Been a while, eh XD?
Hey, everybody. I've been on a hiatus for a couple of years, but I'm attempting to start writing again. This is an underwhelming return to the fandom, though—I hoped to have at least one complete story ready before I had to start posting for the challenges on the reinstated Hogwarts forum, but that… did not happen, so here is the first part to my brand new four-parter fic XD.
I… have not finished the second part yet, or made any significant progress on it, but it will happen. I hope. For what it's worth, I'm liking this fic already, so I'm optimistic! Anyway, enjoy :D
This fic is for the September Assignment for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, as well as for a bunch of other challenges for the same forum. Prompts will be listed at the end of the work.
Assignment #2: Egyptology
Task 1 - The Pyramid of Unas: Write about someone being protective over someone else. /Alt. Write a Bodyguard!AU
Shoutout to Bex (DobbyRocksSocks) who Britpicked for me. Thank you muchly XD.
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling is not a goddess, but her writing is magical, and I can never compare. So, she keeps the characters, the places and her own created world, while I borrow them all every now and then like the pathetic human I am. The plot is all mine though!
Word Count: 2750 words
Summary: Harry is an oblivious dumbass, and his suitors are horrifying. Ron, of course, comes to the rescue. Except for the one time he doesn't. 3 times Ron decides to step in, and the 1 time he doesn't need to.
1. Justin Finch-Fletchley
"What are you having, mate?"
"Just a Butterbeer for me, thanks," says Harry, groaning into his crossed arms. His head is facedown against the grimy pub table, leaving only a thatch of wild black hair visible from between those skinny arms. "I can't afford a hangover in the morning. We've got training again tomorrow, and I can barely get through it when my head isn't already screaming for death."
Ron's lips twitch.
They are both enrolled in the same Auror training program, but three weeks ago, Head Auror Robards got it into his head that The Boy Who Lived Twice needed a special training routine to harness his considerable magical core. He has personally taken up the task, running Harry ragged every day of the week, including Sundays.
And so yet again, Harry's hero status has gotten him into a pickle. At this point, Ron just finds it hilarious.
"You got it, mate," he murmurs, patting his best mate's back. "Poor sod. You just sit here and mope."
"Bugger off, you arse," Harry mumbles without looking up. "I know you're taking the piss."
Ron grins. "Me? A piss-taker? I resent that. Such slander."
"Ugh. Go, before I tell on you."
"To who? Robards?" Ron challenges.
Harry looks up, his black curls now in even greater disarray, and glares with all the vindictiveness of an insulted cat. "Hermione."
Ron flinches. "Damn. You mean business."
"Butterbeer, Ron."
"Fine, I'm going, I'm going. Keep your knickers on."
Shaking his head to himself, he leaves Harry behind to keep moping, wandering over to the bar and greeting the stoic woman behind the counter who, as always, is diligently chewing on some mint leaves.
"Alright, Bulstrode?"
Millicent Bulstrode gives him a flat look, as if he is already wasting her time. "What'll it be today, Weasley? Butterbeer? Shirley Temple? Apple juice?"
Ron blinks. "Are you implying that I can't hold my drink?"
Her look gets even flatter. "Yes."
"I'll have you know that Gryffindors are brilliant at holding their liquor. We can drink you slimy Slytherins under the table any day."
"Slimy Slytherins. Really." Millicent's square-jawed face pulls into an impressive scowl of disgust. "You're worse than just a pain in my arse, Weasley. You're a pain in my arse with no imagination."
Ron snorts. "Oh, you flatterer. You love me, really."
"Really don't."
"Sure you do. You love my money, don't you? Pretty sure I'm your most frequent customer."
"I wouldn't say no to your Sickles," Millicent agrees, which for her is practically a love confession.
"Thank you." Ron grins in triumph.
Her scowl deepens. "Alright, you nutter, wipe that ugly thing off your face. You didn't win any prizes. Butterbeer for you?"
"Nope!" Ron decides, just to be contrary—even though he also has training the next morning. "Double shot of Firewhisky for me, thanks. Ogden's finest. And a Butterbeer for my best mate, because Harry is a bloody pansy."
Millicent snorts. "Potter's no Pansy. I know Parkinson, and she can definitely drink Potter under the table."
Ron chokes back a snicker, picturing Harry's face if he ever found out that he could be outpaced by the shrill, five foot two Slytherin. Though honestly, if a really determined bastard held Ron at wandpoint, he'd be forced to admit that pretty much anybody over sixteen could outpace Harry. Gryffindors may be the superior drinkers, but everyone who's been out at the pub with Harry knows that he really cannot hold his liquor.
