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White Balloons	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Ron Views: 3342 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off of it. If I did, Snape would have gotten shagged more. A lot more.

Chapter List
- 1-White Balloons
- 1
A/N: written as a birthday gift for the
awesome Starstruck86. For the record, I'm not a Snape/Ron-shipper,
but it's her favorite, so I did my best. It's Ron, to be honest.
I've never written him as more than a side-character because although
I think he's cute I've just never really gotten any 'sexy' vibes from
him. That makes writing Ron-centric fics a bit difficult, I'm sure
you can imagine. If you're a Snape/Ron fan though (or even if you're
just plain willing to give the pairing a shot), I can't suggest her
fics enough – she's brilliant. 'Rivalry', in particular, I just
adore. 'Seraphim Beneath the Christmas Tree' is also brilliant.

In any case, she was happy with this
story, so it must not be as bad as I feel like it is. Very tame
though – some suggestive dialogue and a brief mention of
wanking, but no sex.

Inspired by the song 'White Balloons'
by Sick Puppies from the 'Tri-Polar' album.

White Balloons

He could count the times he'd seen Severus Snape since the Battle of
Hogwarts on one hand. The first had been dragging his miraculously
breathing 'corpse' out of the Shrieking Shack at four thirty in the
morning with Harry the day after their not-so-glorious victory. Far
too many people had died for it to ever be 'glorious'. Only children
ever thought of battles as glorious, anyway, and at eighteen, Ronald
Weasley could no longer pretend to be a child. The second time,
Snape had been comatose and wan. He couldn't count how many nights
he sat up with Harry, who took it as a personal failure that the man
who'd spent half his life protecting him couldn't be protected from
the cold, hard reality that life was not interminable. Harry so
often seemed to think magic could solve anything – came from
being raised by muggles, Ron figured. A book of spells was always
the first place Hermione looked to solve a problem too. It was
probably at least half the reason they weren't together now. The
other half, well, that was definitely not something magic
could fix.

Ron stared at a wonky bit of garland that refused to hang right and
put his hands on his hips in disdain. He just didn't have the proper
delicacy for decorating. He wanted nothing more than to beat the
rogue fluff of silver into submission, but he knew that would only
send the whole string toppling down and he'd been trying to fasten it
up properly for half an hour. He felt rather put off that all he had
to show for his efforts was a fluffy curly-cue pointing towards the
Great Hall's enchanted ceiling and a dusting of glitter in his hair
and across the bridge of his nose. The stuff was like a disease –
it refused to come off and he was sure that every time he touched it
it had little glittery babies that made him look poofier than he'd
ever dared to poof. George had been thrilled to tell him so, too.
It was nice, Ron supposed, that George had managed to find something
worth laughing about, even if that something happened to be his
late-blooming sexuality and the second reason his engagement with
Hermione had been over almost before it had started. The third
reason, for the record, was Oliver Wood's incredibly toned arse in a
pair of leathers and entirely too much booze spiraling Ron on the
fast track toward a very personal epiphany and a limp to match his
hangover the next morning.

Ron rubbed his glitter-crusted hands on his jeans before glowering
down at the glitter babies the act had apparently created. He was
certain someone must have charmed the damn batch, and as George had
been in understandably dismal mood all week, Ron's money was on
Charlie.

Anyway, what had he been thinking about? Right. Snape. He didn't know
why he was thinking about Snape, but figured sometimes a line of
thought just gets stuck in your head and you have to see it through
to the end or it'll drive you batty. 'Heh. Batty Snape.' The
third time he saw Batty ol' Severus Snape had been right after the
Wood debacle and the vicious death of his engagement and his hopes of
ever having children, which, to be honest, he still wasn't sure
whether or not he wanted. He'd gone along with Harry to visit St.
Mungo's at lunch break the day they got word that Severus had woken
up. When they walked in the nurse was giving him hell. He was
standing by the window looking accosted as she lectured him about
being too weak to be out of bed, let along walking about. Ron
snickered to himself as he remembered the way Snape had said “Unhand
me, witch! I am injured, not a toddler.” He
passed out almost immediately afterward and Ron and Harry had been
recruited to get him back into bed. Resting Snape's head on the
pillow was when Ron had realized he rather had a fancy for blokes
with long hair – the way it fell out all inky black against the
starch white pillowcase, how surprisingly soft it had felt sliding
across the back of his hand... Yes, he definitely fancied long-haired
blokes – not Snape, of course not! That would be mental!
...but, you know, in general.

Now Snape was finally let out of the hospital. He'd spent the past
quarter of a year resting at home – wherever home was,
Ron had never asked – and undergoing rigorous physical therapy
to get his body and his magic back up to snuff. Neither was quite
where it should be, but Ron turned to find the man – hair tied
back into a loose knot at the nape of his neck with a few strands
spilling out across his jaw as he spelled white balloons full of hot
air – looking more peaceful than he could ever remember seeing
him. 'Rather sad, that, considering the way he's frowning as if
the damned balloons have insulted his honor,' Ron thought.

