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It’s all so quiet, he thinks.
On an unassuming, cloudless Wednesday night, long after the students of Hogwarts castle slept, along some stretch of shore nearby the inkey lake, Harry Potter gazed up at the sky in awe.
Spectrals of smoke twirled around twinkling stars that seemed to wink down at him conspiratorially, sure of their place in the vastness, unfailingly present.
On this night, sitting alone, he felt small. Was small. Here, he knew his place as the insignificant observer; such feelings were rare indulgences for Harry.
Being in his moodier sort of moods, Harry couldn’t help but contemplate if the world really wasn’t as big as it seemed. Sometimes, it seemed like all the horrible events that ever happened really were fated- like these stars- all meant to collide and lead to this center point, to lead Harry where he was needed at the time. He wondered if the life of Harry Potter was nothing more than a culmination of all the prophecies that came before, and by some anomaly, he came out the other side. Never truly has his life been his own. Someone was always pulling the strings, until now.
Now that he served his purpose, now the instruction book turned its last page, he felt somewhat at a loss for what was supposed to come after. Nobody had ever thought that far ahead, least of all himself.
Outside of his orbit, cast adrift. When the initial end goal was dying early, what life was one meant to lead afterwards? It’s not like Harry really minded being brought up to sacrifice himself if it meant saving all the others, to follow the heroic footsteps of so many people Harry loved.
Sometimes, he regretted surviving. Sometimes, Harry wondered, what his life would be like if none of this ever fucking happened, if a raging bloody lunatic didn’t kill his parents, if he were able to actually choose how it all turned out for himself. How much of Harry Potter and his accomplishments were actually truly him, and how much of himself was forged through the weight of expectations?
Hm.
Neville really did give him “the good shit” this time, as he eloquently put it.
Another puff of smoke, another breath of release.
Maybe after this, he could just finally go back to fucking sleep. Another puff. And another, into seamless relaxation. A weight lifted off the shoulders, a haze clouding the mind, drifting upwards. It felt sort of like flying. His head might as well be poking in among the glowing stars to admire them in their distant celebration.
Harry didn’t need to do anything at all right now- didn’t need to worry about his future, or this or that. Maybe it was his turn to rest, just for a while.
Until.
A crunch of a footstep. Two. Three, bringing him back down to Earth. Harry’s hackles subconsciously raised, hand twitching towards his wand.
Someone was approaching, attempting to be undetected just yet. Until…
A loud snap.
And a groan.
“Fuckin’ hell, that hurt like a bitch!”
Ah. Only Ron.
“Stupid branch hit my bleeding shin!” More increasingly aggressive rustling sounds approached. Harry finally let out a held breath laughing to himself. “…Alrigh’ there, Harry? Hope that’s you over there, ‘cause that was well fucking embarassing.”
Harry smiled, still facing the sky. “Just me.” More snaps, crunches coming closer. But only just.
Ron’s voice spoke softly in the dark. “…I’m not bothering you, am I?”
Hm. That was sort of a rare attitude for Ron. Perhaps this moonlight illuminated the vulnerabilities within people. Maybe with tragedy came a sense of consideration, a raw underbelly.
Still, Harry felt like taking the piss, just a little.
“I don’t recall you ever being concerned about that before.”
“Fuck off,” Ron answered good-naturedly. “Surely I wouldn’t wish to disturb this sexy, broody pothead image you’ve got going on all by yourself in the darkness right now. No, seriously. It’s really very mysterious of you.”
At this, Harry couldn’t hold in his bark of a laugh. He never could, around Ron. “You’re such a twat.”
It’s been a month since Harry broke the news to his best friends about this recent practice of his, one evening after they noticed he was acting a bit more strangely, smiling to himself like a fool watching them bicker back and forth. They threatened to bring him to the hospital wing until he spilled the truth of what he actually got up to on his nightly walks.