Ron still finds it ironic, considering Harry has more woes to drink away than any of them.
A lot can change in a year or two. Two years ago, Ron would have Crucioed himself if someone suckered him into being less-than-vitriolic to a Slytherin. But now, at twenty-one, Ron has learned some things. He's mellowed out. He knows better.
These days, bantering with Bulstrode is one of the top ten highlights of his week.
It's been four years since Harry vanquished good old You-Know-Who, and slowly but surely, the wizarding world has been thriving. Harry's rabid fans aren't as rabid as they used to be. The tabloids have found another trio or two to obsess over. Rita Skeeter has once again earned herself a banishment to Hermione's trusty beetle jar. And through it all, Ron and his friends have been growing and forgiving and healing the petty rivalries of their past, and learning a thing or two along the way.
Reluctantly, in Ron's particular case, but learning just the same.
The hardest pill to swallow has been working in close contact with Malfoy. The pointy Slytherin is training to be a fellow Auror, and Ron has been given the unfortunate treat of being the git's trainee partner. He would gag at this—quite dramatically, if given the chance—but the slimy bastard is actually quite good at Auroring. Unfortunately for Ron's evil-git loathing sentiments, Malfoy also isn't as evil and git-like as Ron hoped he would be.
Ron Weasley, regrettably, isn't the only judgy sod who has mellowed out since he was seventeen. These days, Malfoy is—dare he say it—almost palatable.
The true curse of maturity is that he's forced to confront it.
Blasted maturity.
A wet dishrag slaps him in the face, and he startles backwards, blinking. "Oi!"
"Your drinks have been ready for a full half minute and you've just been standing there, you clod," Millicent retorts, looking more unimpressed than ever. "And I'm not even going to describe what your face is doing right now. It's vile. Get it out of my sight."
Ron, realising that his distaste has been showing on his face, pulls an even harder grimace. "Sorry, Mills. Been thinking about Malfoy."
"Please tell me you're in love with him," she intones in her usual flat way, but he sees the tiny twinkle of humour in her dark eyes. "It'd be so fucking hilarious."
Ron's expression turns into one of absolute disgust. He's sure it's even less attractive than the last one. "Don't even joke about it. I may have made my peace with you lot, but I have my limits."
Millicent smirks casually. "Good, because it's your dickhead friend he has the hots for, not you."
Ron promptly splutters. "Wha—What? Who? Which one?"
She blinks. "Are you serious?"
"… Well, I have a lot of dickhead friends."
"You are serious." Abruptly, she lets out a startled laugh, one that cuts itself off as soon as it begins. "Merlin, Weasley, you must be a piss-poor Auror if you don't already know. You're his partner; you must have to see that shit every day. I only get to hear about it once every week and I'm already sick to death of it."
"Trainee," he corrects absently as the rest of her words sink in. "Auror trainee."
Malfoy with a crush? It couldn't be true. Not the icy git he knows. But Ron still can't deny that he would give his right arm to be a fly on the wall for one of those conversations Millicent was griping about. Godric, he can already feel the glee settling in.
Millicent's gaze darts to something over his shoulder, and very carefully, she sets her mouth into a thin line. She's clearly trying to hide another laugh. "Well, when you find out who Draco has set his sights on, I'm sure you'll want to do battle against him. But until then, you have another blossoming romance to squash. Go save Potter. He seems about three sentences away from walking into a trap."
Ron immediately spins around and groans when he sees who has joined Harry at their table. "What? Oh, bloody hell, no."
This time, it's Justin Sodding Finch-Fletchley chatting him up.
Ron grabs their drinks and immediately stalks over to join Harry and his latest leech.
The rabid fanclubs may have eased up on him, but that didn't make them want him any less. In the eyes of the wizarding world, Harry is still very much an eligible bachelor. The ultimate prize. Everybody wants to make him theirs.
And since Ron's best mate couldn't recognise a come-on if it crawled up his arse and bit him in the intestines, it's up to him to fend off the leeches and put an end to this never-ending nonsense.
Merlin, the things he does for Harry.
"How are ya, Finch-Fletchley?" he greets cheerily, slamming the two glasses down on the table between them and blocking the bloke from inching even more towards Harry.
Finch-Fletchley looks up with a mildly annoyed glare, and he simply smiles back. The tosser is already offensively close to Harry—much too close for Ron's taste. He's having none of it.