Harry had enlisted Snape as part of the 'First Anniversary Battle of
Hogwarts Memorial Celebration Decorating Committee'. Ron had tried to
get his mind around the acronym for that, but after 'FAB' his brain
simply refused to compute the rest. In any case, Harry claimed it
would do Snape good to see other people, maybe look at something
other than the paint peeling, and get some fresh air. Snape had
apparently been surprisingly agreeable, or at the very least, he
didn't disagree, which was more or less the same thing. Ron couldn't
even begin to understand why someone as distinguished as Severus
Snape would waste his Saturday afternoon casting inflation charms on
bubbles of white latex, but he was sure the reason was something that
Snape would find blatantly obvious and anyone else would think
blatantly retarded. He got the feeling Snape was that kind of guy –
high moral fiber and what not. Ron liked to think he had some moral
fiber too, of course, but he didn't think being a decent guy and
being a glutton for punishment were the same thing. If the way
Snape's hand was shaking was any sign, it was an opinion the
dark-haired man wasn't all that likely to share with him.

'Please Ron?' Harry had said.
'Just keep an eye on him for a bit? He'll over-exert
himself if someone isn't there to tell him when enough's enough.'

Ron's answer had been a frank, 'I'd really rather that someone
were you. He won't kill you...' He'd been joking. Mostly.
But he didn't think just going up to Snape and saying 'hey stop that
before you faint' was going to get him very far. It might get him a
good Snape-certified 'Glare of Doom', and while being on the
receiving end of one of Snape's glares might be a bit nostalgic, he
doubted it would get the man to put his wand aside.

He watched for a moment as the older man pursed his lips, murmured
the incantation, and the balloon inflated, then the string was
spelled out and the gap sealed in one smooth move, excepting a little
wobble at the end where Snape's hand quivered. The quivering was
notably worse when he leaned forward to fasten the string to the
trolly. He'd nearly lost it twice while trying to tie the knot and
Ron got the impression he was hoping that nobody noticed.

'Tea!' Ron thought. 'Right,
that's brilliant! When all else fails, make tea. Mum says tea will
solve just about any problem, and he'll have to put something
down to hold the bloody cup. A tea break it is, then.'

When he held the cup out towards Snape with what he hoped was a very
well-intentioned and not overdone smile, the older man looked from
the tea to the glitter-dusted young redhead offering it and quirked a
brow, tilting his head marginally in inquiry. “What did you do
to it, Weasley?”

Ron said what he usually said when accused of something – the
first thing that came to mind. “Aprodisiac, because you're
just sooo hot I have to have you.” His tone was
flat and dry, and he regretted the words as soon as he'd said them,
but Snape's famous temper didn't rise to the challenge.

'Fine, I get the point,'
Severus thought. 'A face not even a mother could love. I
am well aware of it, Ronald Weasley, without being reminded.' He
tucked his wand away, in no mood for verbal sparring in his current,
weakened state, and accepted the spell-warmed cup, slumping back a
bit into his chair. Even so, Ron's words did require some kind of
witty reply. “I imagine Miss Granger would be rather put out
to find you on the wrong team.”

Ron very nearly missed his seat as
the image of the look on Hermione's face when she walked in on him
getting it off in the bathroom with an enchanted dildo and a gay
porno mag. He never thought he'd live through anything more
mortifying than the robes he'd had to wear to the Yule Ball in his
fourth year, but he'd been very, very wrong. That really wasn't how
she should have found out. He was looking for the right time to tell
her properly, call off the engagement and what-not...but her bladder
and his hormones had apparently had other plans. They'd...talked
about it (or more like around it, never mentioning specifics), but
all they seemed to agree on was that it was a subject that should
never, ever be breached again...well, that and the fact that they
would most definitely not
be getting married.

It was a small miracle that he managed to land in the seat without
spilling tea all over himself. “Er, well, yeah, I think 'put
out' is a rather nice way to describe it, actually,” Ron
admitted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Snape gave pause, and Ron found his
embarrassment overcome by the startled expression that crossed the
normally stoic older man's features. 'So even you can give
me that look, huh?'

But Snape recovered quickly. “Well, good for you then, finally
freed yourself from the dregs of mediocrity, have you?”

Ron frowned, putting his tea aside. “What's that supposed to
mean?”

Severus sighed at him. “Relax, Weasley. I wasn't insulting
you.” At least he hadn't said that with the sole and explicit
intent of insulting him. “I just meant that it is heartening
to know you've finally decided to take your life into your own hands,
rather than living it yapping at Potter's heels.”

Ron wanted to be insulted, but he had to admit that Snape was right.
He had spent the bulk of his life doing things because Harry
wanted to do them, doing them because Hermione wanted to do
them...convincing himself that he wanted to do those things too, but
being Auror was shite work that he knew he'd never have taken on if
it wasn't what Harry wanted to do, and he was obviously not up to the
task of marrying and making babies, either. “I guess you've
got me there,” he admitted reluctantly. “I just wanted
to make sure the three of us would always be together, so I guess I
convinced myself into thinking I wanted all the things that they
wanted.”

“Except that you didn't.”

“Except that I didn't,” Ron confirmed a little sadly.
'Except that I'm still doing all that shite and I don't want any
of it. I just want...'

