To thirst and find no fill - H/R - PG
Title: To thirst and find no fill
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words : 2300
Rating: PG

This is for my beloved rosina_alcona’s birthday, and is a sequel to Epitaph for Two Friends.

And it is my birthday tomorrow, rosina_alcona, hint hint.

It was beta-ed yet again by the very patient magicofisis, who never expects me to use her changes, but I used every single one!!!


To thirst and find no fill
****
It had happened too quickly for them to even draw their wands. Death Eaters had swarmed through Hogsmeade, and Harry had been attacked by Bellatrix Lestrange. The curse she threw at him never hit him, however, because Ron had thrown himself across his best friend and taken it in the back.

Harry had been crouched over his friend’s body, wincing as she bore down on him, when her face had paled and she had collapsed in a heap, revealing a firece-looking Neville behind her. Neville’s eyes had been wild and his wand-hand had been trembling, but he had caught Harry’s eye and shaken himself and come to Ron’s aid.

They turned him over and his head flopped back across Harry’s arm, his hair even brighter than usual against his chalk-white face. “Oh no,” Harry whispered, stroking his hair, while Neville tried to find a pulse.

“He… he’s alive, Harry. We have to get him back up to the castle.”

They half-lifted him between them, but dropped him at the sound of several people Apparating into the surrounding streets. But these newcomers were Order members, and Bill Weasley ran across the street to them when he spotted his youngest brother, sprawled in the snow.

They all knelt and lifted him again and Bill pressed his fingers to Ron’s throat, feeling for a pulse. “I’ll take him,” he said, and lifted him in his arms. “St. Mungo’s,” he said to Harry and Dissaparated, leaving the two boys standing in the empty street.

****

When Hermione arrived at St. Mungo’s, Harry was sitting in a waiting room, arms resting on his thighs, head drooping over his dangling hands. He didn’t even look up as she flung the door open, so she flew to Neville and asked him what was happening.

“They’re not telling us anything,” Neville said, apologetically. “Bill has gone to hunt someone down.”

Hermione went and knelt at Harry’s side and Neville tactfully withdrew to the far side of the room, where he examined some pot-plants.

She gently pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Harry?” she said. “What happened?”

“Hermione, who was ‘Aeschylus’?” he said, looking up but through her.

Hermione blinked. “Aeschylus?” she asked, frowning. “He was a Greek tragic poet. Harry, why d’you ask?”

“I saw a ghost, Hermione. Long haired, very sad, carrying a book of Aeschylus’ poetry. He said he’d drowned. Drowned with his lover, his Edward. But he’d never told Edward that he loved him, so when he stayed behind to tell him, Edward didn’t realise, and he went on, alone.”

“That… that must have been Shelley. Harry, you saw Percy Shelley, the poet! But why was he in Hogsmeade?” Hermione put her hand on his arm, and he finally looked at her.

“No, no. In the lake.”

“The lake? Harry, I don’t understand.”

“In the lake. Second Task.”

She moved to sit beside him, putting one arm round his shoulders and hugging him tightly. “Harry, that was three years ago. What are you talking about? You do know why we’re here?”

Harry glared at her. “We are here because Ron nearly died. For me. Again.”

Hermione gave him a Look, and he looked abashed.

“I do know what I’m talking about, Hermione,” he said, “I saw this poet underwater during the Second Task, and he told me that he’d lost his chance with his Edward, and that I must tell Ron how I feel about him.”

Hermione blinked. She opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out, so she closed it and blinked again.

Shaking herself, she tried again. “How you feel? About Ron?”

“I told him I would. I told him I’d tell him. But I never have. Three years. I’ve nearly got him killed twice more since then, and I still haven’t told him.”

“Harry, how do you feel about Ron?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, nervously, with one hand. “I love him, Hermione, I really do. But how can I tell him that? He’ll freak out. He jumped in front of a curse from sodding Bellatrix Lestrange today. He’d die for me. But that’s not what I want from him, is it?”

“You love him?” she whispered. “Like, he’s your best friend love him, or like… like I love him?”

Harry’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Oh, god, Hermione,” he groaned. “I’m such an idiot, I’m so sorry. You. Yes, of course, you. I always knew. But you’ve never said anything, and he… he’s never done anything, and, oh god.” He buried his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath.

