Ron/Oliver: Loyalty by lyricalnights
Title: Loyalty
Author: lyricalnights
Pairings: Ron/Oliver, Remus/Harry implied, Ginny/Hermione
Disclaimer: I’m not JK Rowling, so none of this actually belongs to me.
Rating: PG-13
Fest: This fic was written for the Rare Pairings Fuh-Q-Fest
(http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Rarepairs)
A/N: OotP compatible and basically necessary. Read with caution, you have
been warned.
“What on earth is that terrible racket?” Hermione paused to identify the
direction of the sound. “I think it’s coming from your flat!”
With that, she and Ginny broke from their normal post-dinner stroll to rush
down the corridor and through the door of the two-bedroom hole-in-the-wall
that Ginny shared with Ron. The scene they walked into could only be
described as cross between Fred and George’s most successful
Umbridge-baiting episodes and the muggle movie “The Exorcist.”
“Ronald Weasley, stop it at once,” Hermione cried, simultaneously ducking as
a plate went flying over her head to crash against the wall.
Ron made no reply, except to grunt fiercely as he opened another cabinet and
cocked his arm to let fly with a set of genuine Scooby-Doo jam jar glasses,
which had been a gift from an American colleague of Arthur Weasley’s.
“Accio Shaggy-glass!” Before he could send the first cartoon character
airborne, Ginny called the glass to her. As an afterthought, she put a full
bodybind on Ron, settling him on the worn sofa still smoldering with anger.
“Now,” Hermione said, “please tell us what’s wrong? Has something happened
to Oliver?”
“You’re damn right something’s happened to Oliver,” Ron raged when they
finally released him from the spell, “he’s betrayed me and Ginny and the
rest of the family, and I only hope you’ll be around to keep me from hurting
the bastard the next time I see him. I can’t believe I trusted him!”
Ginny and Hermione exchanged a confused look; Ron and Oliver’s relationship,
forged in their common obsessive love for Quidditch, had been rock-solid for
well over two years. They had been together nearly since the day Ron had
arrived as the new assistant coach to Puddlemere United, where Oliver now
reigned supreme as first-string Keeper. It was a standard line among the
younger generation of Weasleys that the pair of them probably talked
Quidditch in bed as much as they did everywhere else. Fred and George would
feign sexual acts of dubious flexibility, mock-moaning about snitches and
bludgers, until Ron’s ears turned red and he tried to hex them into oblivion
for the millionth time.
“Has he killed someone? Is he seeing another man?” Ginny asked. “Oh, if he’s
been cheating on you, I’ll turn his head inside out and use it for Beater
practice!”
Ron’s demeanor suddenly changed as he looked at Ginny where she sat
practically trembling with sisterly fury.
“I suppose you could say he’s taken up with another man all right,” Ron said
icily. “He’s tall, wears glasses and a smug expression, and answers to the
name ‘Percy Weasley,’ though he certainly doesn’t deserve to have it.”
“Percy!” Hermione gasped as Ginny went very still beside her. “You don’t
mean to tell us that Percy was in Oliver’s flat, do you?”
“Well, no, not in his flat, as far as I know,” Ron admitted. “But he’s
certainly been talking to the evil git, and from the looks of the letter I
found, it’s not a new thing.”
“Ron, how could you go through Oliver’s private letters?” Hermione demanded,
nearly as incensed by Ron’s lack of manners as by Oliver’s apparent
betrayal. “That’s a horrible thing to do.”
“I didn’t mean to; it was an accident,” Ron claimed. “I was looking for some
paper to write down a new idea for a Quidditch play that I’ve been working
on, and I stumbled over the letter. Anyway, it’s a good job I did; I still
can’t believe all this time I was dating a backstabber.”
“What did the letter say?” Ginny asked, almost too calmly. “What could ‘I
don’t know any of you anymore’ Percy possibly have to say to Oliver Wood,
Weasley-lover extraordinare?”
“Something about coming to terms with the past, and about responsibility and
how grateful he was to Oliver. Also, there was something about a meeting
soon. Setting up their next tryst, I suppose.” Ron looked as though his
anger might give over into tears at any moment. “I just saw who it was from,
and that it was friendly in that stiff, Percy-ish way, and I ran.”
