Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17. Birthday Surprises

“I love you,” Hermione whispered as she brushed past him into the bathroom after releasing his fingers.
The door clicked closed behind her. Ron continued to stand there, leaning against the wall, watching Harry watch him. Though without his glasses, Ron knew Harry really couldn’t make him out all that clearly. He could be pulling faces at him right now, and Harry wouldn’t be able to tell.
Ron remembered how awful Harry’s eyesight actually was when he’d taken the polyjuice potion at the Dursley's and turned into him. You never got used to it, even after as many times as he’d taken polyjuice potion now. You still never got used to being in someone else’s skin, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be in Harry’s right now. The way he described how his insides felt earlier sounded like his body had been used as a piñata or something, Ron thought in sympathy. It looked like it had, too, and he didn’t have any desire to experience what that was like.
Drawing in a deep breath, he blew it out through his nose, pushing off from the wall where he’d been standing quietly through much of the exchange between Harry and Hermione. He walked over and sat down on the bed, propping his back against the headboard. Harry shifted over to the far side of the bed, away from Ron, watching him with some trepidation. Neither of them said anything for a while. Then Harry reached for his journal finally and pulled it into his lap.
I woke up once in the night, early on, I guess, when I was finally coming round and thought I was having a dream. I thought you and Ginny were here and we were all sleeping. I could hear you snoring, and she held my hand. I was still all messed up from the potions. I guess it was Hermione though, huh? he wrote.
Ron gave a derisive snort after reading the words. What a vivid imagination on this one, he thought wryly. Harry has drug-induced dreams, and the best the poor sod can do is imagine himself and Ginny sleeping next to each other, doing nothing more exciting than holding hands while her older brother was asleep in the same room. Nice. Really wet-dream-inducing that must have been.
“At first we took turns on watch, you know,” he told Harry. “When we first got here, and the other one slept on the bed with you. Then your fever shot up really high one night, and we had to put you in the bath to stop you having a fit,” he explained quietly. “We all just kinda fell asleep then, exhausted, I guess. All piled up on the bed together. So we abandoned the watch, enlarged the bed, and joined you on it after that night,” he finished in a matter-of-fact tone, shrugging his shoulders.
Harry nodded his head at the explanation of their unconventional sleeping arrangements and turned back to his journal. He twirled the quill absently between his fingers while he considered what he wanted to say before finally loading it up with ink again.
When did you and Hermione get together then? Harry wrote finally, turning his head slightly to watch Ron out of the corner of his eye as he read the words, gauging his reaction.
“How did you know?” Ron asked in surprise after a moment of stunned silence.
Well, for one, I’m still alive, and you’re still here. I kept expecting you to beat the hell out of me every time you got near me when I first woke up. Plus, my balls are still attached after what just happened. So I figure something’s definitely up between you two. You’ve both been acting differently around each other. I’ve noticed.
“We weren’t trying to hide it from you. You know?” Ron confessed. “Still, I didn’t know we were that obvious about it either. It happened while you were sleeping,” he explained with a shrug. “And we’ve just been kinda quiet about it is all. You’re okay with it, right?” he asked after another small pause.
Yeah. It’s about bloody time, actually. I’m glad for you both, he wrote, but his face didn’t show it. His eyes looked distant and mournful. Ron felt like he was watching a door closing in them suddenly, like a veil had fallen across them. It was as if Harry had just locked something away behind them. He looked lonely, Ron thought.
“Thanks, mate,” he said after a moment, studying Harry’s profile as Harry looked back to his journal and flicked the corner of the page with his fingernail.
I’m sorry for what happened to her, he wrote then. As if he were separate from it, an observer to all that happened there in the dungeons. Then he paused and scratched at the back of his neck nervously for a moment before continuing. For what I did to her, he finished, taking ownership of it again. Accepting the burden of it back onto himself. But he didn’t look at Ron this time, couldn’t meet his eyes as Ron read his words.
What was he supposed to say to that? Hey, no problem, mate? I know you couldn’t help it? It’s all right, but don’t let it happen again? Thanks for not leaving her for Greyback? I’ll fucking kill you for touching her? Or maybe, Why didn’t you kill them all when you had the chance, goddamn you? What? he wondered as he watched Harry start to fiddle nervously with the end of his quill in the silence that was stretching between them. Because Hermione had the right end of it, he decided. None of those bastards gave a shit about the two of them. They were trying to take down Harry. He and Hermione were just pawns in Bellatrix’s game. If Harry hadn’t surrendered to them in the woods, he and Hermione would probably have been dead within hours, or left to rot there hanging from the walls, forgotten.
No, he thought. They’d have been used for bait, used to lure Harry out. That’s what they were to them, bait.
Was he happy about what Harry did? No. Did he wish it had never happened? Hell yes. Did he believe that Harry had done everything in his power to protect them and get them the hell out of there? Unquestionably yes, without a doubt. Did he think Harry needed to carry the burden of guilt around with him forever over it? No, but he knew he would anyway.
Rubbing his forehead with his fingers and pinching the bridge of his nose, Ron blew out a frustrated sigh. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this shit anymore today. Didn’t want to see it played again for him in his mind.
Oh, my, God! Why did Bellatrix have to be such a fucking lunatic bitch? he thought furiously.
He felt like starting his own list of people he wanted to beat the shit out of now, like Harry’s. People he wanted revenge against for Hermione and Harry and the hell he’d watched them both suffering through today. He wished Lupin hadn’t killed Greyback right now just so he could’ve done it himself, or helped hold the fucker down, at least, so Harry could. Most of all, he wanted Bellatrix on her knees in the dirt like Harry had been, begging for her life like she’d made him beg for theirs in the dungeon. Ron wanted to see fear in her eyes. He wanted to watch as Harry burned the flesh from her body with those weird flames.
He could feel the heat rising in his face, his ears going red in fury as his hands shook from the anger coursing through him. He hated them all, but his sudden lust for violence was unexpected. The overwhelming desire took him by surprise and scared him a bit. He’d never really considered whether he could kill someone, or not before. Now he knew the answer, and he was afraid at how easy he thought it would be, and how certain he was that he could.
Sighing again, he tried to release the tension in his neck, to relax his fisted hands, to calm down, because it was making his head pound. He knew he was scaring the shit out of Harry, too, with his silence, but he still didn’t know what to say to him.
“I know you are,” he said finally when his head gave another twinge of pain. Then he reached out a hand to still Harry’s, which was now shredding his quill.
Harry looked up at him, searching his face with his lips pressed together. He looked pale and drained. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, filled with confusion and regret.