Hermione put a comforting hand on his back and rubbed gently. “Well, you’re right, I never said anything either. I kept putting it off. Our lives are complicated enough…”

“But we do deserve a normal life, Hermione,” said Harry, earnestly, sitting up. “Sometimes I think I should tell him, that it’d be better to know.” She nodded. “But then seeing him is the only thing that gets me through a really grim day, and I get scared. What if I told him and it ruined everything?” She nodded again.

“I know,” she said, smiling gently. “When I’m exhausted from work and Head Girl duties, and he comes in from Quidditch practise…”

“…and he’s all tired and grumpy…”

“…and it’s been raining…”

“…and he slumps into an armchair…”

“…and gets stuck taking off his robes.” They both laughed.

“When I’ve had a bad time with Snape,” Harry said, “I come back to the Common Room, and Snape has been inside my mind, and my thoughts are dark, and the castle is dark, and I see Ron and, y’know sometimes his hair is like the sun, lighting up the place.”

“Yeah, I know. And I know I’m independent, but, oh, the way he takes care of me sometimes. The way he defends me against Malfoy. The colourful language he uses about him.”

“Yeah! Pointy, evil, selfish, cowardly ferret!”

“No one takes care of me like Ron does.”

“And of me. You should have seen him defending me to Seamus in fifth year - he was wonderful. I’ve shared a room with the poor guy for nearly seven years. How many times has he had to wake me from a nightmare? He is always so concerned, so worried, so gentle.”

They both looked at each other.

“Tell him, Harry,” said Hermione. “I don’t know anyone closer than the two of you. I think you may be pleasantly surprised.”

“No, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head, “I know he cares about you. Fifth year he definitely fancied you. He told me.”

She smiled sadly. “Then why didn’t he ever do anything about it? And if he told you then, well, don’t you think he’d still talk about it, if it was still true?”

“I figured he was waiting too, Hermione. Waiting until he can have his own life – one where I’m not getting him killed all the time.” They were back to that.

“Look what happened to Shelley, Harry,” she said. “He never said anything and he is left here, alone.”

“No. No, I can’t. You tell him. Even if he doesn’t feel like that any more, he did want you. He wouldn’t freak out about it. It wouldn’t split you up. I could lose him, Hermione.”

“Harry,” she said, one of her more worrying expressions lighting up her face, “we should both tell him!”

“Yeah,” snorted Harry, “because that won’t freak him out!”

Hermione tutted. “I’ll sound him out about you, and you sound him out about me. Then he won’t have to reject anyone to their face.”

“You’re joking,” said Harry.

“Not at all. No one’ll feel bad. May the best man win.”

Harry couldn’t begin to explain how awful he’d feel if he asked Ron about Hermione and Ron started waxing lyrical about her. Luckily he didn’t have to, as Bill came back into the room.

“He’s OK,” he said, before the three of them could speak. “He’s awake, he’s fine. He wants to see you, Harry.”

Hermione smiled at him, encouragingly and he muttered something about Ron wanting to tell him he’s never coming within a hundred yards of him again as she shoved him towards the door.

****
Ron was lying flat on his bed, looking horribly pale, but he smiled slightly when Harry peeped round the curtains separating him from the next bed.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said, sitting on the chair at his bedside.

“Hey,” Ron whispered back, and he sank back further into his pillows with a great sigh, “you’re OK.”

“Me?” asked Harry, looking surprised. “Honestly, mate, I’m fine.”

“Well,” muttered Ron, flushing slightly, which at least made him look a bit healthier, “last thing I knew, I’d left you with Bellatrix Lestrange bearing down on you.”

Harry moved closer and took his hand, awkwardly. “You didn’t leave me, you prat, you nearly died. Again. Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry.”

Ron shook his head, waving away Harry’s apologies. “Don’t be daft, Harry. You know I have to take care of you. What would Hermione have said if I let you get hurt?” He squeezed Harry’s hand, encouragingly.

“I… I thought you wanted to see me so I could, um, thank you, or something.” Harry trailed off, uncertainly, and pulled his hand away from Ron’s.

Ron looked rather offended. “I wanted to see you to make sure you were OK. I didn’t believe Bill when he said you weren’t hurt.”

