That Picture I Have of You
Unease had been coiling in Ron’s stomach all afternoon. His thoughts were racing and his heart didn’t seem to want to return to its normal speed.
Even when dinner eventually rolled around, he pushed his food around more than he ate it, leading him to be hungry and worried. It was a terrible combination.
Harry didn’t seem to have the same problem. At all.
With envious ease, he simply sat there and chatted with Neville and Dean and Seamus — and just when had the last two put aside their stupid believe in the lies the Daily Prophet told and reunited with Harry? — while enjoying the delicious food. How unfair.
Well, at least Voldemort wasn’t also torturing his best friend by making him starve himself.
Ron sighed, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. Being grateful to bloody Voldemort for such a small thing didn’t make his appetite suddenly grow. If anything, it soured more at the thought of having to be grateful to him at all.
When dinner was over and the house elves emptied the tables, Ron was almost relieved, because it meant Harry would finally leave and go to the common room, where they could lay back and relax, play a game of Exploding Snap or chess, and generally forget all about the terrible day.
Only, it didn’t exactly go like this. Almost as soon as Ron had slumped down in the armchair opposite the fireplace, Hermione sat down next to him, a thick book open in her hands and a smaller one landing in his lap.
Ron groaned.
“‘Mione, not now.” Hermione looked at him expectantly and ignored his whining. Which, yeah, Ron could understand, somewhat, but still — a break. A simple, five minute break from all that reading and researching, was that too much to ask for?
Yes, according to Hermoine.
Rolling her eyes heavenward, Hermione opened the book for him. “Read,” she huffed. “I already memorised it. It explains the breaking and dismantling of binding spells, which the both of us will have to be able to do as soon as we know what exactly we’re dealing with.”
Which, yeah, made sense, still… Ron gave a quiet whimper. He just wanted to have some fun, just for a few moments. Alas, needs must.
Consoling himself with the fact that he would get to go to bed soon enough, he started reading.
xXxXxXx
The whole night Ron was tossing and turning. Peaceful sleep eluded him and when he did fall asleep, his dreams were filled with all that Harry could do to them.
Ron remembered first year and how he’d had to sacrifice himself so Harry could go on and face Voldemort. Even then he’d known that it had to be Harry.
Hermione’s frozen form and Ginny’s pale body, being lugged through the destroyed Chamber of Secrets made up his memories of second year. Third year with the dementors and Sirius Black — who he’d still believed to be the infamous murderer — and finally the last year, just a few months ago, how Harry had returned with Cedric’s dead body. Ron could still hear Harry’s cries.
He also remembered how Harry had refused to let go of the body, how he’d thrown himself at Cedric again and again, despite Dumbledore’s interference and wondered — had Harry killed Cedric on Voldemort's orders after all? Was that why he had behaved so strange the days after? Was that why he had pestered them for update’s on Voldemort’s doings the whole summer? Why he had been so incredibly angry and strange even then?
Though, the most worrying thing might be Harry’s Patronus, because it wasn’t his Patronus anymore. Rather, it was a Phoenix. For some inexplicable reason it had changed, and Ron had absolutely no idea why or how.
It almost had Ron thinking that maybe this wasn’t actually Harry, his Harry. That someone had kidnapped his friend and swapped him for this cheap wannabe Boy-Who-Lived.
It couldn’t be that, though. Harry knew things that only the real Harry could know. He still had the same wand and the scar was definitely still a curse scar. Ron might not be as smart as Hermione, but his brother was a curse breaker, and he had told him that duplicating or faking curse scars was impossible. Therefore Harry had to be Harry. The same stubborn, adventurous, righteous Harry that he had met on the train in first year and that was now slowly being convinced to hang around Slytherins.
Finally giving up on sleep entirely, Ron stared at the dark canopy of his four poster bed.