“You ran?” Hermione said incredulously.
“Yeah, I dunno, it was weird.” Ron said. “One minute I was looking at this
letter, wondering how I could have been so wrong, and the next I was out of
the flat and halfway down the street. Oliver wasn’t back from the grocer’s,
and I just couldn’t stand the thought of facing him. I was afraid I’d kill
him or something.”
The three stared at each other for a long moment before Ginny finally
stirred, pulling herself together.
“Well then,” she said with false cheerfulness. “We’ll just have to find you
a much better boyfriend, won’t we? Who needs old Oliver Wood anyway?”
“I think I do,” said Ron softly. “That’s the worst part. I don’t know how I
can ever face him again.”
“Should I try to get Harry in the fireplace?” Hermione asked. “I’m sure he
and Remus wouldn’t mind a little company at their house for a few days; you
know how isolated it is up there.”
“That would be great, Hermione. Thank you.”
“Hey, what else is a best friend and sister’s girlfriend for?” she said with
a smile and a nod, moving towards the jar of powder on the mantelpiece.
Ron and Ginny remained on the sofa, picking at the stuffing coming out
around the edges and pointedly ignoring the specter of their brother who had
divorced himself from the family looming in their minds.
“I’m really sorry,” Ginny said again. “I would never have expected it from
him.”
“Neither would I,” Ron said with a tinge of bitterness in his tired voice.
“If it had been anyone else, I would’ve been hurt, but I could have dealt
with it. But Percy, after everything he put us through, put Mum and Dad
through…”
“No sense in dwelling right now,” Hermione said briskly as she returned to
the sofa. “Harry’s been called to St. Mungo’s to deal with a nasty case of
Polliwog Pox, but Remus says to come whenever you like. Go on, then. Ginny
and I will arrange holiday time for you and send some clothes by owl
tomorrow. The floo is still open and I’ll not have you apparating in your
state.”
“Thanks again,” Ron said as he stepped in front of the fireplace. “I don’t
know what to say.”
“Get some sleep, Ron,” Hermione commanded as she wrapped an arm around
Ginny’s waist. “Get some sleep and talk to Harry. Things are rarely as bad
as they seem at first glance.”
“I certainly hope so,” Ron sighed. “I’ll see you soon.” He stepped into the
green fire and said firmly: “Ashton Cottage.”
****
Ron rolled over and wondered sleepily why the light in the flat was so damn
bright, why the left side of the bed was cold, and when Oliver had taken up
singing as an early-morning hobby. Then he recognized the voice as Harry’s
cheerful and perpetually off-key baritone, and the events that had brought
him here returned in a flash. Oliver. Percy. The letter.
The stabbing, aching pain where his heart used to be.
Ron willed away the despair that threatened to overwhelm him and climbed out
of bed. As he stumbled towards the bathroom, he noticed the combination of
simple pen and ink drawings and oil paintings that decorated the walls of
Remus and Harry’s upstairs hall. Most were people he only recognized by a
faint resemblance to either of the men, but a large double portrait of James
and Lily hung near the entrance to the master bedroom, looking kindly down
at him.
On the other side of the narrow hall, a grinning picture of Sirius Black
winked at one of Remus’s elderly aunts done in charcoal, who blushed and hid
behind an ornate hat. Ron smiled to see Sirius like he had always wanted to,
unbroken by the weight of his ruined life and his worries for Harry’s
safety. He smiled as well to know that Sirius had, in a way, brought his
only surviving “family” together: Harry and Remus, leaning on each other for
support, comfort, and eventually everything else that comes with love.
“Finally, mate,” Harry said when Ron wandered into the kitchen after his
shower, following the scent of fresh bacon and eggs. “I was beginning to
think you were headed for hibernation up there.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Ron asked, tucking into the full plate Harry
quickly set before him.
“Let’s see, Remus says you came in around 9 o’clock Friday evening, and its
Sunday morning now, so I’d say you pretty much went ‘round the clock and
then some. You must have really needed it.”
“I guess so,” Ron said. “Do you know what happened?”
Harry sighed and tapped his fork against his own plate. “Hermione sent over
an owl with some fresh clothes and one of her missives, filled with the
facts and her own speculations. I swear, if she wasn’t so committed to Charm
research and development, the muggle intelligence offices would snap her up
in a second.”