“Go to sleep, Harry,” Ron said wearily.
After staring at him a moment longer, Harry finally nodded his head with weary relief, and placed the battered quill in his journal like a bookmark before closing it. Then he ran his hand over the cover, which had become a sort of ritual for him, like he was saying goodbye or something, before placing it on the side table. Scooting down on the bed then, he pulled the blanket over himself, rolling away from Ron to face the wall.
Ron sat there thinking for a minute, watching Harry settle into his pillow while he stared at the back of his head. Then he slid off the bed and pulled his jeans off and then his shirt before crawling back into the bed in just his boxers, like Harry. He figured he may as well sleep the same way. Hermione had the bag with all his clothes with her anyway.
Returning from the bathroom a few minutes later, she padded barefoot over to his side of the bed. She’d picked out another of his t-shirts to sleep in tonight. Apparently she’d abandoned her own dressing gowns now in favor of his old shirts and a pair of knickers. This one was his Chudley Cannons t-shirt, which was old and ragged, worn thin in spots, with the lettering fading across the front and the hem pulling loose. Still, she looked brilliant in it. Even with her face scrubbed raw after crying her heart out on Harry a few minutes before.
Hermione stood staring down at him and waited, not saying a word while he watched her. He sat up finally and turned to her, sliding his arms around her waist, gathering the worn fabric of his shirt around her back. Pulling it taut against her stomach and breasts, he laid his head against her belly, holding her to him like that for a minute before she slid her hand over his neck and up into his hair.
She carded her fingers through his overly long locks so that his hair stuck up in rows from where her fingers plowed paths through it. Then she smoothed it flat again before repeating the movement over and over while he continued to hold her. It felt good against the headache that was blooming behind his closed eyelids.
“What’s happening here?” he finally asked, barely above a whisper, after a long while. After he was sure Harry had relaxed into sleep. The words felt like they were being dragged from him because he didn’t really want to ask her. He didn’t want to know the answer, or was afraid to hear it.
“I’m in love with you, Ron,” she answered simply, understanding his meaning instantly, still stroking his hair.
“But you love Harry, too?” he asked her, frowning into her shirt, his shirt.
“Yes…no,” she said with a sigh. “Not in the same way, Ron, no,” she tried to explain as his fingers pulsed against her waist reflexively. “I do love him. We both do.”
Then she reached out to cup his chin, to turn it up to hers. “I’ll admit, Ron, that I’m feeling very confused about Harry lately. About all of us.” She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully.
“You think it’s a mistake, us being together?” he asked, his voice laced with fear as he stared up into her face. “Do you want to be shot of me?”
“No, no, of course not,” she replied hurriedly, shaking her head firmly.
“Do you want some distance then? From me? From us?” He pulled away from her and sat up straight, dropping his hands to his sides. “You need to sort it out?”
“No, Ron, please. I don’t want that at all,” she said, going to her knees on the floor in front of him and grasping his hands in hers. “Why are you saying that? Do you? Do you want to throw this away?” she asked, sounding desperate herself.
“No. But I …I can’t watch it either,” he whispered, his voice starting to shake. “I can’t bear it if you choose him.”
“There was never a choice to be made, Ron,” she said quickly, leaning in closer so that they were inches apart. “There is no competition. It’s always been you. I swear it. Please believe me,” she begged him earnestly, squeezing his hands and staring into his face, pleading with her eyes which had filled with fresh tears.
“I just feel like I need to be close to him, Ron. That we need to be close to him. He’s still floundering, still teetering on the edge, and I feel like we’re the only ones who can help him, can pull him back. We’re the only ones who know the hell he’s been through,” she told him quickly, her voice quavering. “I just want to comfort him however he’ll let me. Can you understand that?” she asked, searching his face for understanding.
“I love you,” she whispered then, when he didn’t respond, leaning even closer to him, asking his permission, waiting for his forgiveness.
After a moment he reached up and cupped her face, running his thumb across her lips, lips that had been so recently pressed against Harry’s, as if to wipe the memory of it away.   Then he closed the distance between them.
“You have all the power here,” he breathed against her mouth. His eyes squeezed shut against the weight of his admission. “Please don’t play with me. Don’t tear me apart with it,” he begged her.
“I’m not playing, Ron,” she whispered back, pressing her lips firmly to his. Then she turned to plant a kiss into his open palm.
Ron felt jealous, angry with her, and maybe Harry, too, and then guilty for having those feelings. He felt confused and aggressive, hungry for her. He felt bruised. He wanted to make her his again after watching her with Harry earlier, reminding him too much of seeing them together in the dungeon. He needed to be with her right now, his need to possess her was too strong. The familiar buzzing was starting to grow in his head again, the stabbing pain behind his eyes moving into the background as everything seemed to shift to the sides, removing any impediment in his path to her.
He slid off the bed to join her on the floor. Kneeling in front of her now, their bodies pressed together while he captured her lips possessively and crushed her to him. Tasting her, he felt as if he could taste Harry on her, too, though he knew it was his imagination. Still, he worked to wipe away all traces of him from her with his tongue. His hands wound in her hair, and grasping handfuls of it in his fists, he pulled her head back while she moaned into his mouth and clutched his arms. Ron held her captive, bending her backwards, their lips still fused together as he slid his hand down her arm to circle her wrist. He pulled her hand to him, to where he needed her most and slid his hand over hers.
She gasped into his mouth as he squeezed her hand around his throbbing erection, stroking himself through the thin cotton of his boxers with her hand and rocking into her grip. Trying to show her how much power she had over him, he tried to show her how much he needed her. He released her hand then to grab her again by the head with both hands, to continue to reclaim her mouth for himself.
Hermione released him, and he growled in protest. But she was already slipping her hand down inside the waistband of his boxers, her warm questing fingers ghosting over him while he sucked in a breath and held it. The blood was pounding painfully behind his eyes again, though he hardly noticed. He froze, holding himself perfectly still, waiting.
She slid her fingers over him, and his eager cock jerked in response. Running them slowly down his length and then underneath, she inspected him with her fingers, testing his weight in her palm.   She rubbed the backs of her knuckles against his flesh and then pressed his cock up against his belly, trapping it there while she stroked her thumb over the flesh at the base.
“The skin is so soft,” she marveled as she turned her hand to slide her palm over him again. “Like velvet.” She ran her thumb around the rim and then across the slit, coating it with his arousal. Hermione was teasing him, he thought, with her slow examination, but her face showed nothing but genuine curiosity mixed with her own desire.
“Show me how,” she whispered to him, sliding her hand around his shaft fully then, and giving him an experimental squeeze.
