twenty second plus one - harry/ron - pg
Title: Twenty Seconds Plus One
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 422
Notes: Reposted here for midnightblue88 and the good people who are - hopefully! - following her link on crack_broom. This fic is five years old, ie, ancient in terms of Harry Potter canon. But if you can keep in mind that it was written in 2004, you might still enjoy it. :D
Ron was waiting. Maybe he had been waiting his whole life, but according to the clock on the wall is was only thirty-four hours, fourteen minutes and forty-one seconds.
Forty-two. Forty-three. Forty-four.
Harry was gone and he was either going to come back forever, or never. Ron had been hoping - nearly praying, though he didn't realise that what it was - for the former, but longer he waited, the longer it seemed he would wait.
Forty-five. Forty-six.
Ron had realised something in the last thirty-four plus hours - he couldn't live without Harry. He had survived so far, but it was hard work, not being with your best mate right when you needed him the most.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight.
He'd always been a little flattered, and a lot surprised, to be the thing Harry would miss the most. Now, however, he knew differently. After long hours sitting in the same wooden kitchen chair, staring at the clock and not moving a muscle, he realised - Harry was the thing he'd miss most as well.
Forty-nine.
Suddenly, a door opened. Ron didn't move. He would not get his hopes up. Even as he heard feet on the stairs he refused to turn his eyes from the clock. He would not get his hopes up only to have them fall flat on the ground.
Fifty.
'Ron?'
Fifty-one.
It sure sounded like Harry. Ron looked at the ground, unable to fully come to grips with it. Maybe - just maybe - Harry was standing in this kitchen. He couldn't rush this.
Fifty-two.
He shoes were muddy, as were his jeans, which were also full of rips and holes. His hands lay at his side, red and scratched, but in one piece. His t-shirt was soaked.
Fifty-three.
After an eternal two seconds, Ron brought his gaze to Harry's face. White as a sheet where it wasn't red with blood - Ron couldn't tell who's. Harry's usual green eyes blinked at him from behind the same old glasses, but the scar - that legendary scar - seemed to be fading. He looked exhausted and drained, but he was alive.
Fifty-four.
He was dirty, but he was Harry, and Ron leaped to his feet.
Fifty-five.
'You alright, Harry?'
Fifty-six.
Harry smiled tiredly. 'Yeah. Mostly.'
Fifty-seven.
Without another word - none were needed - Ron strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his best mate.
Fifty-eight.
'Don't even leave me behind again.'
Fifty-nine.
Harry pulled away and stared Ron right in the face.
Zero.
'I don't plan to,' he said, and kissed Ron fervently on the mouth.
One.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Words: 422
Notes: Reposted here for midnightblue88 and the good people who are - hopefully! - following her link on crack_broom. This fic is five years old, ie, ancient in terms of Harry Potter canon. But if you can keep in mind that it was written in 2004, you might still enjoy it. :D
Ron was waiting. Maybe he had been waiting his whole life, but according to the clock on the wall is was only thirty-four hours, fourteen minutes and forty-one seconds.
Forty-two. Forty-three. Forty-four.
Harry was gone and he was either going to come back forever, or never. Ron had been hoping - nearly praying, though he didn't realise that what it was - for the former, but longer he waited, the longer it seemed he would wait.
Forty-five. Forty-six.
Ron had realised something in the last thirty-four plus hours - he couldn't live without Harry. He had survived so far, but it was hard work, not being with your best mate right when you needed him the most.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight.
He'd always been a little flattered, and a lot surprised, to be the thing Harry would miss the most. Now, however, he knew differently. After long hours sitting in the same wooden kitchen chair, staring at the clock and not moving a muscle, he realised - Harry was the thing he'd miss most as well.
Forty-nine.
Suddenly, a door opened. Ron didn't move. He would not get his hopes up. Even as he heard feet on the stairs he refused to turn his eyes from the clock. He would not get his hopes up only to have them fall flat on the ground.
Fifty.
'Ron?'
Fifty-one.
It sure sounded like Harry. Ron looked at the ground, unable to fully come to grips with it. Maybe - just maybe - Harry was standing in this kitchen. He couldn't rush this.
Fifty-two.
He shoes were muddy, as were his jeans, which were also full of rips and holes. His hands lay at his side, red and scratched, but in one piece. His t-shirt was soaked.
Fifty-three.
After an eternal two seconds, Ron brought his gaze to Harry's face. White as a sheet where it wasn't red with blood - Ron couldn't tell who's. Harry's usual green eyes blinked at him from behind the same old glasses, but the scar - that legendary scar - seemed to be fading. He looked exhausted and drained, but he was alive.
Fifty-four.
He was dirty, but he was Harry, and Ron leaped to his feet.
Fifty-five.
'You alright, Harry?'
Fifty-six.
Harry smiled tiredly. 'Yeah. Mostly.'
Fifty-seven.
Without another word - none were needed - Ron strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his best mate.
Fifty-eight.
'Don't even leave me behind again.'
Fifty-nine.
Harry pulled away and stared Ron right in the face.
Zero.
'I don't plan to,' he said, and kissed Ron fervently on the mouth.
One.