"I'm alright, Weasley. Hear you're an Auror now, eh?"
"Trainee," Ron corrects out of habit. Frowning, he adds, "But I'm damn well gonna get my badge."
"That's the right spirit, old chap."
Harry looks up, pulling his Butterbeer bottle closer with a grateful smile up at Ron. "Justin's taken over his father's Muggle business. He's just been telling me about it. Bought a new yacht and everything, but that's not for work, it's for pleasure."
Ron badly wants to scoff. Great idea, that. Peacocking for an already wealthy bloke with stories of his own wealth. Harry isn't even interested in his own money, much less someone else's.
How Finch-Fletchley has been able to run a million-Galleon Muggle business is beyond his understanding. He's certainly not the sharpest Diffindo in the spellbook.
Then again, Ron thinks scornfully, he never was particularly sharp, was he? Fancy him thinking that he was special enough as a bloody twelve-year-old to be the sole focus of the Heir of Slytherin. If Harry did open the Chamber of Secrets and release a basilisk—which he didn't—he certainly wouldn't bother to unleash the powers of a thousand-year-old beast on Justin Sodding Finch-Fletchley. What a knob.
"Harry's been pretty interested in my yacht, eh, Harry?" Finch-Fletchley says suggestively, practically waggling his eyebrows at Ron while he's busy slipping into the last remaining seat at the table. Ron wants to pick up his chair and beat him with it. Who the bloody hell rubs the fact that they think they're about to get laid in said lay-ee's best mate's face?
Harry, of course, is oblivious as always. "So, you know how I've been thinking about taking Teddy on a cruise for his birthday, right? But Robards is hardly going to give me much time off. Well, Justin offered to let me join him on his yacht for an afternoon sometime next weekend, which I think works out brilliantly. And he said I could bring friends—right, Justin?—and that's obviously you guys."
Ron grits his teeth through a grin. "Teddy, obviously, is Harry's four-year-old godson. As I'm sure you knew."
"Oh." Finch-Fletchley blinks, and his face falls in confusion. "Huh. Really? That's a new one."
Ron fights a grimace. If the tosser thinks that Harry's been using his godson as an excuse to meet up for a shag, then he's really fucked in the head.
Without thinking twice about it, he knocks back his double shot of Firewhisky in one go.
"Harry," he chokes out through the burn that claws at his throat, glaring at Finch-Fletchley, "your turn to buy me a round, mate. Make it another double, yeah?"
Harry stares at him, looking mildly confused. "Are you okay? You're being a bit weird."
"Pffft, I'm always weird. Rude of you to suggest otherwise."
Harry throws him another quizzical look but gets up all the same, muttering to himself, "And Hermione calls me the weird one."
"You kind of are, mate."
Harry obligingly punches him in the shoulder on his way to the bar.
The second his back is turned away, Finch-Fletchley frowns at Ron. "Is there a problem here, Ron?"
Ron's mouth sets into a hard line. "Oh, hell yes, there is."
Now, he just looks displeased. Ron plans to wipe that haughty look right off the posh tosser's face. "Well, what is it?"
"With you? I have tons. But right now, my problem is you trying to lead my best friend on."
"Ron, bud, I'm not leading Potter on." The git smirks, and it instantly disgusts him. "I fully plan to follow through."
Well. No one's ever said he stocks up on patience.
"You're going to listen to me carefully," Ron hisses, leaning over his empty whisky glass. "You slimy little shit."
Finch-Fletchley flinches back and blinks, looking startled.
Good.
A quick glance towards the bar, just to check that Millicent is performing her barmaid-slash-maybe-friend duties of keeping Harry occupied while he deals with the turd that is so eager to shag him. Whatever she's telling him about, Harry looks thoroughly intrigued. Godric bless Millicent.
Ron turns back to the man he's threatening. "You can take your Muggle money and your yachts and your fat fucking dong and shove it far enough up your arse that even you won't be able to find it again. But you stay away from Harry. If I catch you nosing after him again just so you can tell the world you shagged The Boy Who Lived Twice… I swear, the very day they make me an Auror, I'm going to make your life a living hell."
"And how are you going to do that, Weasley?" the other man challenges, more bluster than anything. No backbone, this bloke. Ron could laugh. "You won't be one for a couple of years yet. You put on a big show, but everyone knows that it's Harry who's famous. You don't have any connections. You're nothing without him."
Now Ron just wants to hit him. Again.