“Thrill for me,” Ron said sourly. “I know she means well, but the whole
affair seems pretty cut and dried. Oliver’s been carrying on with the one
person I can’t bear to think of behind my back, and he’s probably been
laughing about it as well.”
“Now, Ron,” Harry chided him. “I suppose we could all have been wrong about
him all along, but that just doesn’t sound like the Oliver I know. He’s
crazy about you; it’s plain as day on his face whenever I see you two
together.”
“Maybe it was another Weasley he was crazy about all the time,” Ron said,
voicing the fear that had been growing in him since he had picked up the
innocent looking letter from Oliver’s desk. “Maybe I was just a handy
substitute for someone with a bit more…ambition in life.” The unkind words
Percy had flung at his parents before leaving The Burrow over seven years
ago still stung bitterly to the other Weasley children, not in the least
because most of what he had said was true, from a certain point of view.
From the self-deluding Ministry’s point of view. From Percy’s point of view.
“Maybe,” Harry said carefully, surprising Ron with his sudden similarity of
expression to Remus. “But somehow I doubt it. At any rate, feel free to stay
here as long as you like. Remus is in Muggle London for the day speaking to
one of his editors, but I’m currently enjoying one of those rare days off
St. Mungo’s dangles in front of me to keep me on staff.”
“How is the life of a certified mediwizard treating you, Harry?” Ron asked,
feeling a grin that was only slightly stiff pull at his lips.
“I can’t complain, really,” said Harry. “I’m the best they have at undoing
hexes and curses, so they treat me well and don’t lean on me too much about
being the famous ‘Boy-Who-Lived-Through-Voldemort-Twice’. Still, I’m working
on doing something about the robe color. Lime-green? Not for me, thanks.”
“Sounds like it’s the calling you’ve been searching for, then,” Ron said
thoughtfully. “Though I still can’t believe you walked out of your final
Auror’s qualifying exam. In the middle, for Merlin’s sake! Also, have I told
you lately that you are a gay, gay wizard?”
“This from the man who was dancing around the common room in a rainbow
t-shirt when the rest of us were still enjoying the view from inside the
closet?” Harry joked, momentarily ignoring the first part of Ron’s
statement.
After a moment’s pause, Harry admitted: “I didn’t feel like I would really
help anyone, or myself, as an Auror. I needed to wash some of the blood off
my hands, and healing makes me feel like I’m putting something right for
once, instead of trying to tear it apart.”
They sat quietly for a long time, the only sounds in the kitchen being those
of food being inhaled the way only young men can do it.
“What does Remus do about the full moon these days?” Ron asked, seemingly
out of the blue.
Harry shrugged. “Professor Snape taught me how to brew Wolfsbane during the
War; I think he knew something might happen to him.” He frowned momentarily
as though shadowed by a painful memory. “Remus takes that and we curl up
together in front of the fire. He snores something dreadful as a wolf,
though, so I never get much sleep on those nights. Why do you ask?”
Ron ignored Harry’s question and pursued his own line of thought. “What
would you do if something went wrong, though? If he hurt someone, or killed
them? How would you deal with that?”
Harry sat silently for a moment before answering. “I really don’t know, Ron,
and I hope I never have to. But I can tell you that Remus is everything to
me, and nothing he did, as a human or a wolf, could stop me from loving him.
That’s just the way it is.”
“That’s how I thought I felt about Oliver, and maybe the way I still do,”
Ron said. “But now I don’t know whether to be pleased that I’ve found that
kind of trust and love, or sad because it looks like I never should have
given it to him in the first place.”
“That’s something you’ll have to decide, Ron,” Harry said as he began to
clear away the remains of breakfast. “I will say that you need to talk to
him, and soon. It’s not right to just run away from things that might hurt
either one of you. Clear the air, if nothing else.”
“I know, I know, but what will I say? I have so many dirty names I want to
call him and questions I want to ask. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Well, I’d starting putting them together, mate,” Harry said as he glanced
out the window. “Because the Quidditch player in question is halfway up the
walk.”