Honestly, Harry expected Hermione to give him a lecture, but she simply told him about the medicinal effects it could have on PTSD symptoms, as well as to not be an idiot and get caught. That was indeed a very new attitude from Hermione Granger. He considered asking her if she wanted to join him one of these days, when she wasn’t fully immersed in studying.
Ron had eventually accepted him, as he always did, although he initially seemed to be rather skeptical of the entire ordeal (“Mum told me that stuff caused one of my third cousins to suddenly pitch himself off a quidditch tower one afternoon. No warning or anything! That’s a bit of a gamble, innit?”).
Hermione had professed to Harry about Ron’s ceaseless inquiries regarding the matter in the weeks following, to which she predictably told him to just bloody read a book about it. Merlin knows if he actually did.
Harry, of course, had mentioned nothing about that out of mercy for his friend (and self-preservation of his own mental), who tended to process his feelings about change in his own way. All Harry knew was Ron came around to this idea eventually, and that was that.
Ron continued after a beat, chewing his lip as he mulled something over in his head. “I almost left you to it, actually. Only my mind just… Woke me up rather rudely, as you know, and I didn’t see you in bed either. So I, er- found you on the Map, and I s’pose… Well, I could use some company for a bit. If you want. I understand if you want quiet, of course.” He sounded carefully nonchalant, but if Ron was swallowing his pride to ask this at all, clearly he needed someone to be there.
And there had been longer stretches of time between their proper hangouts lately, what with different classes and the like. Harry missed his best friend.
“Of course I want.” Harry glanced over his shoulder and patted the ground next to him. “Company, I mean. Yours. You’re always welcome to bother me, you know that.”
“Oh. Great, thanks. Disturbing your peace is my favorite thing to do.” Harry could hear the exact flavor of Ron’s stupid grin without even looking behind him, the one that went lopsided on the left side of his face. Gave him a slight dimple. They knew each other way too well by now.
Ron moved to sit next to him on the grass in a mess of long, lanky limbs, bumping Harry’s knee with his own. Harry took this jolt as a shift in focus from the constellation of twinkling silver diamonds above, onto a moonlit smattering of freckles dotting his friend’s slope of a nose. Harry couldn’t help the small, toothy smile crossing his face, one Ron returned, and suddenly they were grinning at each other like idiots, until one of them (Harry) burst out laughing, until they both laughed so hard it ached and they were left breathless with the effort.
As if Ron ever needed to ask.
Everything that happened in Harry Potter’s life brought him right here. To them. Harry reckoned he didn’t do too bad in this life after all, considering. He relit his joint with a wordless Incendio, taking another pull as he looked back out over the lake.
Ron’s curious gaze followed the motion in his peripheral. “Does that really help you? With, y’know. Thoughts? Nightmares, that sort of thing?”
“More than anything else I’ve tried. Probably better for you than downing Firewhiskey shots with no bloody will to see tomorrow.” Harry cast a playfully critical glance to Ron feigning nonchalance.
The weekend previous, Ron had gotten so pissed he even started attempting to goad the eighth-year Slytherins into a merry drinking song. And then several more.
Surprisingly, Pansy Parkinson had indulged him at first, to Malfoy’s utter dismay and annoyance. But soon enough, Ron had an arm around Malfoy’s shoulder as well, swaying them from side to side and belting an off-key chorus he made completely up.
It was worth mentioning; the summer after the war, and after his mutual split with Hermione, Ron went off to help Charlie with his dragon-raising in Romania, to “get away from it all.” Came back somehow taller, which was already unfair, but also more filled out, muscle-wise. Hair a bit longer, shaggier. A few more scars.
This extended difference in size between them seemed to cause Malfoy’s seething face to go hilarious shades of bright red under Ron’s arm, contrasting with the silk green button-down he wore that night. And that shock of pale hair. Surely it was out of jealousy. Or maybe the sudden attention he seemed keen to avoid this year. Harry rarely saw him in the common room they now all had to share.
Ron conveniently did not remember these details the next morning, when he finally managed to stir awake.
The Ron next to him now only grinned. “Hey, now. You can’t blame a girl for wanting a good time.”