“Something quiet,” Snape said.

'Exactly. Something quiet. Wait. What?'
“What?”

“I was just thinking aloud. Never mind it.”

“No, it was about me, so bloody tell me,” Ron insisted.

“I was just wondering what you would have done with yourself if
not for Potter's influence. I rather think it would have been
something notably more quiet.” Deducing that Ron actually
wanted him to continue his analysis, Snape thoughtfully added.
“You're most like the second of your red-haired troupe, if I
must compare, so I think perhaps you would have enjoyed working with
your hands, not Care of Magical Creatures, certainly, after learning
under that oaf, Hagrid.”

Ron opened his mouth to defend Hagrid, but remembered the blast-ended
screwts and winced before he could come up with an adequate reply.

“Perhaps...” But Snape shook his head and trailed off.

“No, tell me,” Ron said, honestly curious now. He hated
to admit it, but so far Snape had him pegged.

“...I can imagine you as a broom maker.” It felt stupid
now that Severus had said it, but Ron suddenly laughed a rather warm
laugh that made the stupidity of it all falter a bit.

“That sounds like it might
have been fun,” Ron admitted. It would have been quiet work,
not a lot of contact with the outside world, but he'd have been able
to make his own hours. There would be excursions, picking out the
right wood and such, not sticking behind a desk all day, but not
chasing down dark wizards and trying not to die before dinner,
either. “I could have had a small, independent shop off the
beaten path somewhere, done custom jobs,” he joked, stretching
out his long legs. “And I'd be so bloody brilliant at it, I'd
get tickets to all the best Quidditch matches as a special thank you
gift.” He laughed at the ridiculousness of the little fantasy.
He wouldn't trade Harry and Hermione for the world, but he had to
admit that his life would have been massively different if he
hadn't spent so much time risking it while he was at Hogwarts, just
being a normal kid with normal dreams. What would that have been
like? “But you know, there's one thing missing from that
daydream.”

“Oh?”

“A bloke,” Ron said with a smirk. “Someone to give
that second ticket to.”

“Charming and handsome, I'm sure,” Severus answered
blandly, setting the empty teacup aside and picking up his wand
again. There were still quite a few balloons to finish.

Ron shrugged. “I'm not a flashy sort of guy,” he said.
“I don't need Mr. Perfect. I'd be perfectly happy with
someone, you know, sort of ordinary, I guess, but who's good to me.
Maybe we'd fight sometimes, and he probably wouldn't be the sort of
guy who'd make girls swoon, or whatever, but...”

“He would be real,” Snape blanketed as if he understood
perfectly the phrase that Ron was struggling for.

“Yeah, that's it exactly. Someone real. That's the most
important part of any fantasy.”

'That's the most important part of any life,'
Severus thought, finding he
understood Ronald Weasley much, much better than he'd ever thought
possible now that he'd taken a moment to actually listen to him
speak. He very nearly opened his mouth to imply that Ron was young
yet and there was plenty of time to find that someone, but just as he
was thinking of the uncharacteristic kindness, Ron spoke again.

“Of course, in my fantasy, Mr. Real also happens to be Mr.
Really Equipped,” Ron joked. “It's a fantasy after all,
right?”

Snape was glad he was no longer
drinking tea. He would have choked on it. As it was, the balloon he
was inflating shot clear across the room and beaned Bill in the back
of the head. Ron started laughing his peculiarly melodious laugh
before waving his hand and saying something that Snape was certain he
must have misheard.

'Did he just say 'fill me up, I'll take it?'
“What?” Severus asked.

“I said, you fill 'em up, I'll take 'em. You know, tie 'em to
the trolly.”

“Oh.” He passed the next white balloon over.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Severus replied flatly.

“Well, you can hardly get on me about being rather like a puppy
yapping at Harry's heels if you answer his every beck and call.”

“That's different,” Severus replied tightly. “It
would appear to be my fate to owe life debts to Potters. You know as
well as I that if he had not dragged you back to the Shrieking Shack
for my corpse, I would not be alive today. As such, if the
insufferable brat wants me to inflate balloons all Saturday
afternoon, then I will inflate balloons. As we are not currently at
war, this is the only way I can begin to repay him.”

Ron got the distinct feeling that
Severus Snape would rather spy on ten Voldemorts than sit here
inflating party decorations but let the subject slide. The
conversation thus far hadn't only been civil, it had very nearly been
friendly, and Ron found himself hesitant to ruin that. He got the
impression without the war and all the secret keeping and what not,
Snape might actually be a decent bloke who just really needed a
chance. Harry was all for giving second and third and fourteenth
chances (so long as your name didn't happen to be Malfoy), but Ron
had never been quite so gullible – forgiving, he
corrected the bitter, sarcastic little voice in his head that often
reminded him how much drama came with the title of 'Harry Potter's
best friend', even now. Only about half of it had to do with the
press. The other half, Ron thought, might have a little something to
do with the fact that he'd really rather had it up to here with the
bossy and bossier routine Harry and Hermione often dragged him
through. Now that the immediate drama of his canceled engagement had
passed, he had one saying there was 'really nothing wrong with acting
a bit gay' and the other suggesting he 'tone it down' very firmly
when they found the tee he slept in was a lovely shade of 'forgot to
separate the washing pink'. He slept in the damn thing! They could
just bugger off. Well, maybe the occasional bit of bossy was good
for him, or he went on these ridiculous mental tirades, but for the
moment he just wanted to take things at his own pace for once.