The dorm was, unsurprisingly, quiet. The stars were high in the sky and even the portraits were long asleep. Dean and Seamus had been in the common room until lights out, and Neville had done something with that weird plant of his. Ron was pretty sure Harry had also been in the common room, and he’d seen him come into the dorm and getting ready for bed and yet…
Ron sighed, his eyes searching out the vague shape of Harry’s bed right next to his. The curtains were drawn and locked, as he had had to discover a few hours earlier. This was easy to circumvent with a simple Alohomora, but Harry, well, he wasn’t there. His bed was empty; unkempt and obviously slept in, but still, undeniably, vacant. And Ron had no idea were his friend had gone. Even despite his inability to sleep tonight, he had not noticed anyone leaving.
Ron sighed once more and rubbed a hand over his face. This was getting worse and worse.
He couldn’t even go looking for Harry; he had taken his invisibility cloak with him and Ron had no idea as to where to start looking. At this point, he was more likely to get caught by Filch and his bloody cat than he was to find Harry.
If Harry had been his normal self, he never would have left without Ron, or at least without saying anything. But as it was, all Ron could do was hope that he would be back in the morning without having done anything too bad.
xXxXxXx
Morning dawned bight and far too early. Ron was, to put it mildly, exhausted. His eyes were heavy and burning something fierce. His head pounded and he just wanted to sleep. Yet, still, his thoughts were racing, his mind not slowing down for a second.
He jumped at every oh so little creak, ripped out of his weird half-sleep of strenuous dreams intermingled with his too active imagination.
Groaning, Ron turned around once more. He pulled the duvet over his head to block out the dim light and all the annoying sounds he’d never noticed before and snuggled down.
He needed sleep. He needed— The dorm door opened.
Ron stilled, still hidden under his suffocating blanket, and listened. Soft, even footsteps tracked over the wooden floor. Cloth rustled and Ron could bet that it was Harry, who’d just pulled back the curtains to his empty bed. Then, he could hear some more rustling about, the sound of something opening and closing again, before the footsteps once more faded and left the room.
Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Ron was ready to jump up and hurry after Harry, when he noticed the sound of running water.
Harry hadn’t vanished again, he was taking a shower!
Taking a few deep breaths, Ron tried to calm his breathing.
Everything was okay. He knew where Harry was and what he was doing. Nothing was wrong. He could do this. This was his chance. Now or never.
Carefully, Ron slipped out of bed and opened his nightstand. There, he took out the one thing he needed to properly be able to record the runes Harry kept hidden — Colin’s camera.
He had searched out the manic boy after dinner the night before and… convinced him to let him borrow his prized camera for the day on the promise that he would get him Harry’s autograph.
On quiet feet, Ron crept to the bathroom, careful not to stumble over discarded clothes or books and thrown about parchment. He bypassed the sinks and toilet stalls and edged closer to the showers.
Readying the camera, he didn’t let himself feel bad before he reached out with his left hand, grasped the shower curtain and yanked it open.
Instantly, Harry whirled around and splashed water all over Ron; his clothes and, more importantly, the camera. Still, before Harry could do more than gape at him in utter shock and disbelief, Ron pressed the trigger, hoping, praying, that the camera would still work.
The bright, sudden flash blinded both of them, and then Ron was flying through the bathroom. He collided with the doorframe with a painful thud. His head snapped against the hard wood and his left elbow sent incredibly uncomfortable tingles all through his arm right down to his fingertips.
Hadrian cursed. He must have. Even if all Ron understood was, “hissss hiss hiss hissss—!”
Ron scrambled up. With stars dancing in front of his eyes and his left arm completely useless at the moment, it was a bit of a challenge. However, somehow he managed to not only keep a secure grasp on the camera, but he also managed not to slip on the wet floor. He ran out of the bathroom and subsequently the dorm.
This was for the greater good, he knew. Still, his apology seemed to be absorbed by the stone walls around him, never reaching the intended recipient, while Harry’s enraged cursing echoed behind him, waking student and ghost and portrait.
It seemed to haunt Ron with his sibilant syllables, sliding up his back and coiling around his neck. His breath came shorter and shorter, and the darkness dancing in his vision grew by the second.
