fics_by_maple | (no subject)

Title: Apart Together, Part I
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13 (future parts will be fun NC-17)
Warning: Slash, Angst (I love them, trust me!)
Beta: shocolate - but if there are still mistakes, it's not her fault, she was crying at the time.

Don’t die, Ron. Please, wake up.

The thought that saving me might be the last thing Ron did with his life is killing me. With every rise and fall of his chest I wonder if I’m watching his last breath pass his lips, holding my own until his chest rises again.

I’ve already heard the whispers calling me a hero. They don’t know that Ron is the hero. That everything Dumbledore said was true: love was my gift.

Ron was my gift. He shielded me from the last curse that Voldemort cast. Ron took Merlin only knows what kind Black Magic to the head and it gave me the extra second I needed to destroy Riddle once and for all.

Now, here in St. Mungo’s, all I can do is hold onto Hermione and remind myself to breath.

We’ve watched for hours as the healers work to counter the unknown magic that Ron’s mind has absorbed and the injuries to his body from the fall he took.

It only adds to the guilt churning in me that I don’t have anything more than a scratch.

~^~

Eventually we are told that the swelling of Ron’s brain has subsided and the rest of his physical wounds will heal in time. We won’t know what additional damage the magic may have done until he wakes up.

If he wakes up.

Ron’s family arrives; they fret and they fuss. As do Order members and Ministry officials. All the while I can only sit next in chair near Ron’s bedside. Hermione sits on his other side. She holds his hand while he lies there, motionless.

I don’t hold his hand. Doing so might betray my true feelings. Only Hermione knows how desperately I want to be holding his hand like she is.

Several hours later, after the initial commotion of our arrival has calmed down, most people have left or gone for food. Hermione and I haven’t left Ron. Someone will have to bring our food.

Ron makes the first sound I’ve heard from him since he yelled out my name during the final fight and flung himself in front of me.

He groans and winces. His eyes shut tight. “My head… aches,” he says sounding weak and small, reaching for his forehead.

“You took a nasty blow to the head, mate, but you’ve been patched up,” I say to him. I hope I don’t sound too anxious. I don’t know if I can feel relieved yet. He looks like he’s in so much pain.

“My legs,” he says. “I can’t move them” Ron’s voice is scratchy, but sounds well.

“It’s just a temporary leg locking spell,” Hermione says, using her ‘business as usual’ voice. “They had to banish some of your broken bones and tissues and you are growing them again. You may have to… well-- learn to walk again. But you’re strong, Ron, you are going to be fine.”

He continues to rub his head and eyes.

“Hurts… everything, hurts…”

“Harry, get the potion,” Hermione whispers to me, pointing to the bedside table.

“Here, mate,” I say, taking the bottle and quickly sitting next to Ron. I put my arm under his shoulders and lift him slightly, pulling him into me, while holding the potion bottle to his lips. “This stuff isn’t too bad,” I say. “We’ve had plenty in our time, right?”

With his eyes still closed he reaches out and clasps his shaking hands over mine on the bottle. Together we tilt it upwards and he drinks. As I set the potion down, he grips his head again, writhing in pain.

“Hold on, Ron,” I say, holding him close to my chest as he fights the pain. The whimpering sounds he makes are unbearable. “It’ll pass soon, the potion will help in just a second.” I rock him and stroke his hair while he presses his head against me.

I feel his body relax after another moment and he becomes heavy in my arms as the pain relieving potion takes it’s effect. I carefully lay him back down on his pillow.

Hermione reaches across the bed and takes my hand. We look at each other; we’re both afraid to have hope yet.

Ron slowly opens his eyes, squinting and shielding them with his fingers as if the room is too bright. He looks straight at me, and though I smile at him, he furrows his brow looking confused.

Then he is gone again. His auburn eyelashes flutter shut and he drifts off to sleep. I’m not certain, but I almost think I saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

~^~

Late into the night we get Ron into a secured room. I didn’t notice until Hermione points out that it’s a suite really. It’s a more lavish hospital room than I’ve ever seen, but it’s still a hospital room.