When he realized Snape was holding out another balloon, watching the
thought parade dance across his features with a bemused sort of
expression sparkling in his dark eyes he blushed and came up with the
first possible thing to say so he didn't have to account for his
strange behavior. “I guess you'll be going to the party, then?”

“I don't imagine Potter will let me get out of it,” Snape
answered.

“Not much of a people person, are you?”

“Not as a general rule,” Severus answered blandly.
“Though I'll admit to having met a few exceptions.”

“A few?” Snape had fancied Harry's mum, but Ron had to
admit to being curious about the others.

“A few,” Severus answered tightly, implying Ron should
drop it.

“A few friends? Or a few
friends?” Ron
asked, chiding himself for how interested he was in just what sort of
person registered as one of Snape's 'exceptions'. It was really none
of his business.

“That is rather none of your business,” Snape replied.

“Obviously,” Ron answered. “If it was, it wouldn't
be nearly as fun.”

Severus didn't know why he was
humoring the young man. 'It's the red hair. I've always
been weak against redheads. Damn the lot of them.'
“Sometimes both, more often neither,” he replied, “and
I am under no obligation to say anything further.”

Ron made a face at him like he was ruining all of his fun. Severus
answered with a sigh. “I refuse to humor your petulant sense
of humor without getting anything in return, Ronald.”

Ron suddenly guffawed. “Ronald?
Oh Merlin, please
don't call me that. Only my Mum
calls me that, and usually only when she's right peeved at me about
something.”

Severus didn't even know why he'd used the young man's first name.
He presumed it had something to do with the fact that there were so
many damned Weasleys about he felt he ought to be more specific.
“Weasley...” he corrected flatly.

“Ron,” Ron replied firmly. “It's only one syllable.
I know you've got something against saying any word that has less
than ten letters in it, but give it a try, huh? You might like it.”

“I am fully capable of...” Ron was already grinning
impishly at him before he finished the unnecessarily verbose
sentence. “...Ron,” he amended quickly as if the very
taste of the abbreviation in his mouth had somehow insulted his
intelligence.

“Don't give me that look,” Ron complained. “I like
my name. Short, simple, to the point...easy to cry out in the throes
of passion.” He grinned, not sure why he threw in the
flirtatious comment at the end. “Yours, on the other hand...”

“It is my given name,” Severus snipped. “I refuse
to butcher it to suit someone's whims.” Lily was the
exception. She could have called him 'turnip' and he wouldn't have
questioned it as long as she was calling him at all, but that was
long, long ago. He doubted there would be anyone else he cared for
enough in his life to butcher his name over.

Ron really didn't know what he was
thinking when he stood up after the last balloon had been tied off
and leaned over the older man with a wicked smirk. “Well then,
Severus,” the
name melted on his tongue like butter and Snape found his
insufferable body responding to the sensual tone. He managed to keep
his mask of indifference in
place – at least from the waist up – without undue
effort. His thick robes would save him from the rest if Ron
continued to tease him with that tone. “I wonder what I could
possibly offer you in return for the chance to get inside your head,
hm? What could I possibly
give you that you'd want...” 'Why in the bloody hell
are you flirting with Snape, Ron?! He'll kill you. He's definitely
straight. Madly in love with Harry's mum n'all...and twice your
age.' But there was just
something about it all that was rather like being drunk. He knew he
was going to regret it, but couldn't help indulging a bit. 'I
can think of a few things I might like to offer, if there's any truth
in that old wives' tale about guys with big noses being
big...elsewhere.' He threw
himself back to his seat before the joke could go too far and offered
an impish grin that he hoped would inspire a 'no hard feelings' look
in Severus. He didn't know what to make of the intense, inky gaze
staring back at him.

“You've certainly gotten well
over your lost engagement quickly,” Snape said tightly. That
was not the behavior
of a man who had just broken off an engagement with his childhood
sweetheart due to an unfortunate new found gayness. If Ron were
normal, he would be more timid, more uncertain of himself. He
certainly wouldn't be hovering over thirty-nine year old men with
bedroom eyes. But Ron was Harry's best friend, and therefore had his
own peculiarities.

Ron frowned a bit. “I wouldn't say I'm over it, exactly. I
mean, more or less, I suppose. I owe that to you, actually.”

“To me?”

“Yeah. Do you remember that day Harry and I came to poke in on
you and you were arguing with the nurse about how you were 'fully
capable of determining the state of your own health' before you
passed out?”

“...not particularly,” Severus lied. It had been
humiliating to be proven wrong. But he would have been just fine if
the woman hadn't agitated him so!

