Fic: Unexpected, by Aggiebell90
Title: Unexpected
Author: aggiebell90
Rating:: G/Everyone
Word Count: ~1340
Characters/Ships: Ron, Harry, H/G, R/Hr, Molly/Arthur, Petunia/Vernon
Summary: Ron finds Harry doing something unexpected. Set in my Matchmaker universe.
Warnings: None, unless I need to warn about first person point of view?
Author's Notes: Written for the 2014 HP Reunion on LJ, for the takingitinturns Lost and Found Challenge. Many thanks to sherylyn for the super-speedy beta job - my tardiness in posting this is not her fault - and to flyingcarpet for hosting the event and giving me a reason to write H/G (and Ron!) again. ♥ Crossposted to my fic journal
~o~
Well, that was unexpected.
Not that Harry is marrying Ginny; we all saw that coming a long time ago, and when he finally asked, she said 'yes,' Hermione squealed and started talking about wedding colours and flowers, and Mum threw a party. Totally normal.
But this? This is not normal.
Look, I've known Harry for ages now, since we were wee ickle firsties on the Hogwarts Express. We shared our food and our room and our homework; we played Quidditch and wizard chess together (for the record, he's still brilliant at Quidditch and… not at wizard chess). We broke into Gringotts and flew on a dragon, and that's not even getting into everything we did while we were still in school. And we fought-and beat-Voldemort and his followers.
Really, if I think about it, it's a miracle we're still alive.
So it's not like I don't know him, yeah? He's my brother, if not by blood, then by choice.
No, it's not sweet, Hermione. It's the truth.
But that's the thing here. I know Harry. So that's why I'm confused, because my best mate? He's not acting right.
~o~
"What, exactly, are you doing, Harry?" I have to ask, because… looking at him? It looks like he's addressing wedding invitations.
By hand.
But he wouldn't do that, right? I mean, from what I understand, the bloke's job, when it comes to planning weddings, is to show up on time to all of the meetings and say, "Yes, dear," or "Whatever you think is best, love." Then he shows up at the wedding, wearing whatever he's told to wear. That's it. That's his job.
Look, it's not that we don't care about the wedding. We just don't care about all the details, see? We want to stand up in front of our friends and family, tell our soon-to-be-wife we love her, get the "I do's" said, and then get on with life together, and we want that to happen as quickly and as smoothly as possible.
And, yes, fine. We're looking forward to the wedding night. Oh, don't look so surprised. We're blokes.
And now I'm thinking about Harry and Ginny and a wedding night and what will happen there.
Ergh.
Why do I do that to myself? You'd think I'd have learned by now.
Right. I'll just… push that thought out of my mind.
"What does it look like I'm doing, Ron?" he asks, bringing my attention back to him and away from thoughts about him and my sister doing… that. Thank Merlin.
"It looks like you're addressing wedding invitations," I tell him. "But I'm obviously wrong, because that's not your job. So what are you really doing?"
"Addressing wedding invitations," he says matter-of-factly, pulling another piece of parchment out of the pile in front of him and double-checking a name on the list.
"But…"
"But what? It needs to be done. Besides, I like it."
"You… like it." He likes it? "Are you feeling all right, mate? Because I could've sworn you just said you like addressing wedding invitations."
He shrugs, looking unconcerned, dips his quill into the bottle of ink-green, of course-and starts scratching out another address.
"No, that's it. You need to step away from the table, Potter. You've obviously lost your mind. Gone mad. Played your last Gobstone, caught your last snitch."
He looks at me and rolls his eyes-rolls his eyes! -at me before setting his quill down, pushing the parchment away, and kicking a chair out away from the table. "Sit," he says, nodding at the chair.
So I do. Because I really want to understand this. It's like this wedding has made Harry lose his-what do the Muggles call it, again? His man card? The invitations are just one more thing on a long list of odd behaviours I've seen from him since Ginny agreed to marry him, but this is the straw that broke the Hippogriff's back.
I have to help him. It's my duty as his best mate.
"Look, Harry," I start, but he interrupts me.
"No, you look, Ron," he says. "I'm not sure why you think writing addresses on wedding invitations is such a horrible thing that it causes you to question whether or not I belong in the Manly Club of Really Manly Men-"
"Harry-"
He holds up his hand, telling me without words to stop talking, and I notice his fingers are stained green from the ink.
"-but I don't think that's the case," he continues as if I never interrupted him. He sighs, tapping the quill against the table-top and spattering ink all over his shirt before he lays it down beside the parchment. "Marriage is a partnership, right?"
I nod.
"And partners help each other. Sometimes that help comes in the form of being the Keeper while she practices her shots." I smirk at that. Harry may be brilliant at Quidditch, but against Ginny? He's like a three-year-old on his very first broom. "Sometimes, it's bringing food to her in the library while she researches new plays. And sometimes," he says, waving at the parchment in front of him, "it involves addressing invitations to our wedding."
