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The Heart of the Matter | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley Genres: Comedy, Drama, Fluff Warnings: Sexual Situations Rating: G Reviews: 5 Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years *** In which Ron stuffs his large feet into his even larger mouth resulting in the reunion of Harry and Ginny. Hitcount: Story Total: 3400 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: For better or worse, a first attempt into the H/G world. Such a lovely world it is. Please enjoy. |
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The Heart of the Matter Part One — Ron’s Gauntlet Looking around at the lush grass of the clearing he stands in, not even the still bright sunlight filtering through the trees is enough to brighten the mood of one Harry James Potter. Of course, not even the fact that the clearing he currently stands in is property of the Weasleys, his favorite people ever, and that the Burrow, their home, was only thirty meters away, was brightening much for him. He isn’t unhappy, per se, to be there, but in some ways these Sunday dinners (which were nearly all day affairs) were too much a reminder of what he did not and could not have for him to truly enjoy them. Dragging his toe through the dirt, he lets out a disgusted sigh. These days he isn’t sure where his disgust is mainly directed: himself, Voldemort, and even Dumbledore all seem to get their fair share of the blame. Probably most of it is reserved for himself, which is about as disturbing as he can imagine. But this is his life, this disgusting cesspool of a hole that he dug for himself. And now he is stuck living without the only person he has ever loved. The fact that she is there, at the Burrow, or would be soon, is both wonderful and awful, a dichotomy he is admittedly unequipped to deal with. The positives of seeing Ginny usually outweigh the negatives easily enough, particularly when he gets to touch her or smell her perfume and - oh, bloody hell! He rolls his eyes, wondering if he is becoming a borderline stalker. He has tried what must easily be a thousand times to work up the nerve to ask her out again, but after skipping town post-defeat of Voldemort, it hasn’t worked out well for him. His cowardice is quick becoming something of a legend, at least in his own mind. If he were to be re-sorted today, Gryffindor would likely not be a possibility. It doesn’t seem fair to him, but things are what he has made them. Now that they are friends and nothing more, there is no one to blame but himself. With that unpleasant thought, he begins to make his way up to the house, not for the first time wondering how different he would feel about these Sundays if Ginny was beside him. With him. Shaking his head, he mentally scolds himself for those foolish thoughts. Gin is not his, and there didn’t seem to be much chance that that would reverse any time soon. The one, last source of comfort he has to cling to is that she is not attached to another man, and that she hasn’t been since him. That would surely be the bitterest pill of all to swallow. Pasting on a smile as he steps out of the clearing, he falters at the sight that greets him: a soaking wet and very, very angry Ginevra Molly Weasley. Oh, bloody hell, a wet and angry and thoroughly arousing Ginevra Molly Weasley. Damn it, damn it, damn it all! His miserable, perverted mind does not need this today. A dry, soft, and not angry Ginny is generally torture enough on his libido; this is worse than Voldemort. Well, in a vastly different way, but still! Trying (probably too hard) to look friendly as opposed to gaping and lecherous and perverted, he helps her out by casting a quick drying spell on her as soon as he registers (how, he does not know) that she is wandless. “Looked like you could use that,” he says softly, his voice embarrassingly husky. “Which one of the ‘gits’ is torturing you this time, then?” “Thank you, Harry!” Ginny exclaims in relief, easily throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. As he awkwardly pats her back as he grits his teeth. He shouldn’t let himself be this irritated with how over him she is that this kind of contact is easy for her, but he can’t seem to help himself. “Hey Gin,” he greets, almost moaning out loud with loss when she drops her arms and steps back. “How are you?” Taking his arm, she pulls him towards the house, flashing him a brilliant smile. “Aside from your best friend being a git, I’m just fine,” she tells him. “And how are you?” Relaxing a little, Harry smiles back at her. “I thought Hermione was still on ‘holiday’ in America,” he retorts, earning a finger to the ribs. “Ow! Ginevra Molly Weasley, that hurt!” “You asked for it,” she shrugs unapologetically. “Besides, if you people keep humoring her and calling it a ‘holiday’, I just might scream!” He wrinkles his nose at that, laughing a little. At her raised eyebrow, he just shrugs. “I’ve heard you scream, Gin. It’s not…erm, pleasant.” “Harry Potter, are