Multifandom Shorts

Since August, Harry had started to notice people noticing him. Glances that lingered a bit too long, awkwardly long conversations with strangers at the launderette, people in odd outfits watching him on his morning run. It had been piling up for months. Now that it was November, he was certain that he had accidentally hacked into some government spy server, or he was losing his mind.

It was a Friday evening, and he was watching the condensation dribble down his beer glass. The seat beside him was empty—Ron had gone to the toilet, and Harry waited for his return, trying to ignore the fact that a middle-aged man with a cold expression had come into the pub, scanned the patrons until he spotted Harry, and then moved to sit at table across the room where he opened a book and forgot to order anything.

Perhaps it might not have been so troubling if Ron’s reappearance wasn’t arrested by the surprise he had upon noticing the man at the table. Then, however, he blinked and started back toward Harry, smiling warily.

“Do you know him?” said Harry when Ron sat down again.

Ron opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He seemed to be thinking very hard as he followed Harry’s gaze.

“Er—who?” said Ron. His voice was very casual. Too casual? “That bloke with the book?”

“Yeah. You looked surprised to see him.”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno. Looks familiar. Maybe a friend of my dad’s or something. Dad knows everyone.”

For a moment, Harry waited for Ron to confess everything. He needed Ron to confirm that all of what Harry imagined was true—the fact that Ron had been following him around the grocery store for weeks or that it was no coincidence that Ron had moved into the same building as Harry. He needed to know that there was some government conspiracy that Harry must have accidentally tripped into, and now they were keeping tabs on him just in case he decided to sell the information to the mob.

But then they settled into conversation again, and Ron told him about how he was getting really annoyed at his coworker for forgetting to file all of the reports on whatever it was they were working on, and the exchange felt so ordinary, that Harry felt incredibly stupid. A secret government operative, he thought, feeling his face grow warm. Bloody stupid. Listen to yourself. Oh yes, I’m Harry the IT guy, and I’m being followed by government spies.

“…and then the idiot says, ‘Oh, didn’t know we had to keep stuff like that.’ And I sort of blew up at him. ‘Course, it caused a bit of a scene, and now everyone thinks I’m a bit barmy…”

Harry caught the eyes of the man with the book who quickly turned his gaze down. Ron glanced behind him at the man too.

“Keeps looking at me,” Harry muttered.

“Should I tell him to piss off?”

Harry groaned and dropped his face into his hands, cursing under his breath. Christ, he’d been so close. He’d been so close to having a friend, but Ron was about to hear the stupidest thing come out of Harry’s mouth because Harry couldn’t take it anymore. Someone had to know that Harry was ill.

“What’s the matter?”

Cautiously, Harry peered through his fingers at Ron and then lifted his head, his face hot.

“I think I’m crazy or something.”

Ron raised his brows. “You are?”

“Yeah. I’m paranoid.”

“About what?”

Determinedly, Harry ignored the man whose gaze had flickered to him again. Across the pub, hanging on the paneled wall, was a huge painting of a military officer from the eighteenth century, and Harry tried to make eye contact with it to avoid making it with Ron.

“Everything,” said Harry. “I feel like I’m being watched. All the time. I’m being followed everywhere I go—at least, it seems like it. But that’s stupid, right? Who’s going to spy on me? I’m no one.”

Ron frowned. “Dunno, mate. I don’t think you’re no one.”

A warm feeling swelled in Harry’s chest. “Er—thanks,” he said awkwardly. “But you know what I mean. I know I’m not being watched. I know that. But I’m just…”

How could he put into words what he’d always been hiding? It wasn’t just the recent episodes of casual stalking, but a lifetime of oddities. Things happening around him that he couldn’t explain. Noticing stuff no one else did.

If it was some sort of syndrome, it was worsening. Someone needed to know. Or rather, Harry needed someone to know.

“I looked it up online,” Harry said. With a fingertip, he smeared the sweat of his beer glass into the tabletop. “I think I could have schizophrenia.”