He only dared to stop once he could be certain that Harry wouldn't appear, that he could not have managed to get dry, put on some clothes and then race and catch him. It only dawned on Ron then, too, that he was only wearing his pyjamas. However, throwing a fearful look at the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, he reckoned that it would be safer for him to not go back. Not now and definitely not any time soon.
Sliding down to the floor between the settee and the fireplace, Ron’s entire frame was shaken by his rapid, heaving breaths. He leaned his head against the wall and blinked away the dizziness and shivers the dwindling adrenaline was leaving him with.
He had done it. He had— he had actually done it.
He had managed to get a picture of the runes. Now, all they had to do was find the correct book they would need to save Harry. Well, as long as the picture was any good, that was. But he’d made sure to keep the camera still, so it should be no problem.
Looking down, Ron saw the camera and with it the key to all their problems held in a white-knuckled grip.
A satisfied grin crept onto his face. Now all he had to do was wait for Hermione.
Glancing down the narrow hallway to the boys’ dormitories, its darkness was staring back at Ron menacingly. He swallowed. Hopefully, Hermione wouldn’t be long.
xXxXxXx
The weather, Hadrian decided scowling, reflected his mood perfectly. It was rather fresh out, but the sun shone upon the colourful leaves, the Black Lake glistened through the soft mist and Hadrian could just skip down the winding path to Hogsmeade.
The picture perfect day to accompany the picture that Ron had snapped of him in the bloody shower!
He balled his fists. His fingernails cut into his palm and— Hadrian could just throttle Ron!
What had this idiot been thinking? He could count himself lucky that Hadrian had not gone to Professor McGonagall to report the incident.
Honestly, taking pictures of someone in the shower? The shower?! Why?Why would he do something idiotic like that?
Merlin’s pants, what had gotten into the idiot?
He’d behaved weirdly for weeks now, hanging around the library and Hermione nonstop. Hadrian had not really payed attention to them. His friendship with them had been strained for years now. Suddenly being back in the past wouldn’t miraculously fix that, and he had known that he would change things simply by being here and being who he was now. But this?
There was no way Hadrian was in any way responsible for Ron turning into a pervert.
Hadrian could ignore it for now. He would. Should that picture appear somewhere however, or be talked about in the corridors — it didn’t matter by whom or how many — then there were going to be consequences.
He wanted to— needed to lash out. Just a bit. Just a little destruction and adrenaline pumping through his veins. But no, he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t the War anymore. There was no reason for him to do a little maiming and destruction. There wasn’t.
So— Hadrian balled his fists. His fingernails pressed sharply into his hands and his knuckles were strained white. His magic whipped around him harshly, but closely, not getting in anyone’s way or doing what Hadrian really wanted to do right now. Even if just a tiny little bit.
Hadrian took a deep breath. He. Was. Calm.
But — taking a picture! Honestly!
Hadrian scowled. So much for a nice day relaxing in Hogsmeade.
He slowed his pace when muffled giggling reached his ears. “Hey Harry… Hadrian?” Someone greeted him, somewhat unsure. Up until now, most people had taken to turning around or keeping a rather big distance between them once they saw the thunderous expression he hadn’t quite been able to suppress. Not that he particularly tried to, but still. It had suited him; suited him after the perfect morning he’d had (thank you, Ron).
The smile Hadrian plastered on his face couldn’t have been more plastic had he tried. Reluctantly, he slowed to a stop and turned to face the gaggle of giggling girls.
“Hey,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too rude. Not that it seemed to matter. Cho stood in front of him, blushing and worrying her lips, while her friends kept pushing her even closer to Hadrian.
Hadrian shoved his hands into his pockets. “How are you, Cho? Is there something you wanted?”
The girl’s blush deepened even more as her friends’ giggling reached new heights. “Well… I was just wondering if you’d like to get some Butterbeer… with me.”
Hadrian grimaced internally. “Cho, that’s—“
“Harry!” A male voice shouted. Hadrian whirled around, irritation rising. There, strutting up Hogsmeade’s main road was none other than Sirius Black.