“Well, anyway,” Ron
replied, “I remember it pretty well. After we called it all
off and when I was freaking out about being gay and what that meant
to my life and everything...right when I was at my most pathetic, I
kept thinking about you fighting tooth and nail just to be
alive, and my problems seemed
pretty worthless by comparison. I guess I started thinking 'if he
can live through being mauled by a killer snake, then I can
definitely survive this.' You were sort of like...my strength.”
Ron didn't know why he'd admitted that. It hadn't sounded nearly as
stupid in his head.

“...Lupin,” Snape said after a pregnant pause.

“Come again?”

“I found Lupin to be entirely tolerable, provided he wasn't
surrounded by the rest of the troupe of idiots he kept as friends,”
he answered. “And if I must admit it, then I suppose Minerva
has had moments in which I found her...outstandingly reliable.”
She also had her moments when Snape found her absolutely
intolerable, but for the insight into Ron's psyche that had been so
aptly tied to his own struggles, he answered the question.

“So those would be two for the
'neither' category, would they? Dare I ask for one from the 'both'
side?” Ron didn't know why he was so curious. 'Maybe
because even after all that's happened, this is the first time you're
looking at him as a fellow member of the human race, Ron,'
a little voice in his head that sounded disturbingly like his brother
Bill quipped. Ron had long ago stopped wondering why his conscience
always sounded like Bill. It was just one of those mysteries of
psychology he thought he was probably way better off not knowing.

Snape fell quiet. Both, huh? There was one that fit the bill but...it
was so very, very complicated. “....Black,” he said at
last, “the younger.”

Ron's goofy grin was quick to evaporate. 'Black, the younger' –
those three simple words gave far more information than Severus Snape
was ever wont to give on anything. Ron felt it particularly apt that
a man who loved ten points word managed to say so very much with
hardly any words at all. Point one – two people Snape had been
involved with had died horribly because of Voldemort. One he
definitely loved, the other he was, at the very least, shagging. It
also told Ron in no uncertain terms that Severus Snape wasn't as
heterosexual as he'd believed. His mouth worked, but no sound came
out through the shock. “I...sorry,” he muttered
awkwardly. “You didn't have to answer if it was...I mean...”

“It was a long time ago, Ron. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Did you love him?” Ron blurted out before his brain
caught up with his mouth.

Again Severus gave pause as if finding the right way to answer.
Eventually he said, “I was...fond of him, but it wasn't love.”

'Because you already loved Lily. You're the kind of loyal guy who
can only ever really love one person at a time, aren't you? But if
Lily had lived, if Regulus had lived, if all the tragedy wasn't
etched so deeply into you, you might have grown to love him. But
now...what now, Severus? You survived, and you weren't planning to.
What is there for you now?'

Severus quirked a brow. “If you would kindly stop trying to
read my mind...” Severus stated blandly. “You look as
though you're going to give yourself an aneurism.”

Ron smiled sheepishly. “Are you, you know...out? I
mean, I don't want to slip if it's like...”

“I am nothing in particular,” Severus answered blandly,
“As I have neither an abundance of offers or a desire to pursue
them. I have had more than enough drama in my life.”

“Now you just want some quiet time,” Ron answered.
“Well, fair warning then, if I get drunk enough at the party, I
might ask you to dance.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I'm a piss poor dancer, step on toes and
everything, and I'm a bloody clod when I'm drunk.”

“I will make sure to slip out unnoticed after your second
firewhiskey,” Snape replied tersely.

Ron offered another stupid grin. “You ought to be safe until
at least the third.” In theory, anyway.

**

Once Charlie and George had finished relating to Harry how he'd 'all
but climbed into Snape's lap', Ron knew it was time to put his tail
between his legs and retreat. Anything he said would only make
Harry's grin widen, anyway, and his bloody impish green eyes sparkle
even more merrily. He grimaced at the 'older men' comment that
chased him out of the Great Hall, and took the floo home to get his
mind around the bizarre day.

The next afternoon when he was getting dressed (in new robes at last!
Now that he had decent robes he thought it was actually nice to get
all done up once in a while – he still had no intention
of making a habit of it, though) the only conclusion he seemed to
have come to with any degree of certainty was that Snape would
probably be a damn good chess partner. He hadn't played a good game
of chess in ages. Harry, as much as he tried, was just bloody awful.

Ron rubbed his hand over his face and sighed at his reflection.
Whether or not Snape would be good at chess, he damn well knew was
irrelevant. One conversation and suddenly Severus Snape was wickedly
interesting, a man he'd like to get the chance to know better.
But that just brought it all back to chess. Chess would be a chance
for more conversations, and was seemingly innocent.

He fidgeted with a fly-away of hair that seemed to refuse to settle
properly, much like the rogue garland that refused to behave the
previous day. 'You're being a git. One conversation and, what?
You suddenly want to date him, or something? You're not a puppy, Ron.
You don't need to have someone to trail after just to feel whole,
least of all someone who would no doubt make you feel like you have
brain damage. Again.' Ron sighed. “I think I've got some
weird nerd fetish...” he sulked at his reflection. Of all
people to develop a sudden and inexplicable crush on, his battered
heart just had to go and choose Snape? That was ridiculous! It would
never work. Sure, the sex would probably be incredible – it's
always the quiet ones, right? But what would they do after
the sex? 'Well, duh. Chess,' his brain supplied before
rhetorically asking him if he'd been listening to his own mental
tirade.