“What’s that?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to raise his brows. “Er—you know, the mental disorder? I guess you can get really paranoid when you have it because you can get delusions and stuff. You don’t know what schizophrenia is?”

“Er—I mean. Sure,” said Ron. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” His ears were starting to redden. It seemed like he was trying to keep himself from looking over his shoulder. “But,” he said slowly, “you probably don’t have it. You seem okay to me.”

“Because I’m good at hiding it,” Harry told him. “I’ve had hallucinations my whole life. My aunt and uncle knew about it, and they always tried to keep me shut up like they were scared someone would find out. It hasn’t really been a problem before. It’s just…I think it’s getting worse.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Ron insisted weakly. “You seem normal to me.”

Harry forced a laugh. “Am I? Did you know, I thought you were a government spy for a while? I kept thinking you were tailing me when I went grocery shopping.”

For a moment, he avoided looking at Ron, horrified that he’d actually admitted the truth. Why did he say that? Ron was his sole friend, and now Harry had confessed that he initially believed Ron was his friend only because some shady government office had sent him to gain Harry’s trust.

There was the sound of coins dropping on the table. Ron was paying for their drinks. Expressionless. Something dropped in Harry’s stomach.

“I’m s—”

“I want to watch TV,” Ron cut him off. “And I’ve got beers and a frozen pizza.”

“Guess I’ll see you later.”

“I don’t know how to work it.”

“What? The TV?”

“Yep. Can you show me?”

“Er—okay.”

Harry had never been to Ron’s flat.

Within a handful of months, Ron had made the place his own—and that meant dishes in the sink and a lump of discarded socks and underwear outside the bathroom door and half-empty coffee mugs on the table. He invited Harry to sit on the sofa but not before he’d wiped a few crumbs off the cushion first.

While Ron fetched beers from the kitchen, Harry sat awkwardly on the sofa, trying not to catalog everything he spotted on the table and classifying each object as suspect or typical of a twenty-something government employee.  The coffee table was overflowing with mail, empty cans, pens, scratch paper, and to his astonishment, a newspaper. But the remarkable thing about the newspaper was that the photographs were moving. Harry looked away. No, he thought. Photographs don’t move.

“Er—Harry?” Ron’s voice came from beyond a short corridor. “Could—er—could you help me with the oven? I can’t seem to—er—”

When Harry came into the kitchen, Ron was standing sheepishly beside the oven.

“Dunno how to turn it on.”

“What’s the oven temperature supposed to be?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Are you trying to make a pizza?”

It turned out, Ron had never made a frozen pizza before, nor had he, apparently, ever used an oven. Perhaps Ron had grown up in a very privileged family, Harry thought, or maybe it was that his parents cooked everything. The simplicity of turning a knob on the oven to the heat mark that matched the one on the pizza box seemed to bewilder him.

“Then we just have to wait until the oven is hot,” Harry finished.

Ron handed him a bottle of Stella Artois. Harry almost laughed. It felt a bit like Ron had read a manual on how to appear like a normal guy in his twenties. I’ve got beers and a frozen pizza. But he couldn’t work an oven.

For a minute, Harry stared at the bottle.

“Tell me I should go to the doctor,” Harry muttered. “Because I have this stupid voice in my head that thinks you’re some sort of undercover government operative that’s investigating me for, I dunno, international intrigue.”

To his credit, Ron didn’t laugh. Instead, he heaved a huge sigh and nodded back to the living room.

“Yeah. About that…”

Once again, Harry took a seat, but Ron paced a bit first, clearly considering how he was going to frame it what he wanted to say.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, unless it’s an emergency,” warned Ron. “But…if you’re about to go checking yourself into some hospital because you think you’re losing your mind, then…I should just tell you. That’s an emergency to me.” He wrinkled his nose. “Damn. I should get someone else to—”

“Could you just spit it out?”

