Work Text:
A Scene Of Change
by Fabella
A window sees two men, but not well, because they are obscured by the other people at their own tables, eating their own lunches.
This is the way they say goodbye.
Harry and Ron are sitting in one of those outside restaurants, with the white tables and green umbrellas too tall to offer any real shade. They don't mind the sun. Harry stirs his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on the spoon. Ron sips his pumpkin juice, lips pressing the rim of the cup, hesitating, then he takes another sip.
With a final flick, Harry sets the spoon aside. Brown liquid drips on the table, muddying the pristine white cloth.
"So that's it, then?" Ron says, squinting.
Harry's eyelashes drift down. "Suppose so."
A woman walks by, a small dog peeking from her purse. Harry watches her go, the swing of her hips, swish-swish. She walks on, doesn't notice them.
"Do you have a cigarette?" Harry asks.
"I didn't know you still smoked."
"I'm trying to quit," he explains, fingers tapping. "It's going well, I think."
"And Ginny?"
"Oh, you know. She hates the smell."
Ron nods. His hands are far apart on the table, fingers stretched wide like wings. He sits straight and tall, proud shoulders severe against the backdrop of other people drinking from their mugs, eating their colorful foods, laughing with their teeth. His knees lock together where no one can see, ankle crossed over ankle.
Harry is stiff, facing Ron with his body, but his eyes flit away.
"I did it for you," Ron blurts. His ears turn red.
Harry bends to his plate, examining the salad. A tomato slice looks out of place, so he switches it to the left side, but then the lettuce leaf droops. The man at the next tableâ€"he has no name, only a funny looking top hatâ€"grunts at something he reads in the newspaper, and checks his watch. Lunch is nearly over.
"I know." Harry stops pretending to eat. "They'll be investigating me."
"Yes, likely." Ron reaches for his pumpkin juice again, then his hand suddenly veers across the table, grabbing one of Harry's. "Do you hate me?"
Harry tilts his headâ€"his hair isn't black really, more like a very dark brown, but he usually stands in the shadows, so one often retains the impression that it's blackâ€"considers this deeply for a moment. Ron waits, arm stretched, shoulder blades bunching.
"No," Harry says, after a long time. "Never."
He is very firm on this. When Harry turns his hand so his palm brushes Ron's lightly, Ron's head falls forward on his reaching arm. Harry's knee, beneath the table, continues to bounce as it has done since he first sat down for this meeting.
"My sister is in love with you," Ron says, speaking to his muscle. "Do you feel the same?"
"I really wish you had a cigarette."
"Harry. Please."
"Murdering Neville," Harry growls, suddenly squashing Ron's hand hard enough with both of his own to make Ron wince, lift his head. Harry shifts forward, speaks tensely, his eyes darting at the other patrons. "Perhaps not your smartest move, mate."
Across the street, a young girl dips to the ground when she spots something that glitters. Money? No, no. It's a mirror. When she lifts it, she finds the angle shows her two men at a table, uneaten food between them, faces nearly overlapping they are held so closely together.
"He was a spy!" Ron grates, saliva clinging to his bottom lip. "He was part of the conspiracy to kill you! You know it as well as I do!" Ron's nails, jagged from being chewed, dig Harry's wrist. "I couldn't let him live."
"We have no evidence," Harry hisses. "That's our problem, that's whyâ€""
"He told me. He fuckingâ€""
"â€"I wanted to wait. See if I could bait him."
"â€"told me! You would have been dead inside of two weeks, Harry. Two weeks, that's all the time you had left, and you wanted to play games!"
Harry sighs, and untangles their fingers. Like a broken mirror, they are seven years bad luck when separated. Harry's hair falls across his spectacles. He sits back, the flimsy chair creaking. Ron blinks, and a cool breeze rushes against Harry's shirt, showing the wide rib cage, the flat belly, the indent of a navel. The wind teases the back of Ron's neck, and Ron pictures himself sitting on a beach somewhere with Harry. No, a boat, on the ocean, Harry complaining about the salt landing in everything they own, their reflections smiling at each other in the water.