“I can when I’m spelling his sick off my robes on the way back.”
“There’s no denying you’ve seen me at some of my lowest moments.” Ron leaned into Harry’s side, nudging him slightly. “You keep crawling back, though. I think you’d miss my good nature and charming wit.” Harry could practically see himself in the moonlight reflecting on Ron’s grin.
Harry looked up at his eyes, then, with a grin of his own. “Of course, I come back. Who can resist someone I can take the piss out of so regularly? It improves my general morale.”
Ron tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “And getting stoned off your tits doesn’t do that enough for you?”
“In a manner of speaking. Increases my tolerance for your charming wit.”
Ron snorted at that, but kept his head tilted, eyes narrowed in deep consideration. He bit his lip. Harry felt his gaze travel towards the motion, hitching on that small healed cut near the left corner. The one with the dimple. And. Um. Wow. The weed this time around really was the good shit, wasn’t it?
At last, Ron seemed to come to some sort of conclusion in the midst of Harry’s weird contemplation about his best mate’s upper lip.
”…Fuck it. Do you… D’you mind if I try it once, Harry? If it helps you- well, you and me are kind of dealing with, well, you know. Reckon it’d be nice to get out of my head for a while.”
Hold on. Harry snapped out of his previous train of thought as he desperately tried to recalibrate.
Oh Merlin, finally!
“Ron, mate, I thought you’d never ask!”
Ron barked an incredulous laugh. “Really? You’ve been wanting me to, have you?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, Neville’s a decent guy to smoke with ‘n all, but I like sharing things with you.”
Ron’s eyes widened, appearing to be sincerely touched by this. Harry tried to shrug and be nonchalant about it, but the words were out anyway. Maybe Harry was feeling a little sentimental. And maybe more than a little high.
Then again, he always felt like this somewhere in his chest when he came back to the dorms after a smoke. Ron just always seemed so… inviting, for lack of a better word. Familiar. Safe.
One time, one of the first times, he returned to their dorm to find Ron lounging in his bed with an array of sweet wrappers sorted around him, and the sight was so inexplicably Ron Weasley, it made Harry feel so suddenly like he was eleven again. This person, with absolutely no obligation, was the first to just simply accept him, before he knew Harry Potter was anything of significance at all.
Harry wasted no hesitation before flopping on the bed next to his friend’s outstretched legs. In an inexplicable need to feel he was truly there, he laid his head on Ron’s lap. Ron didn’t even question it, as he never did when Harry was being a bit more clingy these days. Perhaps they all became clingier as of late. The only indication of distress was a brushed away comment of, “Go on, melt my chocolate frogs into the bloody duvet,” with an answering hand ruffling through Harry’s curls and the other feeding him a toffee with an equal lack of hesitation.
Ron was always cool like that.
Now, sat next to him, Ron seemed to gather some resolve. “Ok, well. Sweet as that is, being an old sap doesn’t distract me from the bad influence you really are. If only your adoring public knew the truth.” Ron joked, but the spark in his eyes showed the enjoyment at breaking some rules. “Let me at it, then, since you’re so eager.” A long, freckled hand reached out for the joint, which Harry relit and passed over. “So I just- breathe it in, yeah?” Ron took it between his fingers like it was a hair away from exploding.
“Yeah. No need to hold it like it’s gonna bite you. ‘S not exactly rocket science.”
“Not exactly what?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Can you just put the sodding thing in your mouth and suck on it?”
“Buy a bloke some dinner first.” Harry shoved Ron with his shoulder and they exchanged a dry look as Ron took his hit at last.
Naturally, Ron approached this as he did many things. Headfirst and with enthusiasm.
“…Wow, Ron, that’s probably enough-… Ron, holding it in doesn't do anything.. Blimey.”
Even in the moonlight, Harry could see his face go completely red as he choked and sputtered for his life. A rite of passage, surely.
Harry rubbed soothing circles in Ron’s back he tried to regain himself. Harry took the opportunity to take another hit.