“However you touch me feels good,” he rasped, reaching for his own waistband to push his boxers down his legs. Freeing himself.
“But I want to know how to do it,” she told him. “Show me how it feels best.” There was a purr in her voice that Ron hadn’t heard in it before. It made him grow even harder in her hand, if that was possible.
Ron stared at her as he slowly pulled her hand up to his mouth and licked her palm. Then he replaced it on his aching cock and wrapped her fingers around it, placing his hand over hers. He continued to watch her face as she watched their hands working together over his knob. He lubricated her palm more with his desire as he slid her hand up and down. Twisting gently, pulling hard, and squeezing the head as he pushed back through her fist, he pumped his hips slightly to help slide himself in and out of her grip. Then he released her hand and she continued on her own.
He tilted his head back because he couldn’t watch her face anymore, and he sure as hell couldn’t watch her hands as he continued to fuck her fist. Losing himself in the feeling of her delicate fingers wrapped around him, his mouth fell open in a moan as she struck up a rhythm.
“Oh, God, that feels good,” he groaned up at the ceiling, his eyes falling closed as she continued to stroke him. Then she cupped his balls with her other hand and ran her fingers over them, scratching lightly with her nails.
“Shit,” he gasped, sucking in a startled breath as he snapped his head back up to stare at her in surprise.
He found her staring back at him, her eyes wide, her mouth parted, watching his reaction as she continued to fondle and stroke him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he reached for her then, stilling her hands on him to slide her knickers down her thighs, to join his around their knees.
“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, though the words were barely over a whisper.
“Oh,” she moaned, her breath hitching as she slid her legs apart as far as her knickers would allow, still trapped around her knees. The elastic was digging into the smooth flesh of her thighs as she opened herself to him, and he jerked in her hand at the sight of her waiting for him.
Running a hand down her flat stomach, which quivered under his touch, Ron molded the fabric of his t-shirt against her skin. Dipping a finger into the hollow of her navel and then down, below the shirt, to cup her mons. His hand pressed firmly against her as she tipped her hips up into his palm and rubbed against him. Then he slipped a finger inside her, and her legs trembled at the intrusion. She let out a long breathy moan as he stroked her.
“God, you’re so wet,” he told her, his voice an octave lower than normal from his arousal.
He pulled his finger back and ran it along her opening, slicking the lips of her pussy with her own juices and then lightly over her clit. Then they both moaned when he inserted a second finger inside her moist heat, and she stroked him in response.
Ron pumped his fingers in and out of her while Hermione continued to fist his cock, matching his rhythm. Then he added his thumb, rubbing it over her hardened nub, and she released him. Grasping his shoulders with both hands now and rocking her hips into his palm, Hermione abandoned him for her own pleasure, fucking herself against his fingers. He grasped her arse with his free hand, pulling her into him, pressing their bodies together, and helping her grind herself against his hand.
“Do you like that?” he asked, leaning down to her, breathing the words into her ear as she gripped his shoulders harder.
Her fingernails dug into his skin as she nodded her head, mewling weakly. God, she was driving him crazy. He wanted to taste her, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to be inside her. He wanted to watch her slide herself onto his cock instead of his fingers.
“I want to fuck you so bad,” he growled, pulling his fingers out of her to grasp her arse more firmly, to spread her further open for him as he crushed their hips together. His throbbing cock was sliding against her wet entrance as he tried to push himself into her, though it was impossible at this angle.
“Yes,” she begged, rubbing the wet lips of her pussy over his length while he continued to try and burrow his way inside her, trying to curl her hips up into him. Then with a growl of frustration, he turned her, pushing her onto her hands as he scrambled to position himself behind her, dying to get inside her. His eyes went black with desire at the invitation before him, her pale cheeks marked with the impressions of his hands. Her folds were pink and glistening as he pressed into her, stretching her open.
Sheathing himself fully in that incredible heat, Ron ran a hand down her back then, twisting the shirt in his fist, pulling it tight against her. He grasped her hip with the other while she pushed back against him impatiently. Her legs shook as he slid out slowly, pulling almost all the way out of her before driving back in.
“Oh, God!” she gasped as their bodies slammed together.
Ron watched himself disappearing inside her while she threw back her head and braced herself against the assault. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back as he hammered into her. She opened her mouth in a guttural moan as he took her roughly, urgently, in rhythm with the pounding of his skull. He was in no mood to be gentle with her tonight, though she didn’t seem to mind.
“Shhhhh,” he warned as her cries grew louder, threatening to wake Harry. She bit down on her lips then, trying to stifle the sounds as he continued to drill into her.
Jesus, it felt good, but he couldn’t keep it up for long. He was going to come if he didn’t slow it down, and she was still making too much noise. The sounds of her pleasure and their bodies slapping together was driving him crazy, too, making him want to join in, but if it woke Harry up, he might seriously freak out and hurt someone, which was not the way he saw this ending, though he could think of worse ways to die.
Leaning down then, curling around her back, Ron wrapped an arm around her waist.   Pulling her with him, he sat back on his haunches between her legs, her back braced against his chest as she straddled his thighs. She mewled slightly in protest of their change in position as he slid her damp hair to one side, his mouth at her ear.
“Are you close, Hermione?” he whispered hoarsely as she began to roll her hips over him.
“Yeesss!” she hissed, gripping his sides hard and arching her back, trying to continue to fuck herself on him, though his hand around her waist was preventing her from moving very much.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked as he ran a hand to her throat, sliding her head back onto his shoulder, while the hand at her waist dipped down between her legs to stroke her.
“Yes, Ron,” she cried desperately as he pressed up into her and whispered into her ear.
“Shhhhh. If you can’t be quiet, we’ll have to stop, love,” he teased, running his tongue along the shell of her ear while he continued to stroke her clit, and she bucked against him in frustration.
“No…no,” she panted. “I’m sorry…I’ll be quiet…please,” she begged, still rolling her hips against him, squeezing her inner muscles around him, her legs quivering.
Good God. She must have been right on the edge, he thought, leaning up then to give himself some room to maneuver. She’d already started moaning again in anticipation as he pulled his hips back, sliding out of her slightly and then back in, while he slowly circled her sensitive nub.
“Do you want me to go slow or fast?” he asked still moving agonizingly slowly in and out of her, working her with his fingers.
She dug her nails into his sides in response. It hurt, actually.
“Faster, I need you to go faster, Ron, please,” she begged huskily, and he obliged, the next stroke causing a yelp to escape her.
