Let's Talk

Nothing's really making sense at all

Let's talk, let's talk

-"Talk" by Coldplay-

"Where's Hermione? Is she all right?" Ron asked as Harry exited the tent to stand beside him. Hermione's shift was next, so he was surprised to see Harry first; he couldn't help but assume something was wrong. He searched his friend's green eyes for any sign of trouble.

"She's fine," Harry assured him. "She's in the shower."

"Oh," Ron responded, trying very hard to block the image that had popped into his head at Harry's response. He clearly wasn't doing a very good job. Harry's eyebrows shot up under his fringe and the left side of his mouth twitched in amusement. Ron tore his eyes away from his friend's and stared at the ground, shifting uncomfortably and trying his best to picture anything but their other best friend in the shower. "Right," he continued, cursing the hoarse tone that his voice had taken.

Ron cleared his throat. Harry had the audacity to laugh.

"What?" Ron asked, with as much annoyance as he could muster.

"Nothing," Harry managed to gasp through his guffaws. Ron could feel his entire face heating up, and cursed himself for being so bloody easy to read.

"I should have run you through with that sword when I had the chance," Ron muttered darkly. Harry laughed louder. "She's going to hear you! Knock it off!"

"Sorry," Harry said, finally gaining some control over himself. "Couldn't help it, mate. You should have seen the look on your face. Your ears are still red," Harry continued, reaching out to tug on one of them. Ron ducked his head out of the way before Harry could get the pleasure.

"Gerroff me," Ron grumbled, shoving Harry away from him. He turned so his back was to the smaller boy and crossed his arms in annoyance. "It's not your turn yet. Go back inside and figure out where we go next, will you?" Ron heard the tent door rustle, and assumed Harry had left him until he heard his friend's voice.

"Do you know why I've forgiven you, but she hasn't yet?" Harry asked. Ron turned around to glare at him.

"Because she's smarter than you are?" Ron replied. Harry smiled.

"Well, she is. But that's not the reason this time- in fact, it's quite the opposite." Ron's confusion must have shown on his face, for Harry continued. "I know something she doesn't."

Ron sighed heavily, then responded. "No, you don't." Harry's eyebrows disappeared under his fringe for the second time during this conversation.

"You've told her?" he asked.

"No, I haven't told her," Ron exclaimed, as if that was the stupidest question Harry had ever asked him. "I don't need to tell her. This is Hermione we're talking about. She knows everything. And as this conversation proves, I'm not very good at hiding things, am I?" Ron shifted uncomfortably. He and Harry did not talk about girls- mostly because Ron was completely mad about their mutual best friend and Harry's last romantic interest was Ron's little sister. Harry was still staring at him, but he did not look amused.

"I'm not talking about that," Harry said, waving his hand as if dismissing the thought completely. "Telling her you spend your watch shift picturing her in the shower is not going to help patch things up. And if it does, I really, really don't want to hear about it." Harry made a disgusted face. Ron threw a rock at him, but Harry caught it easily: damn Seeker reflexes.

"Then what the hell are you talking about?" Ron asked, although he was not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I just think having a conversation with her about... things... might lesson the tension in this damn tent," Harry said, shrugging. Ron gulped at the implications of Harry's statement. He couldn't imagine mustering up the courage to make any sort of confession to Hermione now; And even if he did, he couldn't picture that confession making things any better.

"She has every right to be angry with me," Ron said, shrugging back. "And things have been a hell of a lot more tense between us before. This isn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself," Harry replied. "I'm tired of you agreeing with her about everything, to try to win her over. You're supposed to be on my side." Ron's eyes darted back up to Harry's. One look at him told Ron he was kidding.

"She's smarter than you," Ron repeated. Harry's eyes flashed, and Ron instantly regretted the turn this conversation has taken.

"And she probably looks better than I do in the shower." Ron threw another rock- a bigger one, this time- directly at Harry's head. Unfortunately, he made it through the tent flap and closed it before the rock reached him. It hit the canvas siding of the now-closed doorway with a thud.

"She's asleep," Ron said, joining Harry on the rock overlooking the sea.

"And you left her alone?" Harry teased. Ron shrugged.

"I reckon she's probably tired of me at this point," he replied. Harry hesitated for a moment, trying to ascertain whether his friend was joking or not.

"You really believe that?" he asked, eyes still narrow and fixed on Ron's own. They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment before Ron responded.

"No," he admitted, as a blush and a smile rising on his freckled cheeks.

"Good," Harry insisted with a laugh. "I didn't think you were quite that dim."

Ron looked down at their dangling bare feet, his overlong fringe falling in front of his eyes.

"I reckon she's forgiven me," he mumbled down to the water.

"I wonder why," Harry mused aloud, unable to keep the knowing grin off his face. Ron half-huffed and half-laughed in response. "So what are you doing out here with me?"

"Told you, she's asleep. Feels creepy to just sit there and watch her, now that I know she's going to wake up."