Ron will still hate it.

The healers have declared that Ron just needs to sleep it off.

The Weasleys and our friends and colleagues leave, with vows of calling first thing in the morning.

No one has suggested that Hermione or I leave.

The room is finally quiet. Hermione casts a locking charm on the entrance.

“We’re alone for the night. No one will come through that door until I lower the barrier,” she tells me.

This is how it’s been for so long now, just the three of us.

I immediately go to Ron’s side, sitting on the bed next to him. Now that I’m so close to him, and he’s so still, I’m suddenly nervous.

Hermione seems to know.

“It’s okay, Harry. The Healers said he’ll be fine, he just has to sleep off the trauma.”

“He did it, Hermione. He saved us,” I say, looking down at his peaceful face and touching his scratched knuckles. I’ve been silent most of the day and my voice is hoarse. “It’s because of him that I was able to do it.”

“I know. I’m proud of you both,” she says, standing behind me with her arms around me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Go ahead and lie down with him, Harry. I think he’d like to feel you close. It might even help him get better.”

If I weren’t so distraught I might be embarrassed by her direct instruction to sleep in Ron’s bed with him. We don’t usually make any display of our relationship. It’s not our way to let other people in, but of course Hermione knows, she’s always known.

Never wanting her to feel excluded, we stick to ‘mates as usual’ when she’s around. Fortunately for us, over the past months, the research Hermione was doing kept her away several nights at a time.

Those were the nights when we got past awkward kisses and trembling touches until being together was no longer new, but always exciting.

After I kick off my shoes, I pull back the sheet and lie down next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. I bury my face into his neck, hooking one leg over his. I take the heavy weight of his long arm and wrap it around my waist, holding his hand in place with my own. Feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat is the most reassurance I have had all day. I suppose I may still be in some shock from the battle as well, but if Ron is okay, I will be, too.

“He’s strong, he’s going to be okay,” Hermione says, covering us with the sheet. She brushes Ron’s shaggy hair off his forehead and kisses the side of mine.

“Get some sleep, Harry. We’ll talk to him tomorrow, I’m sure of it.”

I know she transfigures something into a bit of a bed for herself, but I just keep my eyes on Ron. I want him to tighten his arm around me, and give me that grin of his and kiss me. We have a hard fought victory celebration waiting for us, but all I want right now is to see him open those bright blue eyes.

I talk quietly into his ear, so that not even Hermione can hear.

“I’m here. I’m holding on to you, can you feel me? Don’t let go, okay?” His hair is so soft against my face. “Remember last night? You told me that you weren’t afraid of dying, only of living without me. Well, I made it. I’m here because of you. I’m waiting for you.”

Please wake up again, Ron.

~^~

All too soon, I feel a nudge on my shoulder. I’m painfully aware of the numbness in my bottom leg and arm because I slept in the same position wrapped around Ron all night.

“It’s morning, Harry. I’m sorry, the healers will be here soon, you know?”

“Right,” I mutter without moving. It’s so hard to let him go again. I squeeze Ron tightly one more time and press my lips to his cheek. With my face buried in his neck and hair I whisper, “I love you.”

I hope he heard that.

As the morning passes Hermione and I take turns getting cleaned up and changed.

We alternate pacing the room and sitting with Ron. I’m going mental seeing the body of my tall, strong friend - my love - just lying there.

He’s not tapping his toe, or drumming his fingers, or twirling his wand.

He’s just motionless.

It’s all I can do not to climb into the bed and hold him in my arms again.

My second choice of activity is to yell and rage and blast whatever gets in my way, but, as I’m not willing to leave Ron’s room, I have to be content with pacing.

I finally get a moment of privacy with him during the lunch hour and I take the chance to hold his hand and lay my head over his heart and listen to its encouraging rhythm.

Then it happens.

I feel him begin to stir under me and my heart skips a beat. His head rolls slightly from side to side and he flexes and stretches just like he always does when he wakes.

“Ron? Do you feel okay?” I ask.

His eyelids flutter, but he squints again, and looks around the room. Then, for the first time in a very long time I see a glint of fear in his eyes.