“Not a scratch, mate.”

“You fought her?” asked Ron, still looking worried.

“Nope,” said Harry, a small smile curling his lips. “Neville got her from behind.”

“Neville?” A huge grin lit Ron’s face. “Well, I never. Neville. Excellent.”

“Yeah, he’s here, outside. He’s been taking care of me and Hermione.”

“Hermione’s here? Outside?”

“Yeah,” Harry decided to try and do what Hermione had asked, “she was so worried about you; really scared.”

“Oh god, is she going to make a fuss about it?” Ron looked appalled.

“She cares about you – of course she was worried. And I thought you like her making a fuss about you?”

“I like her making sure we do our homework, but I don’t need her mothering me – Mum’ll be bad enough.”

“Yeah, I’m sure there are other things you’d rather Hermione did for you.” Harry thought that sounded ridiculous, but it was the sort of thing Dean and Seamus said to each other.

Ron looked decidedly shifty. “No,” he said, “um, not really.”

Harry decided to go for it. “I thought that you and Hermione… ?”

“No,” Ron sounded adamant about it and Harry felt incredibly awkward; what was he supposed to report back to Hermione? “No, I mean, I guess I used to have a bit of a crush on her, but just, you know, she was the only girl I really knew. But no, we wouldn’t be good together, we argue far too much. I want a quiet life when all this is over!”

Harry tried to smile. “You deserve it, mate,” he said. “You’ve been through too much because of me.”

“It’s not like that, Harry,” said Ron, earnestly. “How could I live with myself if I didn’t take care of you? And I know you’d do the same for me. And I know you didn’t ask for any of this. We’ll get through this. We will. Together.”

Harry blinked. Together. Well, Ron didn’t mean together, together.

“It’s not because of you, Harry. It’s for you. I’d do anything for you, you must know that.”

“Yeah, Ron, I know.” But it didn’t make Harry feel any happier.

“Look, I, uh, I wasn’t going to say anything, but today was too close a call to let it go…”

Harry frowned at him. “Let what go?”

“Just why I’d do anything.”

“Well, we’re mates, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Ron gave a slight laugh, but looked deadly serious. “Yeah, mates. But it’s more than that, Harry. Look, don’t freak out, but I need to say this. I’m in love with you.” Ron raised his head and looked warily up at Harry.

Silence.

“Me?” said Harry, his heart racing. “What about Hermione?” He could have kicked himself.

“Um, no, not Hermione. I already said that.”

“No, I mean, her. She, well, she wants, and you…”

“No, no she doesn’t. We talked about this, fifth year. We both decided we would be bad for each other.” Ron was looking very pale and nervous now. Why were they talking about Hermione? “And I don’t, um, expect anything from you, Harry. I just wanted you to know. Just in case.”

“But she told me she’s in love with you – she told me to ask you about it.” Harry frowned deeply. “Why would she do that?”

“Why did she do that?”

“Because I told her…”

“What? Harry?”

“I told her I loved you.”

“Harry?”

“And she sent me in here to ask if you loved her. What is she on about?”

“It doesn’t matter, Harry.” Ron tried sitting up, but was still too weak.

“No, really, what did she think you’d say? She already knew you didn’t!” Harry was indignant.

“Since when do I know how Hermione’s mind works?” snorted Ron. “Maybe you weren’t supposed to say anything?”

“Maybe she thought you’d changed your mind?”

“Maybe you were supposed to get to the bit where you told each other ‘I love you’ and then do something about it, rather than bitch about me!” Hermione said from the doorway, and then turned on her heel and closed the door behind her.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, playing the conversation back in their heads.

“You did say it,” said Ron, finally.

“Yeah. But you said it first.” Harry smiled and took his hand again.

“Yeah, well, I’m a true Gryffindor, aren’t I?” said Ron, pulling Harry closer. “You didn’t actually tell me, you know. You just told me that you told Hermione.”

Harry snorted. “We can’t have that.” He leant down and whispered, “I love you” against Ron’s lips.

****
To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander
With short unsteady steps—to pause and ponder—
To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle
Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle;
To nurse the image of unfelt caresses
Till dim imagination just possesses
The half-created shadow, then all the night
Sick...