She clamped her lips closed, trying her best to remain quiet, but two more strokes and she was keening loudly again, so very close to her own orgasm. He slid his hand over her mouth then, muffling the sound while he drove into her, ramming his hips up into her while his fingers diddled her furiously, until he could feel her scream behind his hand and clamp down around his cock, shaking all over with a violent orgasm.
“You feel so fucking good, ‘Mione,” he panted in her ear, groaning as he continued to pound into her, his own orgasm rushing towards him. A half dozen more strokes and he was biting down on her shoulder to stifle his own yells as he exploded inside her.
Ron released her mouth to wrap his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides. He held her to him as he jerked inside her until he was spent. Then he pressed his forehead into her shoulder, breathing hard, his head now pounding to the beat of his heart.
“I think I’m bleeding from your fingernails in my sides,” he panted weakly, the breath pebbling the sweat-dampened skin on her back when he was able to speak again.
“I’m sorry. I was trying not to go face first into the carpet,” she apologized, sliding out of his lap to sit facing him on the floor. “I think these knickers are ruined,” she complained then, kicking them off her legs. “And they might have left permanent marks on my thighs.”

Ron woke in the morning flat on his back with his leg dangling off the side of the bed. Hermione’s hair was in his face again, tickling his nose. She was still asleep, curled into his side with her hand on his chest. He’d slept better than he had in days, his headache from the night before completely gone. It left him feeling totally relaxed and fully rested. He really did hate the middle. If it suited Hermione, she could have it, he decided. Yawning hugely, he blinked his eyes open, spitting out her hair. Besides, it looked like she was right about Harry anyway. He seemed to be just fine during the night with her next to him, Ron thought with relief. He’d be glad to scratch that off his list of worries. He hoped that last night might have fixed some of the problems between them, and in the light of day, he felt a lot better about it than he had last night, the fear and the jealousy he had felt then all but gone now.
He slid her arm off his chest and sat up on the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, his back popping as he stretched one arm over his head and yawned again. Picking up Hermione’s bag, he turned, heading for the bathroom. She’d rolled over, her back to him now, looking to replace his warmth with Harry’s, maybe, but the other side of the bed was empty. Ron stared at the spot a minute in shock, unable to process that Harry wasn’t there. He felt panic setting in immediately.
What the hell?
He hurried around to Harry’s side of the bed to see if he’d fallen out of it or something, but he wasn’t there. Then he turned quickly to the bathroom. The door was closed. He held his breath and listened, but all was silent on the other side. The feelings of panic intensified.
Was Harry in there? he wondered. Was he all right? Was everything that happened yesterday too much for him to take? What was he going to find on the other side of that door?
Shaking, he walked slowly to it, feeling dread creeping in on him. He was picturing Harry like they’d found him that first night, bleeding out into the tub. Oh, God, he wouldn’t, would he? They were past that stage, weren’t they?
His hand was on the door, but he was afraid to open it. Fighting with himself, trying to calm his breathing, he tried the handle. It wasn’t locked, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad sign. He pushed the door open silently and looked inside.
Harry was in the bathtub. His eyes were closed with his head lying against the back of the tub, and his arms draped over the sides. He was deathly still, but the water in the bath was clear, not tinged red. The wounds on Harry’s arms were still sealed and healing, not weeping blood. He saw Harry’s chest rise as his lungs filled with air, and Ron’s whole body sagged. Blowing out a relieved breath, he sucked in an angry one, feeling his ears going red as he came fully into the room.
“You prick!” he shouted, startling Harry so badly that he jerked violently. Water splashed over the sides of the tub and onto the floor as he floundered in frightened alarm.
“What the fuck, Harry?” Ron demanded. Then he heard Hermione come awake on the bed with a start, too, but he was still too angry to care right now.
“What in the hell are you playing at?” he asked, jabbing an accusing finger at Harry then, before he could even open his mouth to reply. Ron felt so angry at him for the fright he’d just given him.
“Ron?” Hermione called from the bedroom. “What’s happened?” she asked, sounding frightened. Then Ron heard her stumbling out of the bed.
“What did I do?” Harry asked bewildered, his eyes round with shock. His voice was still raspy and hoarse, but clearer by far than it had been. “Why are you angry with me?” he continued more quietly, staring up at Ron, genuinely dumbfounded.
Then Hermione was next to him, crowding into the bathroom with them. Gripping her wand, she stared around in confusion. Harry clutched the rag to himself and pulled his knees up. Looking outraged by his lack of privacy, he was starting to get angry himself now at the intrusion.
“I woke up and you weren’t in the bedroom,” Ron shouted. “The bathroom door was shut. What was I supposed to think?” he asked, accusation in his tone as he gesticulated wildly.
“Uh…maybe that I’d like to take a piss for once on my own, in private?” Harry responded indignantly.
They just glared at each other then, the anger seeming to flood out of Ron and into Harry, leaving him feeling foolish at his overreaction. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, I thought you might be carving yourself up like a Christmas turkey in here? Jesus, this day was starting out beautifully. Just about on par with all the others so far. A real fucking mess.
“Feeling better today, then?” Hermione finally asked Harry, ending the staring contest between them as he looked up at her.
“A lot more steady on my feet today, yes,” Harry replied, though his voice was starting to fracture over the words again. “Would it be all right if I finished my bath now, please? Without an audience?” he asked, still clearly irritated, though his words were said softly, trying to prolong his ability to speak them because his voice was in danger of giving out on him again.
“I’m sorry,” Ron apologized to Harry then. “I just panicked, I guess, when you weren’t in bed,” he explained.
Harry nodded his understanding, though it was clear he’d not forgiven the rudeness.
“Would you like me to put the cream on your legs again after you’ve finished your bath?” Hermione asked, trying to relieve the awkwardness that had settled over all of them.
Pointing to the sink where he’d placed the jar, Harry replied coolly, “I’ll do it myself, thanks.”
“All right then,” she said, nodding at the clear dismissal, and pulled on Ron’s hand to drag him out of the room.
Ron paused and dropped Hermione’s bag on the back of the toilet, leaving it for Harry, before he followed Hermione out of the room and closed the door behind him.
“Just once, I’d like to wake up without you two yelling at each other in the bathroom,” she said in exasperation.
Ron just nodded, and crawled back onto the bed to lay face down, feeling stupid. It felt like he and Hermione were taking turns driving Harry mad or something. It was a good thing Harry was getting along more on his own. They all needed a little distance from each other, he thought. They needed to get out of each other’s way. They were crawling all over each other. Harry had never been one to suffer that kind of smothering protection well anyway. He’d lived with it all through their third and fifth years at Hogwarts— people following him around, taking turns guarding him, locking him up for his own protection. Now he and Hermione were doing the same thing to him.