I nod slowly. "You have a point," I tell him, remembering all of the times I've helped Hermione research a case for her job…and all of the times she's helped me come up with a new Wheeze.
"Of course I do." He gazes out the window, looking out in the garden to where Ginny and Hermione and Mum are finalizing wedding plans. "Ron, I'm in love with your sister."
"Obviously," I mutter. I have no idea why he's in love with her. I mean, she's Ginny. But there it is.
"Obviously," he agrees, smiling and turning to look at me. "And I'm going to marry her."
"Again, obviously."
"Yes," he agrees again. "So do you know why I'm addressing invitations?"
"Erm… No?"
"Because I want to start as I mean to go on," he says simply. "You know what my life was like before Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon… he didn't ever show me the best example of how to be a good husband."
I grimace. Again with the obvious statements. "No need to say anything else, mate."
He continued anyway. "I don't want that, Ron, like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. I want what your mum and dad have."
"Seven kids?" I ask incredulously. Then I immediately start to feel sick again. Seven kids means that Harry and Ginny would have to have sex at least seven times. Ergh.
He shrugged. "If that's what happens… But that's not what I meant. Your mum and dad are happy together, Ron. They've faced horrible things-" his face looks shadowed for a minute as he obviously thinks about Fred- "and they've come out on the other side, together. That's what I want with Ginny. And that didn't happen overnight. It happened when your mum made your dad his favourite meal when she knew he'd had a long day, or when your dad enlarged this table so everyone in your family would fit around it when you were eating. They're little things…"
"But they're big, too," I say.
"Yes."
"How did you become so smart, Potter?"
"Ginny," he said simply, as if that was all the answer he needed. And I reckon it was.
"But… invitations?"
"Invitations," he said, "that I need to finish, because after that, we've got a meeting with Neville to decide on the flowers, and then I need to make honeymoon arrangements."
"Watch it, Potter. That's my sister you're talking about." I shudder again.
His grin is sly. "Indeed it is."
"So… you're saying you haven't lost your mind?"
"Oh, I dunno about that," he said. "I'm willingly making you and George my brothers."
"Oi!" I protest. He shrugs unrepentantly and turns to pick up the quill, double-checking the name and address before he starts writing again, and I leave the kitchen to the sound of the quill scratching against the parchment.
Author: aggiebell90
Rating:: G/Everyone
Word Count: ~1340
Characters/Ships: Ron, Harry, H/G, R/Hr, Molly/Arthur, Petunia/Vernon
Summary: Ron finds Harry doing something unexpected. Set in my Matchmaker universe.
Warnings: None, unless I need to warn about first person point of view?
Author's Notes: Written for the 2014 HP Reunion on LJ, for the takingitinturns Lost and Found Challenge. Many thanks to sherylyn for the super-speedy beta job - my tardiness in posting this is not her fault - and to flyingcarpet for hosting the event and giving me a reason to write H/G (and Ron!) again. ♥ Crossposted to my fic journal
~o~
Well, that was unexpected.
Not that Harry is marrying Ginny; we all saw that coming a long time ago, and when he finally asked, she said 'yes,' Hermione squealed and started talking about wedding colours and flowers, and Mum threw a party. Totally normal.
But this? This is not normal.
Look, I've known Harry for ages now, since we were wee ickle firsties on the Hogwarts Express. We shared our food and our room and our homework; we played Quidditch and wizard chess together (for the record, he's still brilliant at Quidditch and… not at wizard chess). We broke into Gringotts and flew on a dragon, and that's not even getting into everything we did while we were still in school. And we fought-and beat-Voldemort and his followers.
Really, if I think about it, it's a miracle we're still alive.
So it's not like I don't know him, yeah? He's my brother, if not by blood, then by choice.
No, it's not sweet, Hermione. It's the truth.
But that's the thing here. I know Harry. So that's why I'm confused, because my best mate? He's not acting right.
~o~
"What, exactly, are you doing, Harry?" I have to ask, because… looking at him? It looks like he's addressing wedding invitations.
By hand.
But he wouldn't do that, right? I mean, from what I understand, the bloke's job, when it comes to planning weddings, is to show up on time to all of the meetings and say, "Yes, dear," or "Whatever you think is best, love." Then he shows up at the wedding, wearing whatever he's told to wear. That's it. That's his job.
Look, it's not that we don't care about the wedding. We just don't care about all the details, see? We want to stand up in front of our friends and family, tell our soon-to-be-wife we love her, get the "I do's" said, and then get on with life together, and we want that to happen as quickly and as smoothly as possible.
And, yes, fine. We're looking forward to the wedding night. Oh, don't look so surprised. We're blokes.
