.
"W-what?!" Harry sputtered, eyes wide and mouth gaping. "What d'you--"
"See," Maybe-Fred interrupted smoothly. "We know what's going on."
"You'd have to be blind not to see it," George added.
"Like Mum."
"She's blind."
"But we aren't. We see what's going on."
"Because we're good big brothers, believe it or not--"
"--and if you don't, it's perfectly understandable--"
"--but we just wanted to say--"
"--that if you hurt him, we'll--"
"--have to kill you, Harry--"
"--yes, sorry."
Harry stared at them.
His brain whirling with complicated thoughts and confused metaphors, he finally managed to ask, "What was that?"
The twins sighed together and exchanged another look, this time more amused and teasingly mournful at the same time. "Poor Harry. I don't think he sees it, do you, Fred?"
"I guess not," Fred answered cheerfully. "He's clueless."
George sighed dramatically. "Poor Ronniekins, doomed to pine for a thick-headed bloke like this one forever--"
"--it's a cryin' shame, I was looking forward to--"
"--telling him off? Yes. Telling him he could do better."
"Than Harry?"
"Well, he's being very stupid right now."
"And his hair's always messy."
"And he's got a scar."
"Well, his clothes are always atrocious. No fashion sense."
"He'd forget their anniversary."
"Doesn't know how to cook--"
"Hey, I do so!" Harry interrupted incredulously, gaping at them. "What are you two going on about?! It's nice to know you hold me in such low esteem, as well…"
George preened. "Well, we do have high standards."
"He is our baby brother," Fred added possessively. "And, as such, it's our job to make sure no scruffy Scarheads get through the inspections."
"Inspect--? Guys? What the heck are you talking about?" Harry groaned loudly, rubbing his forehead and slumping in a kitchen chair. He peered at the redheaded terrors with slit-shut eyes, frowning at them. "Can you just talk rationally for once?"
"Ron loves you," Fred said.
There wasn't much Harry could say to that. He stared.
"It's obvious you're also smitten with him," George continued, winking rakishly at his brother's best mate. "Though you may not be aware of it yet. We just wanted to do our duty as big brothers, that's all, and make sure you had good intentions towards him."
"Which means marriage," Fred warned darkly. "Mum will kill you in the worst way if you don't ask him eventually. Just to forewarn you."
"And no sex on the first date."
"No kissing, either."
"You've got to be a good gentlemen--"
"--or we'll find you, bash your brains in, and hang you from a Quidditch pole in Antarctica."
There was a moment of silence.
Harry swallowed. "Oh."
"Oh, and Harry?" Fred said cheerfully. "Thanks for taking such good care of him so far. Just keep it up, will you?"
"Because we know where you live."
"And sleep."
"And because we love Ron, it's best for him if he doesn't know about this little chat, alright?" George winked again.
"Right," Harry said weakly, staring at them.
"Well, now that that's over with," Fred announced, pleased, "I think Mum's waiting for us outside to help. Grab some extra chairs, will you, our future brother-in-law?" He slapped Harry on the back playfully, ignoring the shocked look upon his face. "We'll have this party set up in no time!"
They left together, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Harry gaped after them as they went-- he distantly noted that from Ginny's sudden yell, they must have targeted her to "help" set up-- and suddenly felt very relieved that he had a chair under him during this time.
Well. That had been… interesting.
"Interesting," he repeated aloud, faintly.
Intentions towards Ron? Were they being serious-? He wouldn't put it past them to throw the whole thing as some inside joke (and was quite sure they'd be snickering outside the house by now at their own clever wit), but it wasn't exactly the twins' style. Too subtle and sneaky, really. And to even have the idea, that would mean…
But surely they had been joking. Harry swallowed noisily again, numbly slumping back in the chair and staring at his own hands in awkward fascination. They couldn't think that he-- that Ron-- where… well, could they?!
The uncomfortable heat on the back of his neck told him that he was blushing. Furiously.
'It's so… because it's not like he likes me… like that. Honestly, they can't have meant anything-- maybe it was just a mistake-- or some sort of misunderstanding! What have the posts been printing about me lately?!'
But what if…? Harry forced himself to think for a moment, focusing hard on the matter at hand. He could hear everyone outside clunking tables together. Ron would be out there. Had Fred and George cornered him yet? No, no, that was stupid, why would he get a speech when Harry was the one being warned? That was stupid. He couldn't possibly know about this whole thing. How mortifying that would be, Harry thought wildly to himself, if Ron knew how he felt about him--
And then, 'Oh God, it's true.'
Harry's mind combusted.
Later he would thank every god under the stars that no one heard the crashing sound as he fell off of the chair.
"We told him."
Ron glanced up from the table, squinting in the sunlight only to see the silhouettes of his identical twin brothers. "Oh? How did he take it?"
"I think we broke him," one of them admitted.
"Ah."
"But he didn't deny it," the other added, flashing him a grin. "And I think he might just be coming around to it."
"Honestly, Ronniekins, couldn't you have fallen for a man that was quicker on the uptake?"
"It's so embarrassing."
"For everyone."
Ron cracked a laugh, running a hand through his grimy hair sheepishly. "Yeah, well, Mom did pick Dad…"
There was a pause.
"Good point."
"Yeah, true, true."
Throwing another worried glance at the silent house, Ron asked, "So you're sure it worked?"
"Positive."
"Absolutely," added the redhead twin. "We may have taken the liberty to add a few things, other than the fact you like him, but I'm sure they just progressed the realization even more."
"Brilliant. Thank bloody God. I've tried just about everything to get him to figure it out." He sighed in relief. "And I owe you how much for this…?" He trailed off weakly at the shark-eating grins on both of his brothers' faces. "Um…"
Sometimes he really hated having brothers.
Well, that's it. Hope it was okay. I just think it's cute... you know, Ron paying the twins to actually help him out, and then they go and almost scare poor Harry away... anyway, it's loosely based on a new fic I'm going to start doing (yes, another one, don't worry, it's not going to interfere with my other late stuff), about Ron's futile struggle to get Harry to notice that he's attracted to him. XD It's pretty fun. It all started with the image of Ron just getting absolutely desperate, dumping a bucket of water on himself, and throwing a fit:
Ron: JUST LOOK! LOOK, YOU STUPID, STUPID PERSON! I'M WET! I'M SOPPING WET! UNDERCLOTHED AND SOPPING WET! LOVE ME, DAMMIT! AAARRRGHHH!
Harry: O.O
... yeah. XD
The new chapter of "The Meaning of a Faith" will be up in two weeks. I had a problem with a loophole in the plot, and it took three scheming minds over a weekend to finally find a way to dissolve it creditably. Needless to say, it just needs a little more revising and it'll be ready. :) For those who are wonderng...