He looks lost.

“Hey, mate,” I say as I lean closer to him. “It’s me, Harry, see? We’re at Mungo’s. We talked a bit last night, do you remember?”

He looks warily around the room and then at me again. He seems to study me for a moment, his eyes shifting as though searching for his memory of last night.

“Yeah, I remember that,” he says softly, with slight nod. He massages his forehead and then gives me a hard look. “But who are you?”

~^~^~^

So, apparently all that time I spent crying into Ron’s pillow, praying to every higher power I’ve heard of to ‘please just let Ron wake up again’, worked.

I just forgot to ask that he also remember me. Remember anything.

I’m leaning against the back wall. I suppose it looks like I’m just staying out of the healers way, but I’m using the wall to keep me on my feet. I’m still waiting for the intake of every breath, only now I’m waiting for my own.

My best friend doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know I love him. He doesn’t know that he loves me.

Ron’s amnesia is magical, not physical. The Healers, the Weasleys and a few other people we know, are all arguing about what kind of curse was used, and how to counter it. Hermione saw what happened better than I did. If anyone can figure out how to do it, she can.

I watch Ron through the boisterous crowd. He rubs his head every so often, looking so young right now. It’s the same look he had on his face while we waited in line before the Sorting Hat on the first day I met him: wide-eyed and lost but putting on a brave face.

Always a Gryffindor.

But I’m not a nervous little boy anymore. I’m a man, and I’m terrified.

He looks in my direction. Our eyes meet and I see a flicker of recognition cross his face. His expression seems to be a plea to me for help.

I make my way subtly to his bedside and lean close to him. His smell sends my mind right back to our life together. It’s not a sweet smell of shampoo and shaving crème and deodorant. He smells like his sweat and his blood and his breath, and I love it.

“It’s, uh, Harry, right?” he asks. I try not to look like I’ve just received a wave of Cruciatus.

“Yeah, that’s me. Is this lot bothering you?” I ask him, jerking my thumb at everyone around us.

He nods his head, which must hurt because he winces. “These people are my family, right? I don’t want to be rude to anyone, but…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get rid of them.”

“Harry? You’ll stick around?”

That’s got to mean something, I guess. “I’m not going anywhere.”

~^~

It takes some doing, and in none too quick a fashion, we have Ron’s hospital suite to ourselves again. Hermione is just outside the room speaking with the Healers.

“You don’t think they’re upset, do you? The family? They seem like nice enough people, but just… loud.”

“Nah, they are good people. They won’t mind.”

“ ‘M much obliged to you for sticking around. Seems kinda stupid I guess, but I don’t really want to be alone here, either,” he says, his face reddening at his admission. “I don’t think I like it here. And if one more Healer comes in here and jabs me with their wand I’m gonna…” He makes a threatening hand gesture.

I have to chuckle. He’s still as obstinate as ever.

We see Hermione walk past his door in the hallway.

“So, the bird – with the hair, what’s her name?” he asks.

“Hermione.”

“Yeah. So, this Hermione, is she your girl?” I chew the inside of my cheek not to laugh.

“No, she’s not my girl,” I say, shaking my head

“Hmm. …Is she mine?” This I find less funny.

“Nah, you two gave it a go at one point, but it didn’t work out. She wasn’t your type.”

“No, huh? Cute though, isn’t she?” My throat tightens so much I can only give him a feeble nod. “I gather she’s pretty bright though, eh? Everyone was listening to her. She seems to know what she’s talking about. Though I didn’t understand half of what she said.”

Neither did I, if I’m honest. “She is brilliant. She’s our best friend. We trust her. You can trust her… and me too, you know.”

Everything I say sounds awkward. How do I talk to him when he doesn’t even know who I am - doesn’t know who we are?

Feeling frustrated I rub my face with my hands and comb my fingers through my hair. I’ve never felt self conscious in front of Ron before, but suddenly I don’t want to have ridiculous hair in front of him.

As I try to smooth it back down, he gasps.

“Blimey, what’s that on your forehead?” His question fairly stuns me. I know the lightening bolt is a brighter red than it has ever been. It burned when Voldemort died.