you teasing me? Of all the things,” she giggles, shaking her head as they approach the house. “Well, cover your ears if you want to avoid the unpleasantness. Ron is about to hear it from me.” “Not quite right, sis,” George smirks as they walk up the steps of the rickety porch. “Ronnie Pooh is hiding rather adeptly behind Mum’s skirt right now. And she’s holding le bebe.” Ginny growls her displeasure, glaring at George and Harry as though it is their faults that Ron is childish enough to use their tiny nephew as a guard. “Well, go figure,” she mutters, her hands on her hips drawing Harry’s eyes to portions of her anatomy that they have no business being. “Well, I’ll get him back. He had better count on that.” George winks at Harry before looking back at his sister. “If I can be of service, do let me know, darling sister. I do so enjoy when ickle Ronnikins gets his, as you well know.” “Hadn’t noticed,” Harry grins, a warm feeling spreading through him when Ginny giggles and bumps shoulders with him. “C’mon then. Where’s your far better half, George? I’d have thought someone would be around, keeping you in line.” “Good luck with that,” Ginny snorts. “Now, in all fairness, Katie is far more successful at it than anyone, but honestly, George? In line? Good one, Har!” ‘Har’? She did not just refer to him as…'Har'! God, they really are friends now, weren’t they? They are friends, and there isn’t any easy way out of that, not so far as he sees. Great, terrific. Friends. They’re in the damn friends zone. “You okay?” Ginny asks, peering at him with concern. “Harry? Are you okay? You sort of zoned out there for a minute.” He nods wanly, feeling like a pathetic little boy. “Erm, yeah, just fine, thanks.” Sighing, he gives her a weak smile. “So, how’s work?” he asks as George hurries into the house as Katie calls him. “That bloody boss of yours isn’t giving you too much trouble, is he?” Glancing around, Ginny motions him closer. “If I tell you something, will you promise me you won’t say a word to anyone? Especially to any of my brothers, Ron in particular?” Frowning, Harry works out that this is not a promise he should be making, but before he can decline, her close proximity gets to him, tantalizing his senses. Next thing he knows, he’s nodding — he cannot refuse her anything. “Of course, Gin Anything you need.” Ugh, he even sounds like such a moronic sap; apparently it isn’t enough to just be one. Her eyes dart around again, and to his surprise, she very effectively casts a Muffliato on them after checking around for extendable ears. His apprehension of what he’s about to hear increases with her diligent insistence on privacy. “He asked me out on a date, Harry.” Forgetting what they’d just been talking about, the only part that sinks in is the part where someone — anyone! — asked her out like they have that right! “What?” he snaps as she stares at him expectantly. Hurt fills her eyes, and he instantly feels guilty. “Sorry for telling you then,” she mutters, holding herself stiffly as she moves away from him to sit on the porch railing. “I guess you are more over your school feud with Malfoy than I’d have figured.” “Mal — Malfoy?” Harry sputters in confusion. “What the bloody hell does Malfoy have to do with anything?” Understanding dawns slowly but surely for the intrepid (sometimes that works out a bit better for him than others) hero, and Harry can feel himself fill with rage. “Draco Malfoy asked you out on a date? Who the bloody hell does he think he is?” “Well, he’s the only bloody boss I have,” she shrugs, looking so forlorn that Harry almost pulls her to him. If he was to do that, it would end in disaster when she went to move away and he didn’t let her go. He settles for putting a hand on her shoulder, probably squeezing a little more forcefully than necessary. “Did he hurt you? Is he pressuring you or threatening you? I swear to Godric, Gin, if that rat bastard hurts you in any way, I’ll make the final battle look like Quidditch match!” She stares at him for a moment, a familiar hard, blazing look in her eyes. For one moment, one all too brief, glorious moment, he thinks she just might kiss him. Of course, no such thing happens. “He asked me out; he didn’t put me under the Cruciatus, Harry.” Sighing, she shakes her head. “Of course, a date with him might feel similarly torturous.” They share a grin at that, and Harry moves to hop up so he is sitting next to her on the railing. “I never knew Malfoy fancied you.” “Neither did I,” Ginny giggles, leaning against his arm. “He acted as though I should be flattered that he’d deign to ask me out. He is even more of a pompous arse than Percy, and you know how he is.” “Too true,” Harry agrees with a smile he knows only she has ever received. “I take it you turned him down then?” “Oh, no,” she contradicts him quickly. “I accepted, of course. We’re going out tomorrow night. I figured if I could survive the Cruciatus curse from that bitch aunt of his, then surely I could suffer through one date with him. He’s the least