With one last annoyed glower at his reflection he decided that he was
just bloody well not going to think about it and disapparated. He
tried to flatted his hair again outside the gates of Hogwarts, but
gave up as the wind continued to kick it about.

Snape was standing at the front door in conversation with Professor
Flitwick, and looking rather annoyed about whatever they were
discussing. The year spent in a hospital bed had grown the dark hair
longer, Ron noticed now that it wasn't tied back but fell freely
about his shoulders, and it looked as if Severus had given it a bit
of extra care for the occasion. His usual black robes were traded
for...okay, a different set of black robes – simple but
elegant, of a bit richer material than the ones he normally wore.
There was a slight shimmer when the moonlight hit them just so that
made Ron falter. He knew he was being ridiculous. Normal people
didn't develop a crush after an hour long conversation. These things
were supposed to take time. 'Fuck time. It's over-rated. Besides,
after this, when will you see him again? The holidays? And only if
Harry bullies him into it. Once he's in top shape again, he won't be
so agreeable. He'll be able to make excuses about having more
important things to do, and you won't be able to come up with
any excuses to see him again just so you can check on whether or not
you still want to get to know him better. Just bloody well head over
there and say hello, you twat. He looks like he'd be grateful for the
rescue.'

Ron made one last hopeless go at the rogue hair that just didn't want
to lay quite like the others before striding a bit too purposefully
towards the doorway. “Professor Flitwick,” he greeted
with a smile. It was a miracle the man didn't break his neck as far
as he had to look up at everyone. “Professor Snape,” he
greeted.

“...Weasley,” Severus greeted tightly. “A vast
improvement on the last formal affair you attended, I must say.”

Ron blushed a bit remembering the horrifying robes he'd had to wear
in his fourth year. “Well, I dress myself these days. I've
learned it's rather a good deal gentler on my masculine pride.”

“I wasn't aware you had any,” Snape replied. A sarcastic
remark was always the best to offer when you didn't know what to say
as far as he was concerned.

“Oh, a bit,” Ron countered easily. “Buried under
layers and layers of hand-me downs and bossy women. It's rather a
bit crippled at this point, but present and accounted for, all the
same.” He struggled quickly for some possible route of escape
he could offer Snape, and added a bit clumsily, “Have you seen
Harry, Professor? He wanted to meet up before the main event for the
photo-op. You know, before we're all hammered and look like shite.”

Snape quirked a brow at what he thought was a rather obvious, if
half-arsed, effort at a save. Flitwick didn't seem to notice. Or if
he had, he was pretending not to for sake of his own diminutive pride
as an engaging conversationalist. “If you are going to have
your photograph taken, you may want to do something about your hair.”

Ron couldn't help but blush. “Er, yeah, I...”

Snape reached out his hand and carefully turned the stray curl over
to match the others. When he lowered it, taking care not to clock
Professor Flitwick in the head, he noticed the diminutive Charms
instructor had managed one of the disappearing acts he was so famous
for. Not that he wanted to talk to the man anyway, but it was rather
rude. He had a sinking feeling he was off to begin spreading strange
rumors among the staff. “I believe he entered via the West
Gate to avoid the crowd. I saw him fiddling with the portcullis
approximately a quarter hour ago.”

Ron couldn't help but smirk at the way he said 'fiddling with the
portcullis' like Harry was still an annoying child who couldn't keep
his hands to himself. Sometimes Ron thought Harry was still a
bit of a child in at least that respect. He was always fiddling with
things when he didn't know what to do with himself. “Oh.”
'Smooth, Ron. Very smooth.'

“I imagine your sister must have dragged him to the Great Hall
by now. We should head that way as well. I believe they are about to
begin the speeches.” He drawled the word 'speeches' as if
nothing in the wizarding world could possibly be more boring. How
had Ron never noticed those subtle intonations before? Had they
always been there? He felt as if he'd spent the past seven years
blind-folded, whereas the older man seemed to have him figured so
concisely that nothing Ron said or did could possibly surprise him.
Silly, really, but with best friends like Harry and Hermione, it was
a pleasant surprise that someone had taken enough note of him to
declare he should have been, of all things, a broom maker. Ron found
the idea still tickled a little fantasy in the back of his mind even
after a full night's sleep, but it was just a flight of fancy and
didn't have any real meaning – like the way he'd dreamed of
being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain when he was small. He hadn't
really wanted either of those things. He just wanted to be
someone worth noticing. Of all the people in the castle who might
have paid him some mind, he never thought it would be Severus Snape.

“Right,” Ron answered belatedly, falling into stride
beside Severus. He found it unexpectedly comfortable. He'd always
shortened his stride for Hermione and Harry, but Severus was just as
tall as he was and he could walk at a comfortable pace beside him
without making any extra effort. He'd only ever enjoyed that when
alone with Bill before, and he and Bill didn't exactly spend much
time taking long walks together. What would be the point? But long
walks with Snape – maybe barefoot on the beach – sounded
like they could be nice. 'And ridiculously sappy, Ron. Did coming
out of the closet turn you into a girl, or something? Like he'd be
interested in moonlit walks on the beach.'

