shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-02-01 13:00:00 |
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Godric's Hollow - Chapter Thirteen : Questions - H/R - PG-13
Title: Godric’s Hollow
Author:shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
This is my Big Damn Table, turned into a multi-chaptered novella.
One hundred stories inspired by Broke Back Mountain.
Ron looks back on his life with and without Harry.
Chapter Thirteen : Questions
Who
Harry loved his job.
I assume.
Because we rarely saw him.
It turned out he’d never sold the flat he’d bought in Muggle London after the war and the hospice was nearby.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about that – him still having the flat. Maybe he’d kept it to run away with me. Maybe to run away from me.
Anyway.
He worked strange shifts and slept at the flat quite often.
It was fantastic seeing him so enthusiastic about something.
Something other than me.
And me?
Well, all the girls had left home; Kate was married to her job and a nice chap she met at work; Lizzie and three-year-old Arthur had moved into a flat with her new boyfriend – still my unconventional daughter; Annie was living at St Mungo’s and training to be a healer; Charlie had the flat over Fred and George’s Hogsmeade shop, where she had just started working.
That left just Teddy at school, but he was fourteen now, and not likely to come home very much anymore.
So, that left me alone with Hermione a lot more than we’d been in years.
And we were getting on really well. We’d always stayed friends, after all, and we’d been through so much together.
And I was in a rather soul-searching mood.
I was forty-five.
My dad’s death made me think of my own mortality.
And what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
Who did I see myself with in twenty years time?
What
But it wasn’t really just a question of who I wanted.
I’d always wanted them both.
It was more a question of what I wanted.
Would Hermione and I be sitting here with all our grandchildren, or would Harry and I still be sneaking off to a cottage in hills we were too old to climb?
Above all it was a question of what I was.
And whether I had the nerve to admit it to everyone.
Some Gryffindor I was.
I’d always been pretty good with the spontaneous courage. A sudden spider or Death Eater.
But to sit Hermione down and tell her I was gay?
That Harry and I had been together longer than she and I had.
To tell my kids – my brothers – the world.
Yeah. Most people just have to come out to their family and friends.
Trust me to be fucking the Chosen One.
Where
So.
I knew who I wanted.
Deep down.
It had always been Harry, hadn’t it?
I knew what I was.
But I didn’t know where this could be possible.
I knew Harry could live in the Muggle world quite happily.
He had very little involvement in the Wizarding World outside the family and the school.
During the term he was hardly ever at home.
I was pretty sure that Di had boyfriends spending the night next door, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to tell Harry.
But me?
I worked at the bloody Ministry. I was in Diagon Alley every day. I saw everyone. I knew everyone.
I would have to face everyone.
Or leave.
When
Twenty-seven years.
We had been together – in our own ridiculous way – for twenty-seven years, but there had never been the right time to be with him. To claim him.
When was I supposed to have done it?
When I had four children to take care of? Five?
That first summer was the only chance.
If only we had had the nerve to face Hermione together, as soon as we saw her.
She and I had only had some sort of tentative thing beforehand.
She would have been hurt, but she could have forgiven us.
But when Harry stepped back and she came towards me, well, I signed my life away, didn’t I?
Which sounds dreadful.
I am such a bastard.
Because I had five perfect children, who I adored.
I had a perfect life.
Everything I’d ever wanted when I lay in my bed at school and fantasised about growing old with Hermione.
Why
So, why couldn’t I let her in?
Why couldn’t I let Harry go?
Why had I allowed a layer of Harry to build up around my heart, under my skin?
Why couldn’t I stay away from him long enough for the layer to melt away.
If only I could keep away from him.
With Harry spending more and more time in the Muggle world, maybe I could.
He was thriving without me.
Maybe he could build his new life and leave me alone.
Maybe I could persuade Hermione to work less.
Maybe we could make an effort to get closer.
Title: Godric’s Hollow
Author:
shocfixPairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
This is my Big Damn Table, turned into a multi-chaptered novella.
One hundred stories inspired by Broke Back Mountain.
Ron looks back on his life with and without Harry.
Chapter Thirteen : Questions
Who
Harry loved his job.
I assume.
Because we rarely saw him.
It turned out he’d never sold the flat he’d bought in Muggle London after the war and the hospice was nearby.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about that – him still having the flat. Maybe he’d kept it to run away with me. Maybe to run away from me.
Anyway.
He worked strange shifts and slept at the flat quite often.
It was fantastic seeing him so enthusiastic about something.
Something other than me.
And me?
Well, all the girls had left home; Kate was married to her job and a nice chap she met at work; Lizzie and three-year-old Arthur had moved into a flat with her new boyfriend – still my unconventional daughter; Annie was living at St Mungo’s and training to be a healer; Charlie had the flat over Fred and George’s Hogsmeade shop, where she had just started working.
That left just Teddy at school, but he was fourteen now, and not likely to come home very much anymore.
So, that left me alone with Hermione a lot more than we’d been in years.
And we were getting on really well. We’d always stayed friends, after all, and we’d been through so much together.
And I was in a rather soul-searching mood.
I was forty-five.
My dad’s death made me think of my own mortality.
And what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
Who did I see myself with in twenty years time?
What
But it wasn’t really just a question of who I wanted.
I’d always wanted them both.
It was more a question of what I wanted.
Would Hermione and I be sitting here with all our grandchildren, or would Harry and I still be sneaking off to a cottage in hills we were too old to climb?
Above all it was a question of what I was.
And whether I had the nerve to admit it to everyone.
Some Gryffindor I was.
I’d always been pretty good with the spontaneous courage. A sudden spider or Death Eater.
But to sit Hermione down and tell her I was gay?
That Harry and I had been together longer than she and I had.
To tell my kids – my brothers – the world.
Yeah. Most people just have to come out to their family and friends.
Trust me to be fucking the Chosen One.
Where
So.
I knew who I wanted.
Deep down.
It had always been Harry, hadn’t it?
I knew what I was.
But I didn’t know where this could be possible.
I knew Harry could live in the Muggle world quite happily.
He had very little involvement in the Wizarding World outside the family and the school.
During the term he was hardly ever at home.
I was pretty sure that Di had boyfriends spending the night next door, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to tell Harry.
But me?
I worked at the bloody Ministry. I was in Diagon Alley every day. I saw everyone. I knew everyone.
I would have to face everyone.
Or leave.
When
Twenty-seven years.
We had been together – in our own ridiculous way – for twenty-seven years, but there had never been the right time to be with him. To claim him.
When was I supposed to have done it?
When I had four children to take care of? Five?
That first summer was the only chance.
If only we had had the nerve to face Hermione together, as soon as we saw her.
She and I had only had some sort of tentative thing beforehand.
She would have been hurt, but she could have forgiven us.
But when Harry stepped back and she came towards me, well, I signed my life away, didn’t I?
Which sounds dreadful.
I am such a bastard.
Because I had five perfect children, who I adored.
I had a perfect life.
Everything I’d ever wanted when I lay in my bed at school and fantasised about growing old with Hermione.
Why
So, why couldn’t I let her in?
Why couldn’t I let Harry go?
Why had I allowed a layer of Harry to build up around my heart, under my skin?
Why couldn’t I stay away from him long enough for the layer to melt away.
If only I could keep away from him.
With Harry spending more and more time in the Muggle world, maybe I could.
He was thriving without me.
Maybe he could build his new life and leave me alone.
Maybe I could persuade Hermione to work less.
Maybe we could make an effort to get closer.