Halrloprillalar   prillalar@gmail.com   http://prillalar.com/

October 17, 2004

RATING: PG.

FANDOM/SPOILERS: Harry Potter. Books and movies.

SUMMARY: Harry, Ron, and some tea.

DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere. Email forwarding allowed.

DISCLAIMER: Rowling, not me.

NOTES: For the Harry/Ron FQF.
http://www.livejournal.com/community/harry_and_ron/100122.html


STRAINED
by Halrloprillalar - prillalar@gmail.com

"I'll put the kettle on," Ron said and went into the kitchen. It
was what he always said, whenever Harry walked through the door or
climbed out of the fireplace.

That was about twice a week, these days.

The front room was chilly and Harry left his jacket on. The
curtains were open and twilight forced its way inside, shadows
creeping up the bare walls, covering pale rectangles where pictures
used to hang. Six months ago, Harry had brought Ron a painting, a
mediaeval jousting scene. Harry didn't know what Ron had done with
it.

Harry followed Ron into the kitchen. It was warmer there and there
were no windows to leach away the light.

"How's the Ministry?" Harry said.

"Oh, well," Ron said. He poured boiling water into the teapot and
leaned against the counter. "Nothing much happening these days."
Ron's hair was falling over his forehead and he pushed it back with
an impatient hand. He never remembered to get it cut.

"I suppose so." Harry hung his jacket over a chair. "Did you watch
the match on Saturday?"

"I'm sorry," Ron said. He turned around and opened a cabinet door.
"I couldn't make it so I gave the tickets to Botts at the office."
He set a biscuit tin down on the table. "But I read about it
afterwards. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Harry said. He sat down. Ron put out mugs, chipped white
enamel, stained brown inside. Harry always had the same one. There
was a tiny crack in the surface and it looked a bit like an arrow,
flying towards nothing in particular.

Ron poured the tea through a silver strainer with a long handle.

"You can get self-straining teapots, you know," Harry said. He
watched Ron add sugar. Two spoons, stir and stir and stir.

"It's fine like this," Ron said. He opened the tin. Lemon cream and
shortbread iced with chocolate.

Harry looked at Ron's hand curled around his mug. Long, pale
fingers, a few brown freckles on the back of his hand. An inkstain
on his index finger.

"I heard from Charlie," Ron said. "He says hello."

"How is he?"

"Doing well, fewer burns than usual." Ron smiled a little and Harry
drank his tea. The steam fogged his glasses for a moment. "He won't
be home for Christmas," Ron said. He took a biscuit and pushed the
tin at Harry. Harry shook his head. "And what have you been up to?
Found yourself a girlfriend yet?"

"No," Harry said. "Not yet." Ron's hair was brushing his forehead
again and Harry watched him push it away.

Ron poured more tea into his mug. He wrapped both hands around it
and leaned over it, like he was warming himself over a fire. His
hair slipped down again. "'You think everything can be solved by a
cup of tea,' she said. I never knew what she was on about."

Harry didn't answer. He never knew what to say. He wanted to get
up, to go over to Ron. He should put his hands on Ron's shoulders,
he should pull Ron against his chest and rub Ron's back and take
all the hurt away, take it all away until nothing was left. Nothing
except Harry and Ron.

"I should go after her," Ron said. He looked up. His eyes were sad
and there was a smudge of chocolate on his upper lip. "Should I go
after her?"

"I don't know, mate," Harry said. "America's a long way."

Ron nodded and bent down over his mug again for a few minutes.
"Sorry," he said at last. "Must be the weather. More tea?"

Harry nodded and they sat together until the pot was empty.

"Bring someone with you next time," Ron said, like always, and
shook Harry's hand. "I should think they'd be lining up for you."

"Sure," Harry said, like always, and let go Ron's hand. "Good
night."

Harry went home. Next time he would say something, he thought. Next
time he would act. Next time.

Like always.

F I N I S

Halrloprillalar   prillalar@gmail.com   http://prillalar.com/