“Ron?” Hermione called, coming over to sit in the chair.
He rolled onto his back, an arm thrown over his forehead.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she said then, and waited.
He lifted his head to stare at her, and she continued.
“Your mother wants to have a birthday party for you, either here or at Muriel’s.,” she announced. “I’m sure she wanted it to be a surprise, but under the circumstances with Harry and all, I thought you should be forewarned. She wants the twins and Ginny to come. And I don’t know how Harry will feel about it, but it’s your party. We could get Remus to stay with Harry and go ourselves to Muriel’s, if you think that would be better. I really don’t think it’s a good idea to take Harry over there, though. He’s still too unpredictable, I think, and it’s still so early in his recovery. Trying to Apparate with him might be inadvisable, too.”
“I didn’t even realize my birthday was coming up,” he said in some surprise, and then after a moment’s thought, “I think we could all use a little Fred and George in our lives right now, especially Harry, and I know he’d want to see Ginny.” He was quiet for several seconds, thinking it over. “It wouldn’t be right to leave him here.”
Ron knew Harry would never stand for it if they tried to bring in a minder for him, even if it was Lupin, because that’s exactly how he’d see it. He was reminded again at how Harry despised being wrapped in cotton, like he was made of glass, or something. Jesus, he wouldn’t like to see how that conversation would go over.
“Hell, they’d all probably be more interested in seeing Harry than me, anyway. Ginny for sure,” he told her. “If they come here, though, I’m not kidding, Hermione, I’m meeting them at the door and giving them an orientation. I’m laying down the ground rules before they ever set eyes on him.”
“Yes, that’s why I thought it best to talk it over with you first. Even if it meant spoiling the surprise for you.”
“You are planning on telling Harry, right?” he asked her, sitting up.
“Well, not until we settle on a plan. I think if we ask him or tell him too soon, he’ll flat refuse.”
“I know he will. Harry’s not going to like this at all,” he warned her.
“I know, but he can’t stay cocooned in this house forever. I don’t want them to show up here without warning and surprise him. I’ve seen how he reacts to that, but I don’t want to give him too much time to panic or stew on it either. I’m afraid he’ll work himself up over it. So I think it’s best to tell him a few hours before they arrive. What do you think?” she asked.
“I think this is going to blow up in our faces, is what I think,” he replied grimly.
“Yes, perhaps,” she agreed. “But you try telling your mother ‘no,’ Ron.”
When Harry finally came out of the bathroom, he was dressed in a pair of his gray pajama bottoms and a red t-shirt. It was a good color on him, Ron thought, but he looked weird for some reason. He just looked different. Fully clothed for the first time in weeks, he appeared a lot less frail with most of his injuries now covered. His thin frame was hidden by the loose-fitting shirt and pajama bottoms he wore. He was pink-skinned and healthy looking from the bath with his damp hair combed as neatly as his would allow, and his chin was smooth again, too. He’d been quite thorough this morning. His eyes were clear and bright, looking more like his old self than Ron had seen in ages. It made him feel hopeful again after the fear he’d felt when he’d found him missing from the bed earlier.
He and Hermione both stood at Harry’s entrance from the bath. Ron started forward to help him, but Harry stilled him with a wave of his hand.
“I can do it,” he said quietly, walking slowly towards them while holding Ron off with his hand.
Harry sure was feeling awfully independent today, Ron thought, which bothered him for some reason. It suddenly seemed like a bad omen. Even though he was just thinking they needed some separation from each other, Ron felt uneasy that Harry was the one initiating it. It felt like he was shutting them out, and he didn’t like it at all.
“My turn,” Hermione called cheerfully as she met Harry in the middle of the room. She reached up to cup his face and kiss his cheek, and Ron watched him stiffen slightly.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she told him as if she hadn’t noticed, tugging her bag from his grip.
Maybe Harry’s reaction was just that he and Hermione were still in a shockingly small amount of clothing. Maybe that was the reason why he was trying to keep them at arm’s length and seeming so distant this morning. Or maybe he was still pissed at them for barging in on him in the bath. They were used to Harry being half-dressed or less, but he wasn’t used to them. Ron was just in his boxers, and Hermione was in Ron’s t-shirt and her panties. No jeans, no bra. Good lord, they definitely needed some distance from each other. This was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Feeling uncomfortably naked now himself, he got off the bed and slid his jeans on from last night, then grabbed his shirt as well, trying to make Harry more comfortable.
“You want to head down?” he asked, tugging the shirt over his head as Harry moved slowly to the side table to collect his journal.
Harry nodded his head in agreement, and then turned back towards the door.
“I still need a quick shower, but I’ll take one downstairs.”
He met Harry at the foot of the bed, but didn’t reach out for him. Letting Harry wrap his arm around his neck, Ron allowed him to decide when he wanted the help. He smelled like mint from the ointment he’d rubbed on his legs, and soap. It was nice. He was warm, too, still fevered. Ron could feel it radiating off of him.
When they’d finally made it to the drawing room, Ron left Harry in Dobby’s care while he finally got his shower. By the time he’d returned, Lupin and Madame Pomfrey had arrived. Lupin looked a lot better since the last visit, and they both stayed through breakfast. The fever was frustrating Madame Pomfrey, but otherwise she pronounced Harry much improved. Although, if Harry’s insides were still feeling like mincemeat today, he wasn’t telling.
He’d come a long way in a very short time considering how badly he was injured, Ron thought. Maybe it was another gift from Greyback, another side effect of the bites. If so, it would be about the only good thing that had happened to him. A little bit faster healing would go a longer way on Harry than just about anyone Ron knew because Harry spent a hell of a lot of time injured. One of the many perks of being The Boy Who Lived, he supposed, grimly.
“Ron and Hermione told me that you used wandless magic at the Malfoy’s, Harry,” Lupin said when breakfast had been cleared away. “Can you tell me about that?” he asked curiously. “Do you remember?”
Harry stalled for time, taking a sip of water from his glass, and stroking the journal in his lap once before deciding to speak instead. It seemed clear to Ron, however, that Harry really didn’t want to discuss it with them at all. There was a lot of painful shit tied up in those memories.
“It happened a couple of times while we were there,” Harry answered finally, keeping his voice low to hold onto it. “When I was really afraid,” he said even more quietly.