Harry nodded, his stomach turning painfully at the memories of Malfoy Manor and the first few hours at Shell Cottage, when no one was quite sure exactly how much damage had been done.

"I'm sorry," Harry said pointlessly, knowing his words could never make up for what his best friends had endured for his loose lips. He could hear Ron's heavy breathing over the din of the ocean.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Ron's voice was tight and strained. Harry wondered if the tone was due to his current emotions, or leftover hoarseness from screaming yesterday. He supposed it didn't matter; either scenario left him feeling miserable and guilty.

"Yes, you are," Harry insisted. He stared at Ron until the other young man turned to look at him. Their eyes met. "I'm sorry," he repeated, hoping the unspoken she had to endure that and you had to listen was understood.

When Ron nodded, blushed, and turned away, Harry knew Ron had not only understood, but he had somehow forgiven him as well.

They sat far too close together for two young men, fueled by the chilly late-august night and overindulgence.

"Your mum's gonna kill us," Harry said, dazed.

"S'why we're out here," Ron replied.

"She could kill us," Harry continued, as if he had not heard his friend's response. "Seen her do it. She's scary." He turned toward Ron, his glassy green eyes wide with fear. Ron laughed out loud.

"Let's hope there're no beetles about. I can see the headlines now... The Chosen One's Greatest Fear: His Best Friend's Mum."

"She's also my girlfriend's mum," Harry grumbled, flopping back to lie on the damp grass. Ron grunted in reply, sprawling out on the grass next to his friend. Their arms touched shoulder to elbow as they stared up at the star-filled sky. "D'you think we should have gone back with them?" Harry asked, quietly.

"No," Ron said breathing deeply under the weight of a heavy heart. "Can't go back. Too much has happened. Too much to do." He mumbled his response, not sure if he was trying to convince Harry or himself.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, sighing. "It's just... the bloody train only left this morning, and I miss her already. I miss them both." Ron nodded and blinked excessively.

"I told her," he said suddenly, turning his head toward Harry. Harry turned too, and they faced each other, noses far too close together for casual conversation.

"Told her what?" Harry asked, making no effort to move.

"'Bout the locket. Told her everything last night... what it said, and what it showed me." The two boys stared at each other, not blinking, listening to crickets and their own ragged breathing.

"What'd she do?" Harry asked finally, still not moving his body or his eyes.

"She punched me in the shoulder," Ron said, smiling wide at the memory. "Fucking hurt, too. She's stronger than she looks." Harry smiled back. "Then she yelled at me for thinking that there was something between you two. Then she cried. Then... well, I reckon that's all you need to know about," Ron finished, averting his eyes at last, blushing heavily under the influence of more than just firewhiskey.

"Sounds like Hermione," Harry said with a laugh, turning back to face the sky. "Violent, loud, weepy, inexplicably attracted to you..." Harry trailed off, a smile on his face. Ron gestured rudely in response.

"I was afraid she'd laugh at me," Ron admitted. "That's why it took me so long to tell her. Thought she'd think I was a twit."

"You're kidding," Harry said seriously, turning his head to face Ron again. Ron turned as well, shrugging as best he could while laying on the ground.

"I'm serious. That thing was supposed to feed off my worst fears, yeah? Well, instead of being afraid of something normal like dying or dark wizards, I was terrified that my mum didn't love me and the girl I fancied was snogging someone else. It's a bit pathetic, no?" Ron asked, his face flushing further at his alcohol-induced confession.

"No," Harry said emphatically, fixing his green eyes on his friend's unsure blue ones. "It's not pathetic." Ron shrugged again. Harry sat up, angry at Ron's dismissal. "You're not pathetic," he repeated, staring down at Ron.

"I didn't mean-" Ron started.

"Yes you did," Harry interrupted him, his voice raising dangerously, "and you're wrong. Your worst fears had nothing to do with dying, because you know there are things worse than that." Harry stopped suddenly, struggling to find the words he wanted to use in his current compromised state. "Dying doesn't hurt," he continued. "Living without love is worse than dying. That's why you were afraid of it." Harry stared down at his own lap, embarrassed at his outburst. Ron sat up, pressing his shoulder into Harry's again.

"Dying doesn't hurt?" Ron asked stupidly, knowing that wasn't the part of Harry's rant he was supposed to focus on.

"No," Harry confirmed. "It doesn't."

"Living hurts," Ron mused aloud.

"Sometimes," Harry agreed.

"Hurts more tonight than it did last night, that's for sure," Ron mumbled, and Harry did not need to look at his friend to know he was thinking about a certain bushy-haired young woman who boarded the Hogwarts Express earlier that morning. He grunted in response, thinking of another young woman with hair that was much longer and redder and straighter.

"D'you think we can go inside yet?" Harry asked, when the moment had passed.

"Depends. Think you can convince my mum we're not drunk?"

"Probably not," he admitted.

"Best stay out here for a bit, then."