scary in that family, anyway.” Choking on his tongue (and horror and outrage), Harry hops off the railing. “Are you insane? I cannot believe you, Ginevra Weasley! After all that Malfoy and his family have done to you and yours, you would go out with him? My word, it’s like — like you’re suddenly unrecognizable.” Staring calmly at him from her perch on the porch rail, she notes, “And you. After all he’s done, especially to you, I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the only man left on earth. I’d sooner go to Azkaban for his murder than suffer through half a date with that moronic arse!” Visibly relaxing, Harry feels nearly boneless with relief. Of course, the relief wars with the embarrassment of having fallen for Gin’s little joke, but the relief is the predominant feeling of the moment. “Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly. “I should’ve known better.” “Yes,” she agrees, arching a brow at him. “You should have known me better by now. I actually rather thought you did.” With that, she slides off the railing, removing the privacy spells she had cast on them and the porch. Before he can say anything to fix his blunder, she is in the house and he is left alone trying to figure out what just happened. Apparently, not only did he blow his chances at having her as a girlfriend, or better yet wife, now it seems he is on the verge of losing her as his friend. Terrific. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Damn it. Such an idiot, Potter!” And with that self-indictment and summation of the last couple of years of his life, he turns and follows her into the house, again on his own.” ~*~ “Arthur! Oh, honestly, put that thing away!” Molly Weasley huffs in exasperation, glaring at the Muggle CD player her husband is currently enamored of. “I swear, would it be possible to have just one meal in peace?” “Aw, Mum, don’t be so fussed about it,” Bill grins, winking at his wife of several years now. “You know better than to expect peace of any sort from this lot.” At that, he throws significant looks at George, Ginny, and Ron. “Don’t set your hopes too high, right?” Ron looks over at Harry, rolling his eyes as Ginny reaches out, tugging on a lock of the hair Bill still keeps stubbornly long. “Like you’re so perfect,” she teases her oldest brother, causing Harry’s stomach to clench at the sight of her face coming alive with amusement. Before Bill can retort or anyone else can jump into the fray, Arthur jumps in. “I think it is fairly safe to say that none of us are perfect, excluding your mother.” Harry watches as every one of them at the table softens at the love and affection between their parents and in-laws. To Harry, it is something he still isn’t entirely used, this kind of love always shared and felt at Weasley gatherings. Yes, he knows that some of it is directed his way, but…it isn’t enough. He can’t help but want more. That the person he wants more from is sitting across the table from him now does nothing to help. “Harry, son,” Arthur says over the noisy din of the table, snapping Harry out of his reverie. “How is work? Kingsley has mentioned how close you are to tracking down one of the cases deemed unsolvable. He says you are making great progress.” Swallowing hastily, Harry nods his confirmation. “Yup. We’ve actually got a fairly confirmed lead on the Nott family. In fact, we might be sending a raid team to their supposed location early this week.” Percy cuts in at that. “Well, good to hear. Always a relief to the Ministry to get these dangerous criminals off our streets! Well, then, are you going to be heading the raid team this time?” “Probably,” Harry nods, failing to notice how Ginny’s fingers tighten on her fork turning her knuckles white. “This is definitely my case, and it wouldn’t be right to let someone else lead a team in there.” “My team would be fine going in,” Ron interrupts. “In fact, I daresay you ought to let us take this one. Your guys aren’t all that rested from that botched raid last month.” Rolling his eyes at his best friend, Harry shakes his head as he gives him an indulging smile. “Sorry, mate; my boys have got this one. Besides, Hermione threatened, erm, things I’d rather not part with if I let you out on another mission like that.” Huffing a loud breath out in irritation, Ron glares at his best friend. “It’s just not fair,” he gripes, banging a fist on the table for emphasis which earns him a sharp glare from his mother. “I get penalized just because I have a fiancée! What kind of rubbish is that?” “Yeah, life is so hard,” Harry shoots back. “You have a fiancée; poor, ickle Ronnikins.” That earns Harry several pairs of raised eyebrows, including Ginny’s. Ron, of course, is oblivious to his best friend’s sarcastic and slightly (well, perhaps more than slightly) bitter undertone. “See, there’s a simple solution to all our problems, though,” Ron continues on, blithely unaware of the tension certain others at the dinner table are now feeling. “You could find yourself a girl. Honestly mate, I