He looked ashamed, which was stupid, Ron thought, because there was a hell of a lot to be afraid of there. Hell, he was terrified the whole time and they’d barely touched him. He’d have screamed hysterically if they’d tried to take him like they did Harry, but Harry never made a sound when they came for him. Even after it started and he knew what he was in for. Harry never showed fear, at least not where Ron and Hermione could see him, anyway. Ron certainly didn’t think Harry had anything to be ashamed of.
“It’s happened before, though,” Harry continued. “Even after I’d started Hogwarts. I blew up my aunt before third year, you remember?” he asked Ron and Hermione, and they both nodded. “And I shocked my uncle into turning me loose once when he tried to throttle me.”
“When he did what?” Ron asked, outraged, but Harry merely shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal. He acted as if it was a normal part of life with the muggles, and maybe it was. Ron knew Harry hated it there. He knew the Dursley’s were foul people and his cousin was a great bullying prick, but Harry had always been pretty closemouthed about what went on during the summer hols. Well, Harry was pretty closemouthed about everything, really.
“Can you control it?” Lupin asked then. “Has it only happened when you’re scared?”
“No…well, yes,” Harry answered. “I’m scared most times, but usually really angry, too. And no, I can’t control it, I don’t think. Why?”
“You shielded Ron and me, Harry, before we escaped. You knew what you were doing then,” Hermione interjected, contradicting him. “You used your magic deliberately then. Do you remember that?”
“I don’t have amnesia,” he responded hotly, his anger coming quick today, Ron thought.
Harry pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes closed a minute, getting himself back under control before continuing. “I remember feeling like I was going to explode. Like it was expanding inside me, and I was afraid of hurting both of you because I was certainly planning to hurt somebody,” he growled hoarsely, his fists clenching at his sides, causing the scars on his wrists to go white before releasing them again.
“That’s the first time I can remember knowing it was coming. I don’t think I can control when it happens, but that time I could control it once it started. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, but apparently none of them did because they all just stared at him.
“Do you know how you broke the wards at the Burrow? Or how you Apparated out of Malfoy Manor?” Lupin asked then, but Harry just shook his head.
“No. I just wanted to get out us out of there,” he told Lupin, looking drained. “I think Draco had given us back our wands by then, though.” He shrugged, appearing confused, unsure of the memory.
Surprisingly, Hermione didn’t try to fill in the blanks or contradict him again, but Harry never had a wand. He wouldn’t let Draco near enough to hand them to him. Ron was the one holding all the wands when Harry Apparated with them, or whatever he’d done.
“Well, it’s a very useful tool to have in your arsenal, Harry,” Lupin told him. “Most wizards can’t do much wandless magic. Not of that magnitude, anyway.”
“That’s why your magic was so drained,” Madame Pomfrey spoke then. “It’s much harder to channel magic without a wand. It takes a lot more energy, and in your physical condition… well, it’s remarkable, really.”
Harry didn’t appear to have anything to say to that. He looked extremely uncomfortable with the way the visit had turned into an interrogation. Still, he was handling it pretty well, Ron thought.
Their visitors left not long after, and then the three of them were alone again for a while. Ron didn’t mind the company, but he felt the tension rise in all of them while someone else was here, and he didn’t feel like he could take a proper breath until they’d left again.
His parents came a few hours later, and Ron had the unenviable task of telling his mother that Hermione had leaked her birthday plans to him. She was put out at first, but once he’d convinced her that Hermione had done what she thought was best for all of them, especially where Harry was concerned, she relented. It wasn’t that hard, to be honest. Ron had figured out years ago that you could use Harry as an excuse to get out of just about anything with her, ever since the time he and the twins had stolen the car to rescue Harry from the Dursley’s. As soon as she had seen Harry that morning, her anger at them was all but forgotten. His mum had a serious soft spot for the skinny little messy-haired orphan boy. And Harry played the part beautifully, with those huge doleful eyes. Plus, he flat adored her back, which pretty much sealed the deal. The prat. Still, it came in useful sometimes.
She agreed to keep it quiet around Harry for now, too, which he was still going along with against his better judgment, and they agreed to hold the get-together at dinner the following evening. His birthday wasn’t for two more days, but he really wanted to get this over with. Ron was dreading it already. He just wanted to be on the other side of it.
Before they left, Hermione slipped Mrs. Weasley the address on a piece of parchment spelled for Ginny and the twins’ eyes only. She was being very cautious about that, really controlling who was allowed in, and he was grateful. It was already starting to feel like headquarters of the Order again with the number of people coming and going, and he wasn’t any more eager than Hermione to add to that list. The whole thing made him feel paranoid.
The next day dawned and Harry looked better still. He only needed help managing the stairs now. He was getting around much better on his own. A few good meals in Harry had really helped, he thought. It’s what he’d said all along; all the poor bloke needed was a few dozen sandwiches in him, and he’d be fine.
By early afternoon, however, Ron was really starting to feel panicky about dinner because Hermione still hadn’t told Harry, and she’d said she would. Ron kept glaring at her, but it seemed she hadn’t worked out what she was going to say or hadn’t worked up the nerve. Harry, for his part, must have thought they were having some kind of row. He seemed to be trying to stay clear of both of them, casting worried glances between them.
When she finally got up her courage to tell him, though, Ron was soon wishing she hadn’t. It was even worse than he’d imagined it would be. Harry was furious and nearly hysterical, terrified that they were coming and angry that they hadn’t told him. He shouted until his voice left him again, rendering him mute and even more furious for it. He was so angry there were tears in his eyes. He looked mutinous when she refused to call it off. And then Hermione got mad right back.
“Harry, this is a birthday party for Ron,” she said, trying to guilt him into acquiescence. “If you don’t want to see anybody, then fine, you can carry yourself back upstairs and stay there. But you’re being ridiculous,” she told him.
Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously at the veiled threat to make him manage the stairs on his own. Even Ron gave her a warning look, feeling like she’d gone over the line with that comment. She knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own, at least not without a lot of pain and effort.
“You’ve done fine with Madame Pomfrey, with Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry. It’s just Fred, George, and Ginny,” she reasoned. But when that didn’t work either, she pulled her last card.
“Harry,” she said, pulling a potion flask from her bag, the one Madame Pomfrey had given her with the minty ointment. At the sight of it, Harry’s eyes went wide with fear, and his hands started to shake.
Bad move, Ron thought, big mistake, Hermione. Though for his part he was keeping his fat gob shut. This was her fight, and he didn’t want any part of it. He was just trying to make sure it didn’t get any uglier. He was starting to fear that he was going to have to stupefy one or the other of them before it was over.