“It’s just a scar,” I say lamely.

“Wicked,” he says, which almost makes me want to smile. But the way he’s gawking at me, leaning forward to get a better look, keeps me from doing so. “How’d you get it?” he asks.

That does seem like the obvious place to start, I reckon.

~^~

Hermione agreed to go to the Burrow for the night.

I have spent the past several hours telling Ron all about me. From the beginning: the scar, the Dursleys, my cupboard. I didn’t want to sound dramatic and it felt rather stupid at first, but I didn’t want to be anything other than honest with him either. I told him about his family too, as much as I could. He just looked at me and listened with that completely honest and open face of his.

He’s sleeping now.

He’s got at least three day’s beard growth on his jaw. I can see the shiniest gold and bronze hairs glimmering from where I sit.

I want badly to feel that course stubble under my fingers and my lips. I know so well the abrasive sound our stubbled faces make when we rub against each other in the early morning. The burn it leaves on my neck and shoulders from when he’s behind me.

The burn I may never feel on the back of my neck again.

Instinct draws me out of my chair, towards him. He’s sleeping soundly, though I know the pain in his head will wake him again before morning. His hair looks so soft against his pillow and lips are parted just slightly. Before I realize I’ve even done it, I have reached out and touched his face.

Of course my touch wakes him up.

He grabs a hold of my wrist, pulling my hand away and he frowns at me from beneath his sleepy eyelids.

I-could-just-die. I close my gaping mouth. My mind racing for an excuse that I know I don’t have.

“Wha’ you doin’?” he mumbles, eyeing me with suspicion.

“I -just -covering you up,” I say ineffectively, pulling the blanket up to his chest. “Sorry to wake you.”

He nods acceptance of my excuse, and releases my wrist but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I feel like a total bloody pervert, and I’ve never felt dirty for touching him before.

I turn out the lamp, return to my chair and sit in the dark. There he is, completely lost and confused and putting his trust in me, and I go and touch him in the middle of the night like a degenerate. I’m a fucking arse.

So I do something that I haven’t done in a long time, but you never forget how when you grow up in a house like I did.

I cry in the dark without making a sound.

Please come back to me, Ron.

~^~
Continue to Part II Here

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

hardticket.livejournal.com

oh my, you have me hooked.
How many parts are there?
*is hopeful*

Please come back to me, Ron.
So sad.

From:

compos-dementis.livejournal.com

I'm actually liking this better than the round robin version. It's one style of writing, of good writing, not mixed up styles.
I like it, and will wait patiently for more.
*g*

From:

compos-dementis.livejournal.com

*points up at the time*
Jinx! You owe me a soda!
God, I'm immature.

From:

fics-by-maple.livejournal.com

Oh good, glad I hooked you! hee.
I think three parts will do it. :)

From:

hardticket.livejournal.com

There can never be too much of that icon,dear.

:P

From:

fics-by-maple.livejournal.com

Oh, well thank you.
I think the RR writers have been doing great -that's a difficult thing to do!
I hope the stories aren't compared too much.
*bites lip*

From:

booneda.livejournal.com

wow, very nice. It really gives harry some emotions other that just the arrogant little boy he started out as, (even if his intentions were good).

Keep up the good work.

From:

flaminiag.livejournal.com

You're doing a good job. It's a common theme, but told in a different way. Can't wait for the next part--I hope it gets happier... (hint-hint)

From:

earth-dragon.livejournal.com

"So I do something that I haven’t done in a long time, but you never forget how when you grow up in a house like I did. I cry in the dark without making a sound. Please come back to me, Ron."

*bawls like an absolute baby*

umm, yeah, so when's part two??? cause, ya know, it's not like i'm hooked or anything already. *twitches*

From:

shocolate.livejournal.com

*is still all sniffy*

Oh, his Ron, and he doesn't know, and no one knows, and he needs him - and he need him.

*sobs*

From:

stranj100.livejournal.com

Wonderful. Similar, but different that is what good writing is.

From:

maple_mahogany

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