and violence henceforth (mentalistecbm) wrote,
and violence henceforth

  • Mood:
  • Music:

five hundred 25k, 600 minutes

title: i'll cover you
summary: There was a war and they were the best friends of the hero so everyone wanted them, dead and alive.
rating: pg-13
word count: 734
disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas herein are the property of JKR and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
warnings: unbetaed (isn't it always, though?)
notes: because the trio like i don't even know are the best things in the world. there is no point to this; i just needed to write this. title shamelessly stolen from RENT. (angel, baby, ugh.) immediately post-war, not two or three years like cof' or anything. disobeys all rules and the very nature of grammar.

So it starts like this:

There was a war.


And there was this camp, a lot of camps, because they were the fucking enemy working against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named (not Voldemort, he knows) and he had won.

Except not.

Because there was this war, and there was this hero and he had these two best friends who kept him sane and alive, so he had to die and they wouldn’t have had a chance to say goodbye, because that’s not how these good-evil-love-death-hate stories work.

The hero died, the hero came back to life, he killed Voldemort (not He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, he died) and everyone didn’t live happily fucking ever after, no matter what the parents tell you.


But really it begins like this:

“We are here today to mourn the passing of Fred Fabian Weasley...”

And it’s like a line, right, a line at the front of the immediate family of the honoured deceased, because those are the nice terms you use when someone got killed trying to regain their freedom, because not all of us enjoy being Marked by our blood and riches, you know, because not all of us get off on being treated like shit.

So there’s the main line, and there’s about every single fucking Weasley from the States to England to China and back, and off to the side, you have the hero and the girl best friend, Harry and Hermione, and that is where it begins. With Harry and Hermione, and they are dressed in black robes, all fancy and such, and Hermione is sobbing and Harry is trying to be strong for Hermione (and the boy best friend, Ron, because he’s pretty important, too) but he’s failing, really, as some are wont to do when this is their second funeral in just as many days.

Mrs Weasley, she’s the one hunched over and sobbing into the grass, had said, “We want you to be right up front with us. Credit is due where credit is owed, dears,” but then the body came out and she didn’t quite understand English, but that’s okay. She lost a son; she can do whatever the fuck she wants.

They’d ignored her, to put it bluntly.

But then -- but then, the body is in the ground and people are offering condolences (and if half the Weasleys have to be given Calming Potions, no one’s judging) and the boy best friend, Ron, is taking their hands and Apparating away, and if anyone think it unnecessary and rude, then they know absolutely nothing at all.

They end up in No. 12 Grimmuald Place, London, and it’s probably a very bad idea because when they stand on the doorstep, there is a Death Eater that should have let go and then there’s remembered pain of losing a part of your arm, and yes, that tends to hurt.

Inside, Ron walks towards and up the stairs. Harry and Hermione follow.

When they enter the room, the pillows and bedspreads are still on the floor. There is a half-eaten piece of toast that has just gone completely foul, and after Harry vanishes it, they all three climb onto the small bed and curl up around each other.

They sleep.


So time passes, because it always does, and it also never feels like anything has changed, even when absolutely everything has.

The Muggles call it PTSD, Ginny tells them, and it’s generally not a joke.

They stay in Grimmuald Place, all three of them, and they pass the time fixing it up, making it habitable and visiting the other Weasleys, because they should, they really should, even when it feels like nothing else matters.

Hermione goes to get her parents from Australia, and she goes herself because she feels like she can, she really does. But then, not a day later, Ron and Harry are making illegal Portkeys and not really giving a fuck about the consequences, and make it to Sydney, Australia in a matter of minutes where they find Hermione drenched wet by the rain, sobbing in an alleyway, clutching her wand and the purse, and you just know, sometimes.

They relocate the parents, fix the damage, and Ron kisses her in the bathroom while Harry explains everything.

And that’s how the end of it all begins.
Tags: fic, harry fuck-me harry, jesus save my soul, post-war

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.