The ex-convict was decked in fine, if scandalous, robes. Wild locks fell onto his shoulders in a carefully crafted mess and his beard was neatly trimmed.
On his face, he wore a bright and quite deranged grin. Unwittingly, Hadrian huffed out a small laugh.
Of course it would be Sirius.
The man spread out his arms wide, seemingly unaware of the way people went — literally — out of their way to avoid him. “My beloved godson! My ingenious pup! My fellow free man! How are you this fine day?”
Student groups flocked closer together while side-eyeing whom they’d, until very recently, believed to be a mass murderer. Dressed like this, he was barely recognisable as the man from the wanted-posters. But then he started grinning and showed everyone why, exactly, it had been so very easy for him to be labeled a mad man.
Sirius Black — in all his Azkaban and inbred induced madness. A free man.
Hadrian let his head fall to his chest. Merlin help them all.
Opposite him, Cho squeaked. “Oh,” she said, taking a few steps back. “I guess next time might be better. Uhm… See you later, Harry.” And off she went, safely cocooned within her group of friends. They’d stopped giggling and where now more focused whispering to each other and shoving Cho, while shooting “inconspicuous” glances at Hadrian and Sirius.
Shaking his head, Hadrian turned back to his godfather, who had reached him by now. He laid a hand on Hadrian’s shoulder and looked at him proudly. Still, Hadrian could not stop his skin crawling at the contact.
The rather unwelcome touch coupled with his already bad mood did not exactly make for the best combination. He only barely stopped his lips from curling when Sirius pulled him into a bear hug.
It was only fortunate that the hug didn’t last too long. Within seconds, Sirius pulled back, his hands still on Hadrian’s shoulders while his eyes trailed after Cho’s group.
“There was no need for her to go away,” he commented idly. “I would love to meet all your little friends, Harry. Now, show me your hands.”
Even though it was posed as a question, Sirius must have meant this more as a warning, as the next second both of Hadrian’s hands were caught within Sirius’ surprisingly strong grip.
Sparkling grey eyes met overwhelmed green ones. “I love your hair, by the way. Very stylish.” And he turned over Hadrian’s hands. His thumbs rubbed over the back of them, then Sirius leaned closer and breathed on them.
The soft breath came with a sparkle of magic, tingling ever so slightly before dissipating without leaving any evidence of having ever been there, except the few goose bums that made a brief appearance.
Speechless, Hadrian stared at his godfather.
“What—“ he breathed disbelievingly. His godfather, who had spent over a decade in a magic resistant prison, could do magic like that as easy as… well… as easy as breathing.
Sirius, however, didn’t let him formulate his muddled thoughts into a halfway comprehensible question. “Did this Umbridge puterelle do anything to do?” He asked intently. “And I mean anything.”
Once more, his eyes bore into Hadrian’s. The younger-probably-older of the two suddenly found it hard to hold on to his anger in face of all these emotional whiplashes—
“James never did manage to tame that cursed Potter-hair, you know.” Immediately after saying this, the smile fell from Sirius’ face. “You are unhurt?”
Finally it seemed as though Sirius was content to stop and simply watch Hadrian, waiting for him to actually say something.
“I’m good,” Hadrian replied shortly. “Umbridge only had me in detention like once. Pansy did my hair, so I basically had no choice. Parkinson, that is. And yes, Cho did have to leave because, please excuse my words, these years in Azkaban did not do you any favours. You’re rivalling Bellatrix with your grins right now, the only things that’s missing is the cackling.”
Sirius nodded a few times, then cocked his head. “My dear cousin’s cackling is rather annoying. Azkaban only made it worse, that is true. The rest I must simply take as a compliment. Out of all of us youngsters, she — apart from me, of course — always had the best style and hair. And, of course, ignoring her disconcerting infatuation with the Dark Lord.” Sirius hummed. “The Parkinsons were neutral, though. As far as I know anyway.”
Sirius grinned at Hadrian impishly. “She your girlfriend?”