Ron squawked and dove for the doorway leading back upstairs, but Harry
grabbed him by the back of the shirt, hauling him through the opposite
doorway and into the front room. The struggling pair reached the front door
just before Oliver and all three came together on the stoop.
“Oliver, good to see you again,” Harry said briskly. ‘I’ll just be down by
the pond checking on some plants Remus is cultivating for his next cookbook,
while you two have a nice chat.” Then he was off, leaving Ron behind to
stare at his shoes and try to get his errant breathing under control.
They continued that way, Ron staring at his shoes and Oliver staring at Ron,
for a seemingly endless stretch of minutes. Finally, they both spoke at the
same time, in a rush.
“I was looking for a piece of scrap paper and I found…”
“You weren’t there when I got back, and Hermione said you had found…”
“The letter.” They sighed in unison as though auditioning for a particularly
gruesome Greek Chorus.
This reminder of the pre-eminent fact put starch in Ron’s spine, and he
looked ready to move into full-blown temper mode when Oliver quietly raised
his hand and said, “Please, listen to me.”
Ron cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What you found was not what it looked like.” At Ron’s clear snort of
disbelief, Oliver continued quickly. “It was a letter from Percy, and I’ve
been writing him pretty steadily for over a year now; since you and I have
been spending more time together than apart, really.”
As Ron’s eyes narrowed, Oliver said, “He misses you, Ron. The entire
redheaded clan, but especially you. He talks about you making Prefect, and
the Quidditch team. He told me he keeps a clipping from the Daily Prophet
sports page on his desk, the one where Coach Breely talked about what a
great asset you are to Puddlemere United’s strategy.”
“If he misses us so much, then why did he leave?” Ron burst out. “Why did he
run us down and drag us through the mud, and stay gone for seven years when
he knew what it was doing to Mum and Dad?”
“From what he’s told me, he left because he thought he was right, then he
stayed away because he didn’t know how to admit that he might have been
wrong. It’s the Weasley Stubbornness at work, and don’t make that face at
me, Ron, you know what I’m talking about.”
“Haven’t a clue,” Ron said airily, though the blatant lie was obvious to
both of them.
“Each and every one of you is so filled with love, and so afraid that it
still won’t be enough.” Oliver said. “All it would take was for one person:
Percy, Molly, you, anyone, to make that first gesture and it all would have
fallen back into place. But you wouldn’t, so I was trying to move things
along. Everyone wants the same thing here, Ron; I just want it now instead
of twenty years from now.”
“Percy…still loves us?” Ron asked uncertainly. “Wants us back? The
Dumbledore-loving Ministry traitors?”
“More than anything.” Oliver said softly. “It takes some people longer to
grow up than others. That’s just the way it is.”
Ron’s wavering emotions played across his face momentarily before settling
into place. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. You shouldn’t have snuck around
behind my back.”
“No, I shouldn’t, and I’m sorry. I never intended for you to know that I had
a hand in bringing the family back together. I didn’t want to see anyone get
more hurt than they already had been, and I just ended up hurting myself. I
won’t apologize for what I was trying to do, but I will apologize for how I
tried to do it. Can you forgive me?” Oliver glanced down then, his resolute
face dissolving into a mass of worry and tension.
Ron stood for a long moment before stepping forward and tilting Oliver’s
chin back up on a level with his own eyes. “For whatever you do, I think I
would have to forgive you. Just don’t make me do it too often, ok?”
Oliver smiled his acceptance, then cocked an eyebrow speculatively. “What
about the Percy situation?”
Ron grimaced. “I’ll write to him, but I can’t promise any more than that.
I’ll try.”
“That’s good enough to be going on with, I think.” Oliver said. “May I kiss
you, Ron Weasley?”
“Yes, Oliver, I think I’d rather like that.”
An altogether mushy and romantic kiss was broken when Harry suddenly
appeared behind them in bright red hipwaders, carrying a spade and bucket.
“Since that’s settled, who wants to help me dig through pond scum?”
Ron and Oliver glanced at each other for only a second before grabbing Harry
around the middle and hauling him off towards a ducking in the pond, his
indignant voice trailing behind them. “Well, I like this treatment; see if I
invite you over to visit again, mate. Put me down right now! Watch the
glasses!”
~Fin~
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