Broomstick Repairs - for mad_martha - Harry/Ron - PG-13
Title : Broomstick Repairs
For : mad_martha
Pairing : Harry/Ron
Prompt : and broomstick repairs
Words : 871
Rating : PG-13 for language


Years ago, Hermione bought Harry a Broomstick Servicing Kit for his birthday.

It was his proudest possession, and Seamus and Dean teased him about it something rotten.

To be fair, thirteen years old boys don’t need much ammo, and the sight of Harry happily polishing his broomstick was too much for Seamus to take.

He’d rattle on about Harry thinking of the fair Hermione while he polished and Harry would catch my eye and frown and shake his head.

And I’d feel smug.

At first I was smug: ‘course Harry didn’t think of girls like that.

By fifth year, I was smugger: ‘course Harry didn’t think of Hermione, he was too good a mate.

By sixth year, I was miserable: ‘course Harry didn’t think of Hermione, he thought of my sister.

We were camped near the cliffs above the cave where Dumbledore had taken Harry, a year earlier, and Harry was idly polishing his broom.

I was sitting opposite him, staring through our campfire at Harry’s hands as they smoothed and caressed the shaft.

Hermione came back from the riverbank in the trees behind Harry, towelling her hair dry and wearing just jeans and a bra.

“Good thing Seamus isn’t here,” she snorted, sitting by the fire and getting out a hairbrush.

“True,” I said, blinking at her chest. “But why d’you say that?”

“Harry polishing his broomstick,” she said, nodding at Harry’s hands, which froze.

“Hermione!” I squeaked.

“Do you think Seamus never teased me about the Broomstick Servicing Kit?” she tutted.

Harry and I boggled at her.

“You… you never said,” I gulped.

She shrugged. “Why should I?”

“So we could… make him stop?” Harry said lamely.

“You know that would have made his day,” she said serenely, brushing her hair. “And made him worse.”

“He teased you about…” I trailed off.

“About Harry thinking about me while he masturbated,” she said.

“Hermione!” we squeaked in unison.

“Oh, honestly,” she said, waving away our embarrassment. “Like we don’t all do it, and I’m sure Harry tried thinking of me, on occasion.”

“I did not,” Harry spluttered spectacularly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“It wouldn’t have been right,” he said, with as much dignity as possible. “There are rules about things like that.”

“Rules about who you can fantasise about?” Hermione scoffed.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You don’t fantasise about your best mate’s girl.”

We both blinked at him.

“So,” Hermione said slowly. “That covers the six weeks before Christmas, but what about the rest of your hormone filled life?”

“You were always his girl,” Harry said. “You think the four of us didn’t know it?”

“Oh, Harry,” I said.

“How was I to know he’d stuff it up so spectacularly?” Harry said. “I must remember to owl Seamus and tell him you’re fair game, now.”

“Bastard,” I muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione said.

“Joke,” Harry said, holding up his hands.

I grunted.

“So,” she said. “Who do you fantasise about then, Harry?”

“I’m not gonna tell you that,” he said.

“I don’t want to hear about my sister,” I protested.

“Not Ginny,” he said swiftly.

Hermione snorted. “Oh, please,” she said. “How convincing is that?”

“It’s not Ginny,” Harry said hotly. “I think I know who I fantasise about!”

“Then tell us,” she said simply.

“No!”

“So, it is me then,” she pressed.

“Hermione!” I gasped.

“It bloody isn’t,” Harry said.

“Then why can’t you tell us?” she asked.

“I… I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.

“How about if I tell you who I fantasise about,” she offered. “And who Ron does.”

“Hey,” I complained. “How d’you get to make an offer like that?”

“Because I know all about you, Ron Weasley,” she smiled.

Harry’s eyes flicked back and forth, between us. “Both of you?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Here’s one on good faith: I still fantasise about Ron.”

“You do not,” he said. “You broke up.”

“Ah,” she said. “So I know what I’m talking about. And I do still think he’s gorgeous.”

I didn’t know whether to preen or protest.

“Your turn,” Hermione prompted him.

Harry shook his head. “If that one was on good faith, you still go first,” he insisted.

“Fine,” she said calmly. “And Ron fantasises about you.”

There was a shocked silence.

“Hermione!” I gasped. “What the fuck d’you think you’re talking about?”

“Well, you do,” she said.

“I bloody don’t,” I said loudly. “You can’t go around saying things like that.”

“Well, someone had to.”

“No they bloody well didn’t!” I bellowed into her calm face.

“Ron,” Harry said sharply.

“What?” I said, turning desperate eyes on him.

“That’s who,” he said.

“See?” Hermione murmured.

“That’s who what?” I asked.

“Who I fantasise about,” he said in a very small voice.

“Me?” I whispered.

He shrugged sheepishly.

“I thought so,” Hermione said quietly, getting up and crossing to her tent. “Good night.”

Harry and I looked at each other, through the fire.

“Me?” he said. “How’d she know?”

“She knows everything,” I said, crawling round the campsite until I was kneeling before him.

I smiled at the look on his face, as he leant closer.

And, Merlin, I was smug; ‘course Harry didn’t think of girls like that.