It took a few moments, but Ron calmed his fit. “Merlin fuck, how do you do that every night? Thought I was gonna bloody asphyxiate myself?!”
Harry breathed out his smoke without a hitch, grinning smugly. “Dunno, you get used to it, I suppose.”
Ron seemed to take Harry’s nonchalance as a challenge. “Lemme try again, then.”
“Really? You serious?”
“Well, yeah. That was shit go of it, obviously.” Ron’s voice took on a husky, slightly strained timbre from his previous attempt.
At this point, Harry didn’t know what possessed him to say this, but-
“There’s another way to do it, I’ve heard. It’s less harsh on your lungs.”
“What way is that? Through your arse or summat?”
Harry’s head whipped around, stunned into laughter. “What? No, shut up. It’s- well. I breathe it in, and then I…I give it to you, to make it easier?”
Oh, Merlin. Harry was making this so fucking weird.
Ron, bless him, didn’t seem much phased. “Like, I suck it out from your mouth?”
This was sounding worse by the second. But, no backing out now. “I- yeah, pretty much, I guess.”
Ron mulled it over in his head, and Harry was pretending he didn’t want the ground to swallow him whole all the while.
“Well come on then, my mother bird,” Ron blurted after a time, annoying smirk inching on his face.
Harry choked out a laugh. “That’s so gross. I wouldn’t ever cross that line with you.”
“But what if, in some horrible accident, I lost all my teeth and couldn’t chew my food, Harry?” Ron countered petulantly.
Harry gave him a withering look. “We’d figure another way.”
“Suppose we should start practicing for the day now. Just in case.” Ron was clearly feeling his hit from earlier, because he had this fuzzy, happy look on his face, like everything was so amusing.
“You’re sure? I know I brought it up, but you really don’t have to do it like that if you don’t want-“
“Fuck sake, just suck the fucking thing and blow it in my mouth, Harry.” Ron’s cheeks must hurt from the amount of grinning he’s been doing, until he inevitably burst into a fit of proper giggles at Harry’s horrified expression, goading him even further. “Come on, ‘s not Rock-It Science, is it?”
“Oh, shut up.” Harry managed to say before devolving into a fit of giggles as well. “Please.” Harry took the joint again, and pulled in a deep lungful. He could see his friend from the corner of his eye, watching with rapt attention as he tried to muffle his continuing giggles.
When he got enough, Harry turned around to see Ron already leaned about halfway in, already positioned impressively close by. No time to overthink it now, Harry knew he had to act fast before he started choking.
But then again, what was the right way to do this after all? Harry never really did this himself. He saw Neville trying it with Hannah Abott, but that was in a much less platonic context. But it would be sort of awkward if he didn’t try to position Ron’s head, so he reached up with the joint still between his fingers, put both hands on the sides of Ron’s face, and tilted his head slightly.
Ron’s eyes widened, like he was just realizing the implications of this. But he quickly seemed to gather a resolve. Blue meeting green, that unspoken trust in their gaze deepened. Slowly, he opened his mouth further, and Harry leaned in.
Harry was barely an inch from Ron’s face, before he started breathing the smoke out gently, letting the wisps twirl around and inside. Smoke curled around their mouths in an intertwining dance of breath. It kind of looked like Ron was devouring his soul, like the sunniest Dementor in existence. Until-
Until Ron leaned in fully, closing the gap. And Harry’s mind short-circuited.
Taste. Harry could taste. Earthy musk and spearmint toothpaste, mellowed out from sleep. Hands more insistent on Ron’s face now, pressing in on faint stubble growing from this morning. Strong hands placed themselves on Harry’s biceps. Squeezing in answer. Harry couldn’t tell if he was leaning into it himself or being maneuvered that way.
And then Ron’s mouth started to move a bit, not really breathing in anymore, but now they were certainly kissing, and smoke dissipated all around them in a veil of lifting fog. Harry could feel everything so clearly.
And then a separation, with a distinct sound, ringing loudly between the two of them.
All Harry could do was stare, dumbfounded.
