Name:Princes
Author: aidendavis
Rating:PG-13 (for guys kissing)
Pairing:Harry/Ron (is there any other? Oh yeah - Ron/Harry; but that's not in this one)
Summary:Harry and Ron have always been princes for each other. But what happens when one doesn't fulfill his duties?
Beta:magicofisis Who is awesome. My thanks and love go out to her.
Warnings/Disclaimer:I do not own Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, or any other characters from the Harry Potter series mentioned in this series.
The plot, however, is my own.
This story contains SLASH. If you don't know what that means, you probably got to my journal through the random journal selection.
This was written for the harryandron FQF. Go grab a premise and do some artwork or write some stories; or go to the community and read the stories already there. It won't hurt, I promise. Unless you refuse to use the restroom until you're done reading every story in the community. That would be a mistake. Trust me.
They had always been princes for each other.
When a worried and lonely boy had sat on the train in desperate need of a friend, Ron had been there for him. Maybe Prince Charming didn't usually wear hand-me-downs, but Harry wasn't complaining. When Harry had needed a battle commander, Ron had become the knight. Maybe shining armor was usually less faded, and less torn, and not covered in mud, but Harry didn't care. When a 12-year-old wizard had needed a 'second' to follow the spiders into the forest, Ron had been there. Maybe seconds in battle weren't supposed to have broken wands, and shiver all that much, and cling to their leaders, but Harry said nothing.
When a screaming red-head had needed saving from the jaws of a giant black dog, Harry had given chase into the heart of a Whomping Willow, and down a tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Maybe rescuers weren't supposed to let their friends legs get broken, weren't supposed to forget to look behind the door, weren't supposed to get disarmed before even seeing the opponent, but Ron still fought alongside Harry, against a mass murderer and on a broken leg. When a sleeping red-head had needed rescuing from the bottom of the lake, Harry had dove into the water without a second thought, barely knowing how to swim. Maybe champions weren't supposed to run out of air ten feet from the surface, or rescue hostages that weren't their own, or turn up well outside the time limit, but Ron didn't say anything too much.
When a tortured wizard had twisted in his sheets and retched over the side of his four-poster, Ron had been there to ease the nightmares away. Maybe best friends weren't supposed to sleep in the same bed, or stroke each other's hair, or hug for quite that long, but Harry didn't lose any more sleep over it.
But when an unmarked Chocolate frog had been discovered at the bottom of Harry's pile of Christmas gifts, Ron hadn't been what Harry needed. When Harry ate the chocolate, Ron was too busy staring at the way it melted on Harry's lips to think about where the sweet might have come from. And so, Harry had collapsed, barely breathing. The frog eaten, he had fallen to the floor, and Ron's screams and shakes would not wake him. And when Hermione had come with Dumbledore in tow, Dumbledore could not wake him either.
"He is in a deep sleep," said the headmaster. "I do not know what will wake him."
So now Ron sat beside Harry in the infirmary, holding his best friend's motionless hand, and rocking slowly back and forth in his chair. Back and forth, back and forth. With each rock his mind slipped; and soon it was rocking, back and forth between his thoughts as an insidious voice worked its way into the shadows of his consciousness.
You put him here.
No I didn't. The Chocolate Frog was poisoned.
Then you should have stopped him. But you didn't. You just sat there. You watched him eat it. You did nothing.
How was I supposed to know it was poisoned?
Hermione would have known. Hermione would have stopped him. Hermione would have saved his life; now you have lost it.
No, no… He's just sleeping, he'll get better. He'll wake up. He'll wake up, and we'll… we'll be…
Together?
The insidious voice laughed, a high-pitched, evil cackle that rang through to Ron's very soul. He physically shuddered and grabbed on to Harry's hand tighter. And the voice got louder.
Foolish boy. Do you really think he wants you? Do you really think he will return your disgusting desires? Why should he? You are nothing. You are poor, stupid, and a worthless Muggle-loving cretin. He does not want you. He never will. Face it, boy.
A tear fell from Ron's right eye and slid down his cheek as he succumbed to the degradation of the voice. Ron turned away and let go of Harry's hand, unwilling to let even the sleeping form see him cry. The insidious voice was gone, but his mind supplied its own degradation now.
He doesn't like me that way. He doesn't even think of me that way. But… just this once, I could; just this once, I will.
Ron turned around and faced the bed, wiping the tear from his face with his sleeve. He leaned over the bed, closed his eyes, and kissed Harry full on the lips. Suddenly, Harry's arms shot up and grabbed Ron's own; Ron could feel the Chocolate Frog box in Harry's hand crushing against his robes as Harry maintained an almost painful grip. Ron was forced back, and when he opened his eyes, there was a terrible look of fear on Harry's face. He opened his mouth, and all Ron heard was "No" in a light whisper before feeling the very memorable pull behind the navel of a portkey. The two crashed onto a stone floor, and the next thing Ron saw was a jet of red light coming straight at him.
When he came to, he was in a small stone room with a very heavy oak door and a small window not even big enough to fit his shoulders through. Looking out, he discovered that he was in a tall tower in what appeared to be a mostly ruined castle. The land near the castle was obscured in dense fog. He could barely see to the end of the castle walls themselves. Ron backed away from the window and slid down against the opposite wall. The insidious voice was gone, but it was no longer necessary.
He hates me. Even if I ever get out of this place, he'll never speak to me again.
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the horrified look on Harry's face. Every blink was filled with that look of utter terror; he could nearly feel Harry's grasp on his arms. He sat in that room, curled up against the wall for hours, torturing himself with the knowledge that if he ever got out of here, even if Harry was with him, he would be without his best friend.
He heard noises outside; there were bangs, explosions, and the thud of people hitting the stone floor. The noises grew closer, and closer until they were right outside his door. Then he heard a familiar voice scream "Reducto!" and the solid oak door was blasted off its hinges. Ron stood and looked out the doorway still filled with dust and smoke. Harry walked through it, and Ron turned away. Ron felt a forceful hand on his shoulder, and Harry turned him around and pulled him into a deep kiss. Ron's world literally melted away as he felt a familiar pull behind his navel. When the kiss was broken, solely for air, they realized that they were back in the hospital wing, and a very bemused and smiling Dumbledore was looking on.
Ron broke the silence. "Wh- What is going on?"
"I think we'd both like to know that, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
Harry looked solemnly at Dumbledore. "He's gone. For good, this time."
Dumbledore's smile nearly reached his ears, and Ron simply looked shocked.
"I suspected as much when Professor Snape appeared in my office and showed me an awfully pallid but mercifully clear forearm. I told him I thought he needed a good long holiday, but I think perhaps you should tell us both the whole story."
"It was your wand that did it, Ron. He was trying to be all dramatic about it; since he can't duel me with his own wand, he was going to strike me down with my best friend's. We faced off, but just before he cast Avada Kedavra, I missed him and hit the wand directly with Stupefy. The wand exploded, and it took him with it. Then I fought my way to you." He turned to Ron.
"How did you know where I was?"
"The highest room, the tallest tower… Voldemort had a flair for the dramatic, but he used way too many clichés."
Harry smiled, and Ron felt a smile forming on his own face, almost independent of his own thought. It was then that Ron realized; they would always be princes for each other.