**

Once they finished their photos (which Harry had dragged Severus
into), Harry pulled Ron aside with a playful, encouraging grin. “So,
you and Snape, huh?”

Ron turned three brand new shades of red he hadn't realized existed
until exactly that moment. “Of course not! Don't be a bloody
idiot. We were just headed the same way.”

“You were grinning.”

“It's a party.”

“That you didn't really want to go to.”

“I've decided that there will be booze, and that's worth
looking forward to,” Ron answered stubbornly.

“You fancy him,” Harry blanketed. “Want some
help?”

“Absolutely not! Harry, I swear, I'll never speak to you
again,” Ron hissed, his cheeks still a pleasantly rosy shade
that told Harry he'd be forgiven for whatever he tried provided Ron
had a few drinks in him first.

“Come on. Grab a balloon.”

“You know how gay this idea is, right?” Ron replied as he
held onto the white balloon that had been passed to him. The general
idea had been to do something pretty in commemoration of all the
people who'd died in the war. Ron wasn't sure who decided on white
balloons charmed to pass through the roof and drift off into the sky,
but he figured there had to be girls involved. No bloke would
come up with such a fruity idea – not even a fruity bloke like
him.

“Shush. Kingsley is going to start the speeches.”

“Right,” Ron said flatly. “The speeches.”
'Joy.' He knew how important this was. Really he did. Fred
had died in the battle. He damn well understood the need to turn
something horrible into something worth remembering with a smile.
That didn't mean he wanted to deal with any of it though. His mum
had been crying all morning. He didn't think she'd stop until some
time next week. George was managing (just barely) to keep a stiff
upper lip … but his lower lip was rather wobbly. Percy had
been pretending to have hay fever since Tuesday as an excuse for his
bloodshot eyes. Ron couldn't bring himself to cry over it anymore.
He'd just plain run out of tears. It sucked. That much was obvious,
but crying about it couldn't bring them back, and Fred was such a
goof, he could imagine how he'd get on them all for being so
teary-eyed. He'd be pulling all kinds of pranks, trying to make
everyone laugh. He didn't want to cry over Fred anymore, because
Fred would hate it. Fred would be cracking jokes about his own death
if he were here to do it. And when he was done with that, Ron knew,
Fred would be cracking jokes about Ron's sudden and inexplicable
fancy for Snape.

As his mind wandered, Kingsley finished what was apparently a rather
touching speech. Ron was more than a little belated in releasing his
balloon. He looked up, ready to watch them float through the ceiling
and farther up toward the night sky and try to be far more moved than
inflated white latex had any right making anyone feel. But as the
first balloons slipped through the ceiling there was a sort of
glittery silver explosion that released these tiny silver filaments
that reminded him of the memories Severus had given to Harry in the
way they seemed to move and shimmer with life of their own. As each
balloon connected with the ceiling there was another soft explosion
as it shifted through to the sky, releasing more silver filaments,
until it seemed as if it was raining memories, tiny frozen teardrops,
and bits of silver glitter that stuck to everything and made everyone
in the hall sparkle madly. What had started as tears soon became
laughter when George – hands covered in glitter – turned
and gave Percy's bum a good grope just for the sake of leaving two
silvery hand prints on the arse of his black dress robes.

Bill started laughing that warm, contagious laugh that they so rarely
got to hear anymore, and suddenly, the whole room broke out into
utter chaos – children running about trying to catch 'the
pretty stars', teenagers smearing glittery streaks all over one
another...and George, grinning from ear to ear for the first time in
a year, dead smack in the middle of it all.

Ron chuckled, catching a handful of the glittery mess as it tumbled
down, sticking to his navy robes and his red hair, and remembered how
Snape's hands had been shaking as he repeatedly cast what turned out
to be a much more intricate spell than the one he'd been assigned –
a spell that had filled the Great Hall with a joy and laughter that
so many of the attendees hadn't felt in far too long. “Heh.
Showoff,” Ron chuckled. He turned his gaze to meet Snape's,
but found the man had disappeared from the spot against the far wall
he'd taken once the photos were over and done with.

Ron took that as his cue to slip out of the Great Hall, determined to
find the older man, and somehow just knew to head out towards
the Black Lake. Sure enough, he found Snape sitting against the trunk
of a tree, dark eyes cast upward at the balloons floating upward with
the spring breeze. He crept through the foliage and edged around the
tree, dumping his handful of glittery mess over the dark hair.

Severus jumped and spun about, glowering, but Ron had such a playful
grin on his face that he found it impossible to be angry. The
redhead held his hands in the air defensively. He was so covered in
sparkles that Severus couldn't repress a slight smirk in spite of the
fact his own head and shoulders were now dashed in the glittery mess.

“I just wanted to see what it would take to make you shine,”
Ron blurted, then laughed at his own idiotic joke.

It was such a warm, hearty laugh that Severus could only shake his
head in exasperation. “I imagine a handful of glimmering
charms would make nearly anyone shine, Ron.”