“What’s wrong? Did I do it right?” Ron exhaled small wisps of smoke as he spoke, evidently not fussed in the least. His lips were shiny.
Harry, on the other hand, was positively fucking dying on the inside. “Yeah, mate.” He managed to say, distantly. “Yeah, I think you got it all.”
Ron looked down at his hands for a solid minute. The silence felt deafening. And then he looked up, and all Harry could see was that clear blue, surrounded by light ginger lashes. A cheeky smile formed on his face, then, and Harry felt his heart pick up its pace even more.
“You’re right,” Ron said. “I think I like that way much better. Didn’t even choke at all that time.”
There’s absolutely no shitting way Ron doesn’t know what they just did. Harry was there for Lavender Brown. He saw what he saw. So did everyone else.
But Ron said this as if he genuinely, sincerely meant it.
Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Harry added this to his mental list of Things That Might As Well Happen, to be compartmentalized to oblivion. (Thanks Hermione, that was indeed a very useful term).
“You’ll become a proper druggie yet, I’m sure. Once you fly out the nest.”
“I knew there was a reason to keep you around in the interim.” Ron’s smiling-at-him thing was really starting to become a problem.
But also, in this moment, Harry was happy. This was the most they’ve laughed in ages, as far as he could recall. “You know, I can’t help but feel used for my body right now.”
“Aw, you know I like you, really.” Ron smiled at him again, big and cheesy, like he didn’t just alter the world’s axis in the span of two minutes. Harry poked him in his side and got his hand batted away. It kept Ron laughing.
The two of them sat in silence for some time, looking at the stars. Harry was still at a loss for what the fuck just happened.
“Mm, I definitely feel something now.” Ron raised his arms over his head in a long, indulgent stretch, before falling gracelessly on the grass behind him. Lounging out like some orange tabby. A strip of his stomach showed from under the moth-eaten wool sweater Ron must’ve thrown on half-asleep. He started spreading his fingers through the grass, feeling the textures around him. Harry couldn’t help but watch, transfixed, this effortless movement. He looked otherworldly against the dark patterns.
“The grass feels fuckin’ strange. ‘S like a… green… ocean...”
“Sure, mate.”
Ron raised his head, brow furrowed. “I’m so serious. You need to come lay down and feel this grass with me.”
What else could Harry do? He laid down beside his best friend with no comment. He of course didn’t give a fuck about the grass, though the stars above looked incredible from this angle.
Ron turned his head to face Harry and studied him for a second, before propping his head up on an elbow. Harry turned to see him hovering above, eclipsing the moon. His red hair fell in front of his eyes from this angle, but that didn’t lessen the intensity of the gaze above him. Ron smiled at him in this conspiratorial kind of way, like he had everything in the world figured out and in the palm of his hand.
“We’re gonna be alright, me ‘n you.”
Harry furrowed his brow, confused. A little anxious. “Gonna be? Are we not already?”
“Not quite yet. But I’m working on it, trust.”
“That worries me a lot, to be honest.”
“What’s there to worry about? I just told you we’re gonna be alright.”
“‘Spose that makes sense. As long as you’ve got it taken care of.”
“Believe me, I think I do.” Ron kept smiling at him. Harry couldn’t help but grin himself, despite not knowing what was going through Ron’s head.
“Grass doesn’t feel like an ocean at fucking all, by the way. Keeps poking me. Kinda itchy.”
Ron was still grinning at him in a sort of dazed way, eyes trailing lazily over Harry’s face. He rather felt like he was under a microscope, but also not being listened to in the slightest. After a moment, it seemed Ron realized Harry was speaking after all. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, dunno. Guess you’re right.”
Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow at that. “You almost never say I’m right.”
“You’ve indulged me enough today, I can return the favor sometimes,” Ron said with a nonchalant shrug, causing more strands of red hair to fall in his eyes.
“If this is what happens every time I get you stoned, feel free to join me whenever you want.”
“Might take you up on that.”