“Madame Pomfrey gave me this calming draught when you stopped taking the pain medicine. I asked her for it, just in case,” she confessed. “I think you should take a dose. You’re too worked up, and you’ll still be under its effects by the time they arrive,” she told him. “That way you won’t have to worry. You’ll be calm and everything will be just fine.”
Ron held his tongue, though he thought it was shitty to ask Harry to drug himself up for a stupid party. Damn it! He knew this whole thing was a bad idea.
Harry just stared at her. He looked devastated at what Hermione was asking from him, trying to blink back tears. Then he nodded his head in defeat, finally giving in to her. Hermione looked relieved, but that’s not the way Ron felt at all as he watched a tear escape down Harry’s cheek when he took the dose she offered him. He felt dread. He felt like she’d just broken something inside Harry. She might be the smartest witch of her age, but this was the dumbest idea she’d ever had. Ron was sure of it.
A full ten minutes before his family were due to arrive, he’d set up camp in the entrance hall. Sitting on the bottom step of the landing, Ron waited anxiously for them, though not because he was eager to get this party started. Instead, it couldn’t possibly be over soon enough for his liking. This day hadn’t begun well, and Ron didn’t see it ending well either.
The potion Hermione had given Harry had sure done its job, though. He was nearly catatonic again on the couch in the drawing room, and he had been for the last two hours. His face was slack and his eyes were dull. He barely moved, and he hadn’t spoken a single word since she’d dosed him. It was terrifying. He hadn’t even assisted or resisted Hermione when she threaded his limp arms through a flannel shirt she’d brought down in an attempt to hide the worst of the scarring on his arms. She’d hoped that it would make him feel less self conscious, but it seemed hardly necessary, since he barely appeared conscious at all, Ron thought. Oh, God, he was dreading this. Even Hermione had started to look like she wanted to back out now at the state Harry was in.
Hurry up and get here so we can get this over with, he thought nervously, feeling like he might go insane before his family arrived. He even contemplated asking them to leave as soon as they arrived, but he knew his mother would be devastated, and she and Ginny would probably insist on at least seeing Harry before they would agree to go. There was just no help for it, he realized. It was too late to turn back. Happy birthday to me, he thought miserably.
When his family suddenly materialized, they were greeted with the now-familiar specter of Dumbledore’s dusty ghost. Ginny and the twins hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet, and Ginny screamed before her father spoke the words to make him vanish while Ron stood watching them grimly, blocking the stairs.
“Hi,” he greeted them solemnly when they’d finally noticed him. “Right, here’s how this is going to go,” he started without preamble. “Before you step foot on these stairs, we’re setting down some ground rules when it comes to Harry. First,” he held up a finger, “you don’t grab him, you don’t run at him, you don’t startle him in any way. Nobody’s talking about Death Eaters, Snape, or You Know Who. No asking where we’ve been or what we’ve been up to. No ogling him, no moaning about how thin and frail he is or anything like that to draw attention to him or make him uncomfortable. You break any of those rules and I’ll toss you back out on your ear before you even know what’s happened. I don’t care who you are. Understand?” he asked sternly. “If Harry even looks like he’s under stress, you’re gone, and if he falls asleep, the party’s over. Got it?” He finally finished to stunned silence. All of them just stood there with their mouths open at his greeting.
“Well,” George finally said, finding his voice. “It’s really great to see you, too, little brother.”
“Yeah. What a gracious welcome,” Fred agreed. “Makes me sorry you’ve been away so long.”
“Funny,” Ron replied without a trace of amusement. “You two can take the piss out of me all night if you want. Just lay off Harry.”
“No one’s going to heckle anyone, Ron,” his father said reassuringly.
“Ron, you’re starting to scare me,” Ginny finally said tentatively. “He is still Harry, isn’t he?”
He stared at her a minute, taking in the worry lines that had formed around her eyes and mouth. “Yeah, Gin, he’s still Harry,” he replied. “But he’s been through a lot and he’s still recovering. I’m sorry I was so harsh, but it’s as much for your protection as his. Things can be pretty…unpredictable right now with him.”
He then turned, leading them up the stairs into the drawing room, feeling like he was walking to his doom. Everyone was totally silent behind him. Even Fred and George seemed to be taking him seriously.
“They’re here,” he announced as he walked through the doorway. Trying to sound nonchalant, Ron attempted to look relaxed.
Harry was in his usual place on the far end of the couch, but Hermione was sitting right beside him with her hand on his knee to keep him calm. It was obvious to Ron that she was trying to use herself as a buffer between everyone else and Harry, hoping to keep them at a distance.
His mother followed him into the room, greeting Harry and Hermione warmly as if everything were completely normal, as if there wasn’t so much tension in the room that they could all hardly breathe. His dad did the same, but the twins and Ginny hovered around the door. They all looked around nervously for a minute, still mindful of Ron’s warnings, perhaps, but then Ginny finally gathered her courage and brushed past them into the room.
Harry had hardly acknowledged Ron’s parents’ entrance. His eyes had locked on Ginny as soon as she rounded the doorway. The dullness had finally left his eyes. Now he looked utterly terrified and totally enthralled at the same time when she smiled at him. Ron watched him squeeze the ball in his fist and grip his journal to stop the slight tremor starting up in his hands.
“Hey, Harry,” Ginny called casually and then looked immediately to Hermione as she walked towards them, appearing utterly relaxed. “Hey, Hermione.”
She leaned down to hug Hermione and then Harry, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you guys. I’ve missed you terribly. Even Ron,” she said jokingly, glancing at him as if judging his reaction to her entrance. Then she moved to take a chair closest to Harry, one of several Hermione had conjured for the occasion.
Hermione’s grip had tightened on Harry’s knee when Ginny approached, and Ron clutched the wand he’d held in his hand since they’d arrived, but Harry merely looked like he’d been hit with a powerful Confundus charm when Ginny sat down. The potion was making his movements sluggish. His mouth was slightly open as his eyes slowly followed her progress.
“Hello, Harry, Hermione,” George said then, nodding at them. “Ron’s already given us a real warm welcome downstairs. It was almost as friendly as that apparition you have in the foyer.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Fred agreed. “But we’re glad we came anyway. It’s still better than being at Aunt Muriel’s. Every time she sees us, she looks like someone just set off a dung bomb in the room.”
“Of course, it’s probably because there’s about fifty owls coming and going from her place every day, now our shop’s closed down,” George explained.
“So business is still good then?” Hermione asked, relaxing a bit when Harry hadn’t gone off like a bomb when they arrived.
“Oh, yeah,” said George. “Things are brilliant.”