With every word that left Sirius’ mouth, the irritation ebbed from Hadrian’s tense form. Bewilderment and a slight sense of overwhelm filled him instead.
Sirius was… Hadrian didn’t know. Something, certainly. But he didn’t even know if being free influenced Sirius so much or if this was him being normal. Or as normal as he could be after losing almost everything and ending up in Azkaban. He’d simply never really gotten to know the man before.
They’d barely spent any time together or really gotten to know one another before Sirius had died. This time around Hadrian had also not really given the man much thought. He had long since gotten over his death and found the family he’d always so desperately wished for. Without Sirius in it.
Hadrian didn’t need him anymore. But maybe —
Hadrian looked at Sirius, his godfather. The man who’d come here, to Hogsmeade, to… see him? Assure himself of Hadrian’s health? Get to know him and his friends and be a part of his life like he’d never gotten the chance to? Even though the information that he’d been exonerated had only just been released and not everybody had gotten the chance to see it?
Yeah, maybe… maybe they could work something out. Maybe it would even go beyond the idealised version Sirius had in his head of him. So long as Sirius could see Hadrian, and not his long dead best friend at every instance.
Hadrian had managed it. It might have taken a while, might have taken years, but he’d managed to — not get over it, but work it out. Sirius could do it too.
“Pansy’s not my girlfriend.” Before Sirius could even open his grinning mouth, Hadrian continued. “And neither is Cho. She was Cedric’s girlfriend before he died.”
“Oh, well,” Sirius coughed. “That got sad fast.” He ranked a hand through his hair. “Let's go grab a Butterbeer, like every other free person. And then you can tell me about what’s got you all scowling on such a beautiful day, pup.”
Just like that, Hadrian remembered the picture and yeah. He was scowling. Again.
xXxXxXx
The glass smashed against the table and Butterbeer sloshed over the rim. The sound, as well as Sirius’ colourful swearing, got lost in the hustling and bustling of the Three Broomsticks.
“That Horn-beat, Hasty-witted Hempseed!” Sirius seethed, his hand squeezing the glass. “Why would he do that to you?”
Hadrian shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “It’s not like there’s anything he hasn’t seen before—“ Oh, Hadrian could groan. But it was. After all, he’d certainly not been bonded to Draco the first time around. Perfect.
Sighing, Hadrian rubbed his forehead.
“I think I figured it out,” he told Sirius. The man gestured him to go on. “It’s… it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Ron’s just…” inexcusable.
Sure, Hadrian might be partly responsible for that. After all, he had not exactly discouraged them using questionable methods to put their noses into other people’s business the first time around — the adults hadn’t exactly tried to get them to stop either — but he’d never thought they would stoop to such methods. Like stalking and photographing people in the bloody shower!
Merlin, Ron couldn’t honestly think that that was in any way okay? And Hermione? The two of them had been thick as thieves for weeks now, there was no way she didn’t know about this. And yet, Hadrian had not heard her admonishing voice or the sound of heavy tomes hitting Ron.
What a mess.
Sirius was grinning again.
“Don’t tell me — actually, do tell me.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Did you happen to fall onto someone’s mouth? Accidentally?”
Hadrian waved him off. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Sirius. It’s nothing of the sort. I’m not some hormone driven teenager.”
His mind was far too preoccupied with bringing up every possible scenario Hermione and Ron could concoct with the evidence the content of the photo gave them to notice Sirius’ narrowed eyes and bewildered face.
“Harry,” the man said after a while, his voice carefully bland. “Harry,” he repeated once more. “You're fifteen. You are a teenager. A hormone driven, trouble seeking teenager.”
“Mhh, sure.”
“Harry,” Sirius insisted. “Harry, you’re not listening. Do you hear me? You are—“
“I know I am, Sirius. Okay?” Hadrian looked at him, but then grey eyes met green ones and narrowed. “I know I’m young. I know I’m fifteen. And I know that what Ron did is unacceptable, but he’ll probably still show that picture at least to Hermione, and it has absolutely nothing to do with who I make out with.”