think that would solve a lot of your problems.” “Could you at least swallow before doling out your advice next time?” Ginny snits testily at her brother. “It’s a wonder you have a woman who puts up with you, the way you act.” “Children,” Arthur interrupts mildly before his wife can cut in more sharply. Bill and George exchange knowing looks as their significant others try to hide their smiles. “I’m just saying!” Ron continues on, glaring at Ginny. “If you’d find yourself a fiancée, Harry, then we’d be back on even ground again! Well, as even as ground gets when your best friend is the Boy Who Lived, yeah?” Everyone else grows quiet, with most of the eyes around the table darting between the two best friends. Two pairs of eyes, however, remained riveted on Ginny, gauging her reactions to this conversation. Her mother, she was to be expected. In some ways, ways that frighten Ginny each and every day, her mother knew her extraordinarily well. Oddly enough, the other was Fleur. “Ronald, just leave it,” Ginny sighs in exasperation, Fleur studying the white knuckles of Ginny’s hand clenching her goblet too tightly. “And you, Gin!” Ron laughs, not heeding her warning looks being shot his way from the rest of his family. “You’re just as bloody bad as Harry is! Honestly, you two should have one of those…oh, bloody hell — sorry, Mum — you should have one of those pact things!” He frowns, thinking for a minute before breaking out into a huge grin. “Yeah, I saw it on Hermione’s telly! A Muggle pact.” All eyes on him are wide and slightly confused, and it is George who breaks the silence. “What in the name of Dumbledore are you talking about?” Ron grins, as pleased with himself as everyone else is uncomfortable. “A marriage pact! I think Harry and Ginny should have a pact that they’re both still single when Gin turns twenty-five, they marry each other!” It is a thoroughly horrified silence that greets that suggestion. Arthur’s eyes squeeze tightly closed, and his head shakes as though he cannot believe what he has just heard. Molly’s face turns mottled shades of red and purple, and her mouth opens and closes furiously although no words come out. George and Bill glance at each other, neither knowing what to do or say. Katie watches in fascination, and Fleur rather calmly waits the scene out. “I can’t believe you’d say that,” Harry says quietly, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He can’t even bring himself to look at Ginny now, not even able to muster a reassuring smile for her. “Right,” Ginny agrees, pushing away from the table. All the blood has drained out of her face, leaving her alarmingly pale, although Fleur is the only who really notices. “I can find my own boyfriend, fiancé, husband, and even friends, Ronald. Someone who would want me, alright?” Ron rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his mum’s treacle tart. “If that were true, why haven’t you dated anyone since…well, it’s been a right long time, Gin! If it’s so easy, why don’t you ever date anyone?” he challenges her. “Ron, that’s enough,” Bill interrupts tersely. “Leave her alone. Leave them both alone. And do yourself a favor; shut up before Hermione comes home to find you the subject of spell damage that leaves your manhood under question.” “Well, I don’t see what the problem is!” Ron exclaims, pressing on and ignoring the resulting groans from the other people at the table. “Someone needs to say it! It’s not like Ginny has dated anyone since Harry, after all. What’s the big deal?” “Ronald Weasley!” Molly exclaims, her chair knocked backwards by force as she jumps to her feet. “Apologize this instant! And go to your room!” Ron’s mouth falls open and he gapes at his mum incredulously. “But Mum, I don’t even live here! You can’t send me up to my room!” If anything, Molly’s face just turns redder with the purple splotches darkening noticeably. “I will not have you behaving like this in my house!” she yells, banishing her youngest son’s dessert. “Of all the disrespectful, outrageous, rude…” “No, Mum,” Ginny interrupts, her face a calm mask hiding any real feelings she might have on the goings-on of this dinner. “He’s right. I haven’t dated in awhile.” She stands up, dropping her napkin on her plate. “He’s right in that that needs to change. But before he goes and forces unwilling and/or disinterested wizards on me, I will find my own…own fiancé.” Harry’s fist clench angrily under the table; his ire is directed at himself for giving Ginny the impression that he was neither interested nor willing, and mainly at Ron in this moment, for pushing Ginny to stand up and proclaim her intention of finding a fiancé. A fiancé that wasn’t him. Besides, what happened to the Ronald Weasley who couldn’t stand the idea of his little sister with any bloke? Now he’s pushing her to this? Harry would kill him. Absolutely, positively murder him the first chance he got. Ginny’s hands are shaking as she stares at Ron. “Well, thanks, Ron. Would you like to set a time limit? Should I have met this