And now I'm thinking about Harry and Ginny and a wedding night and what will happen there.
Ergh.
Why do I do that to myself? You'd think I'd have learned by now.
Right. I'll just… push that thought out of my mind.
"What does it look like I'm doing, Ron?" he asks, bringing my attention back to him and away from thoughts about him and my sister doing… that. Thank Merlin.
"It looks like you're addressing wedding invitations," I tell him. "But I'm obviously wrong, because that's not your job. So what are you really doing?"
"Addressing wedding invitations," he says matter-of-factly, pulling another piece of parchment out of the pile in front of him and double-checking a name on the list.
"But…"
"But what? It needs to be done. Besides, I like it."
"You… like it." He likes it? "Are you feeling all right, mate? Because I could've sworn you just said you like addressing wedding invitations."
He shrugs, looking unconcerned, dips his quill into the bottle of ink-green, of course-and starts scratching out another address.
"No, that's it. You need to step away from the table, Potter. You've obviously lost your mind. Gone mad. Played your last Gobstone, caught your last snitch."
He looks at me and rolls his eyes-rolls his eyes! -at me before setting his quill down, pushing the parchment away, and kicking a chair out away from the table. "Sit," he says, nodding at the chair.
So I do. Because I really want to understand this. It's like this wedding has made Harry lose his-what do the Muggles call it, again? His man card? The invitations are just one more thing on a long list of odd behaviours I've seen from him since Ginny agreed to marry him, but this is the straw that broke the Hippogriff's back.
I have to help him. It's my duty as his best mate.
"Look, Harry," I start, but he interrupts me.
"No, you look, Ron," he says. "I'm not sure why you think writing addresses on wedding invitations is such a horrible thing that it causes you to question whether or not I belong in the Manly Club of Really Manly Men-"
"Harry-"
He holds up his hand, telling me without words to stop talking, and I notice his fingers are stained green from the ink.
"-but I don't think that's the case," he continues as if I never interrupted him. He sighs, tapping the quill against the table-top and spattering ink all over his shirt before he lays it down beside the parchment. "Marriage is a partnership, right?"
I nod.
"And partners help each other. Sometimes that help comes in the form of being the Keeper while she practices her shots." I smirk at that. Harry may be brilliant at Quidditch, but against Ginny? He's like a three-year-old on his very first broom. "Sometimes, it's bringing food to her in the library while she researches new plays. And sometimes," he says, waving at the parchment in front of him, "it involves addressing invitations to our wedding."
I nod slowly. "You have a point," I tell him, remembering all of the times I've helped Hermione research a case for her job…and all of the times she's helped me come up with a new Wheeze.
"Of course I do." He gazes out the window, looking out in the garden to where Ginny and Hermione and Mum are finalizing wedding plans. "Ron, I'm in love with your sister."
"Obviously," I mutter. I have no idea why he's in love with her. I mean, she's Ginny. But there it is.
"Obviously," he agrees, smiling and turning to look at me. "And I'm going to marry her."
"Again, obviously."
"Yes," he agrees again. "So do you know why I'm addressing invitations?"
"Erm… No?"
"Because I want to start as I mean to go on," he says simply. "You know what my life was like before Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon… he didn't ever show me the best example of how to be a good husband."
I grimace. Again with the obvious statements. "No need to say anything else, mate."
He continued anyway. "I don't want that, Ron, like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. I want what your mum and dad have."
"Seven kids?" I ask incredulously. Then I immediately start to feel sick again. Seven kids means that Harry and Ginny would have to have sex at least seven times. Ergh.
He shrugged. "If that's what happens… But that's not what I meant. Your mum and dad are happy together, Ron. They've faced horrible things-" his face looks shadowed for a minute as he obviously thinks about Fred- "and they've come out on the other side, together. That's what I want with Ginny. And that didn't happen overnight. It happened when your mum made your dad his favourite meal when she knew he'd had a long day, or when your dad enlarged this table so everyone in your family would fit around it when you were eating. They're little things…"
"But they're big, too," I say.
"Yes."
"How did you become so smart, Potter?"
"Ginny," he said simply, as if that was all the answer he needed. And I reckon it was.
"But… invitations?"
"Invitations," he said, "that I need to finish, because after that, we've got a meeting with Neville to decide on the flowers, and then I need to make honeymoon arrangements."
"Watch it, Potter. That's my sister you're talking about." I shudder again.
His grin is sly. "Indeed it is."
"So… you're saying you haven't lost your mind?"
"Oh, I dunno about that," he said. "I'm willingly making you and George my brothers."
"Oi!" I protest. He shrugs unrepentantly and turns to pick up the quill, double-checking the name and address before he starts writing again, and I leave the kitchen to the sound of the quill scratching against the parchment.