Silence fell over them for a bit. Ron tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, still looking at Harry. Harry had no idea what possessed him to say this, but:
“I like your hair longer.”
“Do you, now?” Eyebrow raise. Self-satisfied smile. Easy confidence was such a nice look on Ron these days, Harry couldn’t mind that he was boosting the fuck out of his ego at the minute.
Harry swallowed. “Yeah. Looks… rugged. Different than fourth year. You got so much cooler over the summer, it’s sort of unfair, mate.”
“Well, I have a best mate who felled a pretty infamous dark wizard overlord. Something had to give.”
“Suppose so.”
“Don’t worry, you look plenty cool as well. Had to catch up to your amount of scars.”
“Reckon we’re just a couple of banged up old toys nobody has a use for anymore.”
“That’s not so bad. Means we can create our own purpose, aside from all these stupid expectations we never asked for, y’know?”
“Yeah. Never thought about it that way.”
Ron flopped over onto his back unceremoniously, crystalline eyes studying the stars.
“No wonder, mate. You’ve only spent your entire life being told what to do, moved around like a bloody pawn. Maybe it’s time to create your own change in life, instead of having it happen to you.”
It was Harry’s turn to raise his head. “Who the hell are you? I thought I was talking to Ron Weasley?”
It took Ron some time to speak.
“I suppose Hermione was right, as usual. I had a shit grasp on what I was feeling. Everything that’s happened…” Ron paused, gathering himself. “Put a lot into perspective, for me. Fred wouldn’t want me to sulk and sit still, pitying myself. He’d say it was a waste of living. He’d tell me, ‘Stop being a sorry sod. I was the one who bloody died, after all.’” Ron sighed. Harry couldn’t say anything.
“It’s like his voice is in my head at random times of the day. I can hear it almost exactly as it was, and that never gets less painful. It feels like… a hole in my chest, something that keeps searching out for him. Part of me is scared that every time I recall it, it starts changing. But I have to remember it. I know it’s bound to fade over time, the sound of it in my memories. I have to cherish that voice as much as I can before it’s gone.”
That gave Harry a pang, as his thoughts drifted to his parents. He’s imagined before, what his mother’s cooing voice would’ve sounded like back then. Maybe it’s better he didn’t know.
“Fred is not someone you can easily forget. He was my favorite Weasley by a wide margin.” Harry figured it was his turn to bring some levity before Ron went down that spiral.
Ron huffed a laugh. “I honestly wouldn’t even blame you.”
“It’ll be okay, mate. We all die sometime. When I died, Sirius was there. He told me it was quicker than falling asleep. You’ll see Fred again.” Silence fell over the two of them for a long while. Ron was still trailing his fingers over the grass in rhythmic patterns.
“I still can’t believe you actually fucking died. And then you fucking came back. Mental, you are.”
To say the least.
“Yeah, ‘suppose.”
“I’ll never forgive any of them for what they put you through.”
Harry had to shrug. Other people had gotten tortured, mauled, even worse. “People just do what they need to. I was part of something bigger than myself.”
Ron started uprooting pieces of grass between his fingers. Harry bet if he looked over right now, his friend would be frowning, in his intense way.
“Don’t minimize it. They raised you up to be slaughtered with no choice. You were practically born with a tombstone half-engraved.”
“Well, appears it’ll remain that way for now.”
Ron turned his head to face Harry. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, if you didn’t come back.”
Harry turned to look back. “You know I’ll always come crawling back for you. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”
A hand reached out for Harry’s in the dark. Harry took it, and squeezed.
Neither of them moved for quite some time. They didn’t need to.
-
“You wanna know what I think we should do?”
“What’s that, Ron?”
“I think we should raid the kitchens and make a fort in the common room to house our feast.”
“What if someone sees it?”
“Well, we’re obviously not letting them in. Unless they know the code.”
“And the code is…?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
“Alright then.”
Without further preamble, Ron took Harry’s hand and pulled him up from the grass with little grace.
“Careful of the branches. They bloody well hurt.”
Neither of them let go until they reached the castle.