Ron's stupid grin turned into a much softer smile. “You should
have stayed. Everyone loves it. They're having a right good time
with all the sparkles.”

“I thought to avoid being covered in fairy dust.” He
dusted off his shoulder a bit, but the glitter only stuck to the back
of his knuckles. “You, apparently, had other plans.”

Ron took an unexpected step forward, reaching up to pick a tiny
crystal out of Snape's hair, but left three more behind for his
efforts. “Nothing wrong with fairies,” he answered,
“...so long as they're the right kind.” He dared to look
up into the older man's dark eyes suggestively. He was entirely too
sober to be flirting with a guy twice his age, but it was impossible
not to when Severus was being so uncommonly open. He sucked in a
breath and lightly dragged his fingers down a crease in the older
man's robes, starting at the shoulder and trailing down his chest
until he had what was more or less the equivalent of a lapel between
his fingers.

Severus tried to read the young man, but what he was reading in Ron's
guileless expression simply couldn't be right. And yet...as
straightforward as Ron had always been with everything, the curiosity
and desire in those blue eyes simply had to be real. He sighed.
“What do you want from me, Ron?”

“Chess,” Ron blurted. 'At least for a start.' “I
got to thinking that you'd be mad good at chess, been ages since I've
had a good game. You play?”

“...it has been a very long time since I've had anyone worth
playing with.”

Ron didn't quite repress the shiver that raced up his spine at the
thought of Snape playing with him. The mental image his mind
supplied didn't have much to do with chess, though. “Personally,
I like to play with blokes. Always feel like I've got to go easy on
girls.”

Severus smirked a bit. Playing with blokes indeed. “And do you
have any other preferences in your chess partners?” They both
knew they were no longer discussing chess.

“Viciously smart,” Ron answered. “I like a
challenge.” Severus Snape would definitely be a challenge, he
damn well knew that. “...keeps me from getting too lazy.
You?”

“Redheads,” Severus answered, instinctively reaching out
to brush a few red strands away from Ron's brow. “It's the
temper. Unpredictable, passionate, full of surprises.” At
least all the redheads he'd known to date fit the stereotype
perfectly. What he knew of Ron was no exception, and he was
perfectly content with that. What he needed most in life was someone
to fight passionately with...someone to be even more passionate with
while making up. It was far too soon to determine whether or not Ron
Weasley could be that someone, but he supposed he could allow himself
to be open to the possibility if the young man was offering.

Ron smirked. It was heavy with the usual Gryffindor mischief,
Severus thought. “Chess, then?” he offered again.
“...unless you don't think you can rise to the challenge.”

Severus' dark eyes penetrated Ron's blue in a way that went straight
to the pit of the younger man's stomach where his lust began to coil.
“The things I can rise to, Weasley, would make you wet
yourself.”

Ron licked his lips, throat suddenly rather dry. “Then maybe
after chess, we can try strip poker,” he replied.

Severus felt heat coiling in his abdomen in a way that he hadn't
experienced in a good number of years at the suggestion. This
conversation was heading towards dangerous ground that he knew his
still recovering body was in no condition for just yet. Even so, he
plowed recklessly forward. “Or perhaps, between two consenting
adults, there is no need for games.”

Ron found himself breathless and weak-kneed as he stared up into the
older man's hypnotic black eyes. “...just the stripping then,”
he breathed roughly. 'Strip me here and now, if you want, and
shag me until I can't feel my spine,' Ron thought. He knew that
was impossible. Snape's fingers shook casting glimmer charms, so
there was no way he was ready for rough and rowdy shags...yet. Ron
didn't mind waiting, though.

“Just the stripping. Think you can handle that?” Severus
replied. He was too old to be suggesting such things with an
eighteen year old. He knew that, but while the magic of the night
was with him, he planned to enjoy it.

Ron's tongue darted across his lips. “The things I can handle
would amaze you,” he rasped, finding his voice far more wanton
than it ought to be just from talking.

“Good,” Snape answered. “Being amazed, I think,
would be a rather nice change of pace.”

Ron dared to lean in for a kiss then, and found the older man's thin
lips surprisingly firm and insistent. He was content to hand over
control of the kiss and opened his mouth to the hot tongue, raking
his fingers through the older man's dark hair.

When Severus pulled back, breathless and obviously dizzy, he pulled
him down into the grass to rest. “Don't say it,” Ron
warned, sensing Snape's indignant rampage that something as simple as
a kiss could so easily wear him out. “I can wait.”

Snape's eyes widened marginally and he made a scoffing sound. “It
seems that for the moment, we really will have to stick to
chess.” He sounded rather annoyed about it.

Ron laughed, amazed by how much could change in a year, how the site
of so much bloodshed could, a mere twelve months later, leave him
feeling so at peace with the world. Inside the castle, George was
laughing, his mum and dad were dancing, Fred's spirit, wherever it
was, was surely smiling...and he was here, laying in the grass with
an unexpectedly enchanting man, talking about chess, holding hands,
and watching seven years worth of sorrows and regrets drift into the
stratosphere and vanish, carried away by white balloons.

~The End~
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White Balloons