"And if we were wrong, Ron? If it wasn't Neville?"
"Then." A bus motors by, and Ron flinches, speaks over the noise. "Then, it would have been worth the price, to know you're safe."
"I guess I would do the same," Harry says. He plays with the abandoned spoon, a drop of coffee rolling from one side to the other on the stainless steel. "If it was you."
Ron smiles, sweetly, with the same mouth that cursed Neville dead not forty hours before. He feels alive, he feels on top of the world, he wants to grab Harry and pull him close, kiss his chin, his eyes, his neck. He sits still, the knife by his left hand catching the sunlight, refracting, stealing his glance for only a second until it is all Harry's once more.
Well, a lift of Harry's eyebrows says.
Well, what? Ron's smile replies dumbly.
Harry stands, and Ron stops smiling. He remains in his chair, craning his neck to see the shape of Harry in the sun. Harry cuts a tall figure in front of small, speeding cars and rickety trucks. He is dressed as a Muggle, like Ron, but Harry is simply wearing his own clothes. They never fit him well.
"You should go," Harry states. He hands Ron a bulging brown envelope.
Ron takes it, thumbing the seal that barely restrains the items within. He knows what's insideâ€"passports, money, paperwork, locker numbers, contact informationâ€" there is no need to open it.
"Everything should be there. I'll handle things on this end. Voldemort... I'll take care of him. Eventually, I'll have the evidence, and you'll be free to come home. Just." Harry's eyes close. He looks older, eyelids lined with thin blue veins. "Just stay hidden, until then. Stay safe."
Ron wishes Harry would say something else â€" I love you, I'll go with you â€" but that isn't possible. Harry has to stay, Harry has a war to fight, Harry isn't sure who he loves because he doesn't have time to love. One night of sex for them shoved in somewhere after Ginny breaks things off with Harry, and before she calls the next day, apologizing, does not a relationship make.
"You really won't come?" Ron asks anyway, putting the envelope down.
"It's better this way. The only chance for you is me on the inside."
Ron stands, and Harry's eyes open, showing brilliant green with unplumbed fear behind them. Harry takes a halting step around the table, then is lunging, expression a blur of pained lines. He wraps around Ron, arms folding, squeezing tight enough to rupture lungs. Harry's cheek presses roughly to Ron's neck, stubble rasping, abrading the skin.
Ron knows clarity for a second: He will never get over this.
The body clinging to him is solid, trying to burrow inside him, and Ron's arms hover in the airâ€"fly away, take Harry somewhere happyâ€" before settling on Harry's shoulders, forcing them closer than is natural for two friends to be seen hugging during lunch.
"Harry." Ron cups Harry's nape, fingers in Harry's hair. "Harry."
"Be safe," Harry repeats, this time with his mouth on Ron's ear.
Ron resists the urge to clutch when Harry withdraws from the embrace. Harry cannot be caged. Whenever someone has tried it, they've lost him for good. Draco, for example, was Harry's first experiment in love, before he tried to change Harry to better suit him.
This is how Ron is different. This is how he stands out from the all rest.
If Harry ever changes, Ron might die.
"I'll come back," Ron promises. He lifts his light overcoat onto his arm, delaying.
Harry nods tensely, already turning to leave.
"I'll be here."
Some vehicle, driven by some stranger, has a mirror that watches Harry walk away.
The End
Author's Notes:
It's such a moody piece. I have no idea where it came from. And no, there's no back story, no future story, just this. It grew out of an exercise that was challenging me to writeâ€"guess what?â€"a scene about change. It also touches something that I wanted to with another fic, but was forced to cut because of pacing, and honestly, it didn't need to be there. It had to come out of me sometime, I guess.
Any type of feedbackâ€"critical, or otherwiseâ€"is more than welcome.