phantom man by some certain date?” “Really, Ginevra, there’s no need — “ Molly begins crossly, still glaring at Ron, who has the gall to interrupt her. “George’s wedding,” Ron grins smugly. “That’ll give you enough time, right? Don’t you think so, Harry?” Sputtering incoherently, Harry shakes his head. “No, no! This — it is not a good idea. And — and this isn’t like you, either!” he proclaims, looking wildly at the other members of the table, hoping for back-up. “What are you up to, pushing Ginny towards just any old bloke?” “Stop,” Ginny cuts in, looking sharply at Harry. “Just stop. I can defend myself. And Ron, George’s wedding. I can do that.” With that, she turns and leaves the room. A door slams a moment later, letting everyone know she has left the house. It is Fleur who stops the stare-off between the remainder of the diners. “Perhaps I shall go check on her,” she says softly, in her still accented English. “And point out that taking the advice of zee brother who only has a fiancée of his own by default would be silly.” Ron’s mouth works furiously (more so than his brain) as he tries to process that insult, and Molly looks to protest for a moment and insist on going herself, but Fleur’s words sink in and she smiles. “Yes, dear, you should go. That would be a very sweet thing of you to do. I am sure we’d all appreciate it.” Fleur squeezes Bill’s hand, giving him a small smile to let him know that things will be alright. The look she turns on Ron (very scary Veela) has him squirming uncomfortably in his seat. When she gets to the kitchen door, she turns and levels one more scathing look on Ron before flouncing out after Ginny. “Ginny,” she calls, heading through the trees toward the pond where she expects Ginny to have gone, “I know you are there!” “Yes, I am,” Ginny responds quietly, startling Fleur as she steps out from behind a tree. “Drawn the short wand, have you?” “Non,” Fleur denies, standing next to her young sister-in-law, “I asked if I could be zee one to come. Your muzzer only agreed because I promised I would remind you that Ronald ees not zee best person to draw advice from. Not even zee best of your bruzzers.” Ginny gives her a small smile. “That would be Bill, then, I suppose?” Fleur grins widely, disagreeing again. “Non, I should say Charlie would be zee best. Unfortunately, he ees not here. But I am, and I would like to help you if I can.” “I don’t know if you can,” Ginny sighs, giving Fleur a rueful smile. “I don’t know if anyone can.” She shakes her head, her long, red hair whipping around her. “I’m such a fool! Honestly, letting Ronald goad me like that.” “You do not ‘ave to do anything, Ginny,” Fleur points out rightly. “Especially nothing that your bruzzer has goaded you into. That ees not right.” Nodding, Ginny stares absently out at the pond. “He — he just had to do it in front of Harry, didn’t he?” she asks, a waver in her voice. “Of all the people he’d have to have around to call out my non-existent dating life, it had to be Harry. Did you see the look on his face? He looked so horrified at the suggestion, and — and I just can’t take it. I cannot take Harry looking at me like that.” Feeling a little choked up, Fleur grabs the younger girl’s hands. “I do not know what happened with you and ‘Arry, but he ees a fool. However, Ginny, I do not think he ees as…’orrified as you seem to think.” Ginny shrugs, giving her a wry smile. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? Harry has made it more than clear that he doesn’t want me, and let’s face it. There isn’t much I can do with that. He left. I — I got that, Fleur, I really did. If I’d had to do the things he did, I’d have wanted to get the hell out of here, too. But when he came back, he didn’t — it wasn’t — it was all over. Everything was over.” “Not everything,” Fleur counters softly. “Eet ees not over for you and ‘Arry, Ginny. Zee way he looks at you…non, eet ees not over.” “No, it is,” Ginny says firmly, nodding her head emphatically. “He chose…I don’t know what he chose, but it was not me. He didn’t choose me. I have to admit that and face it, and move on from it. Ron, well, he’s a right prat, but he wasn’t wrong. I have to move on.” “And finding an ‘usband in four weeks ees a good way to do thees?” Fleur asks skeptically. “You should talk to ‘Arry. He might just surprise you.” Ginny shakes her head, a sad, wistful smile playing about her lips. “That’s not an option anymore,” she says softly. “I — I won’t be humiliated like that again. Half my life has been spent in unrequited love with Harry Potter. No more. I just can’t do it anymore.” Taking a deep breath, she lets it out shakily. “George’s wedding is in a month. I have to do this, if only to prove to myself that I can.” Fleur doesn’t know what to say to that, so she settles for squeezing Ginny’s hand and saying a quick prayer that this doesn’t end in heartbreak again for the young girl next to her. She didn’t think any of them could bear that. |
| Reviews 5 |
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