Sirius blinked. “Wow, okay.” For a moment, the cacophony of voices of students and patrons washed over them. Madam Rosmerta came by and collected Hadrian’s empty cup to place it atop the precarious tower of clinking dishes she was already balancing.
“Thanks.” Hadrian smiled at her, while Sirius took a swing of his Butterbeer.
“Okay, what’s going on between you and Ron and Hermione?” Sirius asked serious. Any sign of a grin had vanished and there was a frown etched onto his forehead. “You were thick as thieves and suddenly they’re barely writing you all summer and now this? I can’t condone what Ron did, but why would you fume by yourself and not let it out on him and figure out why he did this in the first place?”
Hadrian looked at him doubtfully. “You really think he’d just tell me?”
“Yes!” Sirius burst out disbelievingly. “When did you start doubting him? Or stopped talking? Is it because of this summer or is it something else entirely?” He leant forward. “Harry, come on, talk to me.”
Hadrian looked at him. He took in Sirius’ desperation and confusion in his eyes and tenseness of his magic, ready to be let out at a moment’s notice. He slumped down.
“It’s not just that,” Hadrian finally confessed. “It’s all the little things coming together. They’re just these kids, always thinking they—“
Sirius took Hadrian’s hand into his own. “Harry,” He said, gently but imploringly. “You are a kid.”
He looked so serious, so convinced of that, almost desperate. Hadrian huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t fool yourself, Sirius,” he told him. “I’ve never been allowed to be a kid.”
Immediately, Sirius shook his head. “That’s not true,” he disagreed.
“How would you know?” Hadrian wanted to take it back the moment it passed his lips. His godfather’s eyes widened and he looked like he’d been slapped. “Merlin, Sirius, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Sirius waved it off seemingly nonchalantly, if it weren’t for the way his magic curled around Hadrian almost desperately. “No, no, you’re right, I wasn’t there, I don’t know what you went through. But…” He gazed into his empty glass, then looked up, his eyes skipping from patron to patron before finally landing on Hadrian once more. Sirius smiled. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Hadrian sighed. He knew that Sirius would probably not go anywhere, at least not willingly, but that did’t have to mean anything. “Sirius—“
“No, listen,” Sirius interrupted him immediately. “I need you to hear this: I’m here for you. I know I wasn’t before and I’m probably the last person that should be allowed around kids, but I care about you and I want to be here. Even if you feel like you’re… not… a kid, anymore and don’t… need me.
“When I held you the very first time and you slobbered all over me, I promised your parents andmyself that I would never let anything hurt you. That I would stand by you, no matter what… If you will have me, that is. And even if not, I can still get a lawyer for you or talk to Molly about Ron.”
Hadrian shook his head. He was smiling.
He didn’t need Sirius, not really, not like he’d needed him when he’d actually been fifteen and desperate for even the most simple form of love. Yet, warmth built in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with his soul-bond, and the corners of his mouth just didn’t want to stay down.
There, somewhere in him, that little boy he’d never gotten to be was beaming with joy, holding onto Sirius’ words like a lifeline.
“You’re right, I don’t need you, Sirius, but I think—” Hadrian swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was this so hard? He was an adult, for Circe’s sake. He’d lived through torture and killed more people than he could count. Without an ounce of regret.
He should be able to tell Sirius that — “I’d really like to have you anyways.”
Tears glistened in grey eyes. Still, Sirius nodded his head frantically. “You have me. I promise. I won’t let you down again, Harry. Ron won’t know what hit him.”
Hadrian let out a wet chuckle.
“Thanks, Sirius,” Hadrian said. “But I think I can manage Ron and his new-found perversity on my own.”
A wide, shit-eating grin was directed at him, right at home in the not-mass-murderer’s face. “I know you can,” came Sirius’ smart-ass reply. “But you don’t have to.”
He laughed heartily at Hadrian’s half-hearted glare.
With the laugh still hanging in the air, Hadrian settled back more comfortably, but braced himself for what might come from that smirk on his godfather’s face.
“So, your chest—?”