“Well,” his mother interrupted brightly, trying to steer the conversation away from work, which had set Harry off once before. “I thought we’d just have a little dinner party in here with finger foods mostly, nothing formal, so we can all spend some time together. Give us some time to catch up.”
Ron started to relax, too, once everyone’s nerves had settled a bit. His mum set up a buffet with Dobby’s help, which she loaded down with all his favorite foods. There was a tense moment when Harry got to his feet to make himself a plate like everyone else. They all watched him, but tried not to, as he swayed a bit before steadying himself. Ginny rose with him before Hermione could, sliding her hand around his upper arm to help support him.
“Oh, I’m starving, too,” she told him to cover up the help she was giving him, as if it weren’t her motivation. “We better hurry or Ron will have eaten all the good stuff,” she teased lightly, leaning into Harry conspiratorially.
“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry mumbled, barely above a whisper, though the whole room was listening. His words sounded slurred from the effects of the potion, and he went a bit red when he spoke them, clearly embarrassed.
“Oh, you know, I’m just looking out for all of us. I remember how much Ron likes to eat,” she said with a laugh, pretending to misunderstand his thanks and ignore his embarrassment.
Ron felt like a real arse. That fucking potion was a bad idea. It was way too strong for Harry. It shouldn’t make him a slobbering mess like it had. Maybe Hermione had given him too much, but it was making him seem worse than he was. This party was wiping away all that he’d gained back for himself over the last couple of weeks. He’d yelled his voice away again earlier, and now he looked drunk and stupid on top of that.
They’d stripped Harry of his dignity, and he was probably never going to speak to either of them again after tonight. Ron wouldn’t blame him one bit if he didn’t. Harry would probably be beating the hell out of both of them right now if he could throw off its effects. Ron couldn’t help but glare at Hermione then, though he felt bad about that, too, when he caught her eye. She looked miserable for being the cause of it.
Slowly, Harry and Ginny headed for the table together, and everyone else seemed to suddenly realize they were all still supposed to be playing along, too, and hurried to catch up. When they’d loaded their plates, Ginny steered Harry back to the couch and took Hermione’s place next to him on it. Ron watched Hermione’s reaction with a touch of amusement. She looked put out at having Harry pried away from her as she watched them with a bit of jealousy from her new position on the chair Ginny had previously been occupying. Harry only had eyes for Ginny, though. The rest of them could have been dancing around the room totally starkers and Ron didn’t think Harry would have noticed.
He marveled at how easily Ginny moved around Harry from the minute she walked in the room. She’d really set the tone for the others. Even though they’d all snuck worried glances at him and watched him out of the corners of their eyes, Ginny seemed determined to be as normal as possible around him, though Harry had yet to speak another word to anyone, including her.
When they’d all settled down to eat, Ron finally let himself relax and enjoy himself a bit. It was his birthday party, after all, and Fred and George had brought butterbeer, which he hadn’t had in a very long time. He would’ve preferred firewiskey right now to settle his nerves, but he was excited just the same. In another act of unexpected thoughtfulness, George pulled the cap on every bottle as he passed them out so Harry wouldn’t have to struggle with it or have someone else do it for him.
“This is just butterbeer, right?” Ron asked before taking a sip.
“Of course,” Fred said with a laugh.
“You first then,” he replied, and waited until both the twins took a swig of their bottles, grinning madly at him. Of course, that still wasn’t an indication that the rest of theirs weren’t spiked with something, but Ron decided to risk it.
Things started to smooth out after that. His mum had made him a chocolate birthday cake, and the twins had given him a brand new chess set where all the pieces were different magical creatures made out of crystal. The pawns were all Goblins, the knights were Centaurs, and the rooks were Trolls. It was quite beautiful and must have been very expensive. Ron was really eager to play. It had been so long since he’d had a game.
Ginny picked up the white queen and studied it. It was a Veela, and she smirked as she turned it in her hand, showing it to Harry.
“This reminds me of a conversation we had on your birthday, Harry, before you left,” she said to him. “You haven’t met any of these in your travels, have you?” she teased, and to Ron’s utter astonishment, Harry’s lips quirked up in an unmistakable grin for just a moment before he shook his head and looked away from her shyly.
“You wanna play, Ginny?” Ron asked her eagerly, and she agreed.
He quickly set it up on the coffee table and dragged a chair up to sit across from her. It was a lot more interesting than normal because each magical creature had a different fighting style than any of the regular chess sets he’d played with before. The goblins were particularly vicious, stabbing and hacking each other. The Centaurs shot with their bows and the Trolls swung their clubs.
It was the most exciting game he’d ever played, and Ginny was giving him a run for his money, too. She always was pretty competitive. Everyone in the room had taken sides. All awkwardness around Harry was forgotten, the excitement of the game letting him blend into the background. It allowed Harry to watch quietly while the others cheered, and he and Ginny bantered back and forth.
Fred and George whooped when her beautiful Veela queen’s features changed, turning birdlike when she attacked and hurled flames at his Centaur. Even Hermione, who thought the wizard version of the game was barbaric, couldn’t help but root for his black pieces. After a long battle he had Ginny in check again for the third time before she was finally out of moves and accepted defeat.
“That was an excellent game, Ron.” His father praised him, clapping his hands together and getting to his feet, stretching his back after sitting for so long. Ron also got up and replaced the pieces in their velvet-lined box and then carried it to the buffet table as Dobby brought in more tea.
“Thanks, Fred, George, it’s really...” he began, but broke off when a ball of light fell through the ceiling into the middle of the room. Before he could comprehend what it was or react at all, it had expanded and unfolded into a brilliant white doe.
Everyone gasped in surprise at its sudden appearance while it turned its head to face Harry. Then it spoke in a voice that was unmistakably Snape’s.
“We need to meet. Friday at noon, at the place where she led you.”
Ron stood frozen as the doe faded, still seeing her ghostly image every time he blinked his eyes from her glaring brilliance. Feeling suddenly terrified as he watched Harry’s stunned face turn to horror, Ron saw his gaping jaw snap closed and lock. That moved him to action. His feet came unstuck, his limbs finally moving.
“Out!” he bellowed, watching in terror as Harry started to shake all over. “I want everybody out of here now!”
Ron felt like he was moving in slow motion. He’d left his wand on the coffee table, letting his guard down, foolishly believing that everything was under control.
“Shit, Hermione!” he warned, but she was already coming out of her chair, moving towards Harry.
She drew her wand while Ron started yanking stunned family members bodily from their chairs and shoving them towards the door.
Fuck! Fuck! He knew this was going to blow up in their faces.

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- 16
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What it comes down to

Chapter 17. Birthday Surprises