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marginalia) wrote2004-11-14 01:09 am
marginalia) wrote2004-11-14 01:09 am
Entry tags:
ficlet: i must make it through this afternoon. harry/ron
[i must make it through this afternoon] - harry/ron
i was totally going to read a book. instead i wrote this. unbetaed, natch. title from elliott smith.
It is nothing like he expected.
It is quiet most of the time. There is so much waiting. The stress is a low hum, not the high-pitched squeal of exam time. Ron laughs to think of how worried they were then. He'd do anything to trade this uncertainty and fear for a Potions final. Then at least he knew when it would end. Now, he does not know if it ever will.
So he waits.
He thought Harry would be closer. Or that he would be closer to Harry, that's what he means. He's been close to Harry for so long that he is not quite sure how to be without him.
Not that he's alone. Ron's never been alone for a moment in his life. But now there is no one to tell him what to say to the dreaming. Hermione understands many things and Neville even more, but only Harry knew what to tell him when he awoke not knowing where he was, darkness threading still in his brain. Last week Ron dreamt Harry's arm strong around his waist and Harry's breath damp on his neck and there's no one to explain that away. He's a grown man anyway, so his dreams, good and bad, are no one's business but his own.
He has other business to attend to now. In the main encampment, he's the strategy man. Hermione finally figured out that everything wasn't in her books after all. Ron knows they have Viktor to thank for that; Viktor gave her the confidence to trust her own knowledge. Ron can hear their voices low in their tent, one of the rare ones that still largely resembles the Muggle version, no transfigured frills for them.
Ron volunteers to take over patrol in the late evening and circling the camp he sees the slight figure walking up the hill. He has seen him so many times that he takes no notice. It's an imagining, a phantasm, though it's early in his shift for such a thing.
He's moving on when the figure calls to him, and then Ron is running down the hill before he even realizes it. He's stumbling, flailing, and then he's caught Harry in his arms, hugging him tighter than even a Quidditch win once would have justified. Harry's rucksack falls from his shoulders and the color is high in his cheeks from the exercise. They say nothing, for there is nothing to say.
Ron still cannot see the end, but for one moment today it did not matter.
i was totally going to read a book. instead i wrote this. unbetaed, natch. title from elliott smith.
It is nothing like he expected.
It is quiet most of the time. There is so much waiting. The stress is a low hum, not the high-pitched squeal of exam time. Ron laughs to think of how worried they were then. He'd do anything to trade this uncertainty and fear for a Potions final. Then at least he knew when it would end. Now, he does not know if it ever will.
So he waits.
He thought Harry would be closer. Or that he would be closer to Harry, that's what he means. He's been close to Harry for so long that he is not quite sure how to be without him.
Not that he's alone. Ron's never been alone for a moment in his life. But now there is no one to tell him what to say to the dreaming. Hermione understands many things and Neville even more, but only Harry knew what to tell him when he awoke not knowing where he was, darkness threading still in his brain. Last week Ron dreamt Harry's arm strong around his waist and Harry's breath damp on his neck and there's no one to explain that away. He's a grown man anyway, so his dreams, good and bad, are no one's business but his own.
He has other business to attend to now. In the main encampment, he's the strategy man. Hermione finally figured out that everything wasn't in her books after all. Ron knows they have Viktor to thank for that; Viktor gave her the confidence to trust her own knowledge. Ron can hear their voices low in their tent, one of the rare ones that still largely resembles the Muggle version, no transfigured frills for them.
Ron volunteers to take over patrol in the late evening and circling the camp he sees the slight figure walking up the hill. He has seen him so many times that he takes no notice. It's an imagining, a phantasm, though it's early in his shift for such a thing.
He's moving on when the figure calls to him, and then Ron is running down the hill before he even realizes it. He's stumbling, flailing, and then he's caught Harry in his arms, hugging him tighter than even a Quidditch win once would have justified. Harry's rucksack falls from his shoulders and the color is high in his cheeks from the exercise. They say nothing, for there is nothing to say.
Ron still cannot see the end, but for one moment today it did not matter.
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Thank you so much for this. It is just what I needed today.
Ron still cannot see the end, but for one moment today it did not matter.
Yes.
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they have a special, quiet place in my heart. mostly because my ron love is so big, i think.
thank you!
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Last week Ron dreamt Harry's arm strong around his waist and Harry's breath damp on his neck and there's no one to explain that away.
that took my breath away. the whole story does really. you set the mood and atmosphere immediately and thoroughly. it makes me all achy in the best of ways.
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I couldn't breathe while I was reading that. My chest is still all tight and sore. What a great line.
The whole ficlet is beautiful, Jaci. Love the details of the falling rucksack for some reason. :) Perfect ending.
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Well, that's to say that it's been very, very well written. Beautiful, throughout.
Kudos to you! :)
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It's a little unclear where exactly they are, in a war camp? But the feelings are carried across beautifully.
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thank you!
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Achingly beautiful.
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(Anonymous) 2004-11-15 07:28 am (UTC)(link)Warm fuzzies. :)
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Meep! My heart!!
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Beautiful.
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feedback like this makes -me- grin. thank you!
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totally speech(type)less
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