Hadrian laugh cut off with an amused huff. “Stop trying to get me shirtless, Sirius!”
xXxXxXx
The morning, in Ron’s expert and impatient opinion, dragged by much too slow.
In the eternity he’d sat here, cowering and praying that Harry or anybody else wouldn’t see and tattle on him, barely anyone had come down. His stomach rumbled and clenched from hunger and nerves.
Every so often he would check if the camera was still with him — as if it was able to simply disappear without him noticing, as if he wasn’t holding onto it with all his strength.
Ron did not know how long he sat there, snapping to attention every time he heard someone stumble down the stone staircases. Hope bloomed in his chest when he spotted brown hair, but deflated just as quick, when he realised that the kid was much too small to be Hermione.
Other times his heart was ready to give out on him. It hammered against his ribcage and constricted his lungs, taking away his breath and any coherent thought he might have. But then the person who was not Harry would finally step out of the shadows of the hallway to the boys’ dormitory and Ron sank even deeper into the solid stone of Hogwarts.
Ron stayed vigilant (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!), while the seconds ticked by and golden petals took over the darkened sky, letting cotton-candy clouds glitter a lovely dulcet rose in the rising morning sun.
Some people were looking at Ron oddly, but no-one seemed to really care enough to question his dubious choice of seating place.
His brothers laughed loudly when they spotted him and left Lee for a moment to enthusiastically offer him some of their ‘special treats’ to help him get out of whatever had him hiding there. But Ron declined firmly, he already had all that he needed. There was no backing out of this now.
Neville joined him on the loveseat for a few minutes before he left with someone Ron had seen around before but could not recall the name of. Then, his eyes might have fallen shut for a second or two, and next thing he knew, he spotted Hermione’s distinctive hair vanishing through the portrait.
Before Ron could even comprehend what was happening, he’d unfolded from his hide-away and was sprinting towards Hermione.
He didn’t have the time to stop and apologise to the few people he’d bumped into — or maybe he did do it automatically and simply couldn’t hear himself over the loud beating of his heart.
Without stopping to think, Ron jumped onto the staircase Hermione was on before it could move further away. He stumbled a bit, almost stepped on a trick step and barely stopped himself from face planting into Hermione’s back and bringing both of them down.
The girl turned around just in time for her eyes to widen and brace herself for the impact that never came. Instead, Ron managed to catch himself, get reoriented and figure out where the staircase was going. He then grabbed Hermione by the arm and dragged her into a hidden alcove nearby without her protesting.
Not that the protesting didn’t start the moment Hermione regained her bearings.
“Wha— Ron, what are you doing!” Hermione struggled to get out of Ron’s bruising grip. Ron did not answer. He dragged her a few steps deeper into the dark space, his head swivelling from side to side to assure himself they were really alone. Finally, he let go.
“I got it,” he told Hermione breathlessly. The irritation fell off Hermione’s face and she stood still, holding her breath.
“What?” She asked back. “What do you have? Don’t tell me it’s the —“ she looked around, just like Ron had done a few seconds earlier. Hermione lowered her voice. “The runes?” She breathed into the nothingness between them. Ron nodded.
“Yeah.” He held up the camera. “Right here. I got a picture.”
Hermione stared at him disbelievingly, then a huge grin split her face. She threw her arms around the red head.
“Oh my god, Ron! That’s perfect! That’s literally —“ She stepped back, taking the camera out of suddenly slack hands. She grinned at Ron. “Oh it’s amazing! Do you know how to process the picture?”
Wordlessly, Ron nodded. Red had crept up his cheeks and his heart was racing once more, for a completely different reason this time.
“Come on then, what are we waiting for?” The camera still in her hand, Hermione grabbed Ron with her other and hauled Ron with her into the corridor, uncaring for the surprised looks they got.
xXxXxXx
The classroom Ron and Hermione ended up in was clean, despite not having been used in years. The house elves did excellent work in keeping the dust away and the furniture in top shape. Not that either of them really cared about something as frivolous as that right then.
