nekare

All righty, here's the sixth of the Christmas gifts, crossposted to harry_and_ron (which is a very good community, by the way, be sure to check it out.) and beta-ed by the lovely why_me_why_not; whom I feel like I'm slaving out with so much fic. (and there's still a lot to go...)

Title: Hope Loss
Raiting: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Word Count: 747
Author Notes: Written for giventofly37, whose promt word was mystery and her interest was music. Hope you like it dear, and I so swear I tried to make it fluffy, but well, one thing led to another, and well, the benning turned itself into angst.



Harry is the greatest mystery of all, Ron thinks as he bleeds into the old red couch that makes even his hair look washed out. One minute Harry can be larger than life, staring into the eyes of a Death Eater with the coldest expression Ron's ever seen on his face, hand unwavering as he says clearly, “Avada Kedavra”, meaning it enough for the green (green as Harry's eyes) light to shoot out of his wand and break the stone next to the terrified man’s head. The next one he can be calm and serene as he ties the passed out man in the middle of the room and creates a Portkey to send him over to the Aurors.

The next one, he can look scared shitless as he helps Ron to lay down on the couch and mutters sweet nothings into his ear before passing his wand over Ron’s wounds, skin closing and blood gushing a last time.

Ron coughs, spitting blood onto Harry’s old cloak, and he can feel Harry tremble as he presses a handkerchief to his lips. Ron allows himself the simple comfort of taking Harry’s hand between his, before sleep claims him. Just before he closes his eyes, he looks up to Harry, and the way the electrical lights Hermione insisted he buy make the unshed tears in his eyes shine makes him gasp; air wrapped up with his mother’s favorite song in the background from the wireless Ron forgot to turn off before they had left the flat for their mission.

“M’ all right,” he manages to say, and then there’s only blackness.

When he wakes up, Harry is curled up beside him, clutching the remnants of his blue shirt as if he would never let go. Ron basks in the feeling of closeness for a moment, and once he feels guilty enough of enjoying this so much more than he should (the same guilt that plagues him everytime Ron disguises touches as innocent contact), he shakes Harry lightly, muttering his name as if wanting to caress the letters. The blood beneath them has dried a long time ago, and their clothes are sticky and pasted to the worn fabric of the couch.

Harry awakes with a start, and once he sees Ron’s pale face (lack of blood, lack of energy, lack of hope in this never-ending war), and to Ron’s surprise, he moves forward until his face is buried in Ron’s neck, warm breath on his throat and surprise in his eyes.

“I almost lost you,” says Harry against his skin for any explanation, and Ron can’t suppress a shiver. Ron wraps his arms around his best friend hesitantly and hopes Harry remember to tell Hermione of this, or she will kill them both personally. They’ve promised, after all, the three of them; to keep on living. They’re a triangle, and they wouldn’t be able to live without any of others (And maybe there’s the reason of the guilt, that he’s rather interested in shagging one of the angles silly).

“You’ll never lose me, Harry, you know that.” He means it, and Harry leans back a little before lifting himself slightly to look Ron in the eye.

“You better keep that promise,” Harry says hurriedly, and before Ron can open his mouth again, he leans down and kisses him hard. Ron tenses up, and before his brain can keep up with the facts, Harry breaks apart and hides his fade in Ron’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I just- there was so much blood, and you-” Ron can feel him sigh, leaving a slightly damp spot on his shirt with his breath.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Ron says with one of the happiest tones of his voice, the one he hasn’t used in the months since the war begun; and he cups Harry’s face before dragging him up and kissing him with all of the longing he’s been bottling up lately. Harry whimpers under his mouth, but his hands tighten in Ron’s tattered shirt as he clings harder, kisses deeper.

Ron feels light headed, but he’s not entirely sure whether it’s because of the blood loss or Harry’s intoxicating taste, the way his nose keeps bumping with Harry’s glasses (and how could he had forgotten to take them off before going to sleep?); and the fact that he’s still alive, and Harry is too, and Hermione will join them soon.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s still hope for happiness.