"I don't need connections," he growls, "to know that you've been using magic to make your clients more receptive to your suggestions. A few drops of Befuddlement Draught, a couple of stray Confounding Charms. You justify yourself with a whoops, my finger slipped, no fault of my own, am I right?"
Finch-Fletchley's face promptly goes white. It's actually kind of picturesque.
"Some Hufflepuff you are," Ron taunts. "I know we're more than just our houses, but damn, mate. Hell, I thought you were afraid of snakes. You turned out to be one."
"How… H-How do you…?"
"I'm training to be a damn Auror. You think I don't notice these things?" His nose flares, betraying some more of his anger. "I saw you hanging around us at the Ministry ball during the last Battle Memorial Anniversary. Just itching to get at Harry. Of course I've kept an eye on you."
"It's nothing malicious," Finch-Fletchley finally begs. "I haven't cheated anybody, I don't plan to, I… I just want my father to not regret handing me the business. Please, mate, if the Ministry finds out… I could lose everything."
Ron rolls his eyes, annoyed. "Keep your knickers on, I'm not going to tell anybody. I would've alerted the Ministry months ago if I thought you were up to something seriously shady. But if I catch you around Harry again…"
"You'll never see me," he hurriedly promises. Before Ron blinks, he's already racing out of the pub.
Ron grins to himself and steals a sip of Harry's Butterbeer in celebration. "Hell yeah, I'm good."
Not long after, Harry walks up to their table carrying his Firewhisky and another Butterbeer, and he looks at Finch-Fletchley's empty seat with scrunched eyebrows. "Where did Justin go?"
"I think he had somewhere else to be," Ron says innocently, grabbing his drink out of Harry's hands with a silent thanks. "Hey, did I tell you what happened to Malfoy during duelling practice today? You should've been there, mate. My Stinging Hex went up his nose; it was a whole riot."
Harry instantly bursts into a bright grin. "Oh, I saw that. It was bloody brilliant. Robards was watching the whole thing through the Surveillance Spells, and I think I even heard him laugh once." Harry loses himself for a moment, seemingly lost in recalling the moment, and then lets out a long snicker. "Merlin, when he started slapping his nose. I nearly died all over again."
Ron grins back, laughing vindictively at the memory. He and Malfoy might be on good terms now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still get an excessive amount of joy in watching the pointy git suffer.
The thought of Justin Sodding Finch-Fletchley is already returning to the back of his mind where it belongs. He's just happy he never has to see the other man's haughty face again.
For now, at least, Harry is still safe.
Writing Prompts:
Assignment #2: Egyptology
Task 1 - The Pyramid of Unas: Write about someone being protective over someone else. /Alt. Write a Bodyguard!AU
[September] Writing Club:
What's In A Month? - (dialogue) "Thank you."
Movie Madness - The Incredible Hulk: Write about someone losing their temper.
We're Bringing Sexy Back - Blank Space: You look like my next mistake.
Nifty And Swiftie - Debut: Stay Beautiful - (relationship) crush; [BONUS] Mint
Colour Theory - [BONUS] Ron Weasley - (character) Ron Weasley
Chocolate Frog Cards: Harry Potter - The boy who lived: (character) Harry Potter
Travel Guide - Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Muiden Castle: (word) Picturesque
Hogwarts Library - (color) white
Room of Requirement - (emotion) curious
[September] Flicking Through The Channels: Ridiculousness - (Action) Laughing; (Object) Beer can/Alcohol bottle.
[September] Gaming Grove: Bodyguard - Trait: Protective
[September] Party Crashers!: Guest - Harry Potter
[September Monthly] Honeydukes: Pepper Imps: (trait) short-tempered
[September Monthly] A Trope Trove: Found Family; Saving the Day; Enemies to Friends
[September Monthly] Camping Trip: Step 2 - Pitching a tent: (character) Justin Finch-Fletchley
[September] New School Year:
Shopping in Diagon Alley: Madam Malkins: (colour) black
One Last Hurrah: (emotion) Accomplished
Symbols of Friendship: Yellow Roses - (trait) warm, straightforward or uncomplicated
Pack It Up: Toiletries - (trait) Responsible
Catch That Train: Hopping On A Broom - (trope) enemies to friends
[Ongoing Challenge] Scamander's Case: Zouwu - Male: (Emotion) Angry
[Ongoing Challenge] Wicked Webs: Harry&Ron - Web Patching Thread: (relationship type) Best Friends
[Ongoing Challenge] Gather Your Party!: Wizard - War Magic: (era) Post War