Their — or rather Hermione’s — backpack was left forgotten next to the door, while Colin’s beloved camera was placed carefully on top of a random table alongside one of the specially made papers Colin gave Ron.
Taking out his wand, Ron cleared his throat. Colin had done it often enough for Ron to be able to picture it in his head perfectly. Additionally, Colin had shown him exactly what to do.
He concentrated. Not even Hermione fretting next to him could disrupt him — would not. He wasn’t going to allow it.
Ron exhaled and the world came to a standstill. He tapped his wand against the camera and then the parchment. An intricate swirl later a light began to shine and with just one word — spoken sharply and reverently at the same time — Ron willed the needed picture to appear.
Time stopped. The light lit up once more before it vanished into the parchment. The room returned to its previous state, with naught a grain of dust out of place. The camera laid dormant on its place on the desk and the parchment…
Swirls of black and white, light brown and green filled the blank space. Growing and interconnecting to build an ever growing shade. Within seconds, Harry was starring up at them, his green eyes wide with shock, while water continued to cascade over his shoulders. His legendary scar was left completely exposed by this weird new hairstyle he sported and his chest—
“Yes!” Hermione cheered. She picked up the still developing picture and brought it close to her face. She’d not seen the rune-circle before, only heard Ron talking about it, but this… this was certainly far more than she’d ever expected.
It looked so complex and interwoven and… and old. Those runes — they looked like the ones they’d only briefly touched upon during class, simply because they were not the alphabet they used anymore. It was still legible, of course, even with Harry constantly moving and—
Squeaking, Hermione covered her eyes. The picture sailed to the floor.
Confused, Ron lost his victorious grin. “What’s wrong?” When she didn’t react, Ron came over to her, poking her shoulder. “Hermione?”
The girl swallowed, then cleared her throat. Carefully, she removed her hands from her reddened face and refused to meet Ron’s eyes.
She cleared her throat once more. “Harry is… he is…” She motioned to her lower parts while her cheeks burned something fierce. Yet, Ron did not seem to catch on. Hermione huffed. “He’s — naked,” Finally burst out of her.
Instantly, colour grew on Ron’s cheeks.
“Oh, uh… well,” he stammered. “He was… maybe… uhm… showering. When I took the picture. Of him.”
Hermione’s eyes snapped to him. “What?!” She demanded sharply. “What do you mean he was showering? Did you seriously photograph him in the shower?! Of course you did. Merlin.” She threw her hands in the air. “Ron!”
“What else should I have done?” Ron cried, while trying to shield himself from Hermione’s vicious hands. “You said it yourself, we needed the picture! No matter what!”
Huffing, Hermione conceded. “Still,” she said. “I mean… this is absolutely not okay, Ron. I hope you know that. But… I do understand why you did it.”
“Yeah,” Ron nodded, picking up the picture. “It was the only way.”
Hermione sighed. “You’re right. We can’t waste any more time, even if it means doing… this.” Cheeks reddening once more, Hermione motioned to the picture. “At least cut off the — you know what.”
“Oh, uhm, yeah, let me just—“ A well-aimed Diffindo later let the part of the picture with Harry’s… nether regions fall onto the desk. An Incendio then insured that neither of them would ever have to talk about that certain incident ever again.
Still blushing, Hermione swiped the ashes to the ground and sat down, parchment and quill at the ready to copy down the horrifying scars covering poor Harry’s entire left chest.
Oh, it must have hurt so bad. Hermione could feel tears burn in her eyes and determination in her heart. Poor Harry. But don’t worry, we will figure it out. We have to.
“Oh, and Ron?” Hermione looked up, her quill a hair’s width from her parchment. “Put on some proper clothes. I can’t believe that you’d still be in your pyjamas at this time.”
Ron squawked, color rising to his cheeks once more. “I can’t go out there,” he said, voice quivering. “If Harry sees me he’ll kill me.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “He won’t kill you,” she told him. “Even with this influencing him, it can’t overwrite the person he is at heart. He will unterstand it.”
Though mollified, Ron did not look too convinced.