“Yeah. Yeah, all right. Listen, Harry, you’re not crazy.”

“But—”

Ron shook his head. “You’re not. The thing is, I am sort of an undercover government operative…but you’re not in trouble or anything. The truth is…it’s…” When finally, he could hesitate no more, he groaned. “You’re going to think I’m out of my mind. I’m what’s called an Auror. It’s like a—a detective. Except that I mostly go after dark wizards.”

“Wizards? Is that code for something?”

“No. I mean like wizards wizards. Like, magic, yeah?”

Harry blinked and looked down, his face burning. Ron was making fun of him now, was he? He wanted to press the cold bottle against his face.

“See?” said Ron. “You think I’m mad. Well, have a look at that newspaper. It’s one of our papers. I know Muggle papers don’t have moving photographs, do they?”

It was called The Daily Prophet. The headline read SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE, and the photograph of a very thin man with a mass of matted black hair blinked slowly with expressionless eyes up at him. Harry flattened out the front page, trying to figure out the technology behind it.

“This is a very weird joke,” Harry muttered.

“Here,” said Ron, rummaging in his pocket for a long, thin piece of wood. “This is my wand. I’ll show you. Wingardium leviosa!”

The entire table lifted off the floor—a few cans shuddered and fell with clunks to the rug. Ron seemed to be directing the table with the thing he called a wand before he set it back down and shrugged at Harry.

“That’s got to be proof enough.”

“Not really. Are there any wires attached here?”

“Okay, then,” said Ron. “Here. You take my wand. And—er—give it a go.”

He makes a decent living, and the future looks pretty bright for IT guys. It's not a terrible life, honestly, and he worked hard to get here. As soon as he could rent his own place, he's been living alone. He doesn't really have friends because he doesn't spend money on going out, and he learned fairly early on that it's hard to keep friends when you work so much. But he knows computers. He knows how to fix anything, and now that it's the dawn of the tech era, for the first time in his life, he finally holds a bit of power (the keeper of passwords, sees everyone's browsing history, etc.). Again, he's worked hard to get here.

He has a bit of a secret, though. There's something wrong about him. He's always tended to notice things that other people don't like funky shops or pubs that no one has heard of. He's pretty sure he has magical powers, but that sounds stupid and no he doesn't, he must've just imagined his water glass refilling itself or the full conversation he had with a garden snake.

Now, there's even odder stuff happening around him. Is he being followed? He keeps noticing the same redheaded guy at the grocery store shopping the same aisles as him, and Harry is particularly suspicious when that same guy moves into a flat in Harry's building. But the guy is all right--his name is Ron, and Ron works for the government or something. Okay, and maybe Ron's actually cool and sure, it's all a bit odd, but it's sort of nice to go down to the pub with someone his age. And okay, maybe Ron is his friend now?

But the strange things keep piling up: he can't help feeling that he's being watched all the time. Even at work, there's a new guy named Kingsley who seems to notice every time Harry's in the room. Feeling unsettled, Harry confesses to Ron that he thinks he's losing his mind and maybe he ought to check himself into a hospital for mental health or something.

Ron, unable to hold it back any longer, tells Harry the truth. About magic, about Voldemort, about everything. Ron tells him the reason why Harry's being followed is because a dark wizard broke out of prison, probably to kill Harry.

Anyway, Harry is forced to weigh his feelings about it all. He's worked so hard to get where he is, and apparently, there aren't computers in the magical world. But it seems he's got a massive vault in a bank underground? And he's famous? And also, there's a murderer who's after him? Does he even want to assimilate into a world that left him to fend for himself?

Albus was quite familiar by now with the contours of Harry's face—his sharp jaw, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, the gleam of his long eyelashes—so he noticed right away when there was a mark on his beloved's face that wasn't present before.

Dismay hit him first, for the wound was clearly very old and permanent, and thus might be causing his lover considerable pain. Confusion crept in next, when he leaned over his sleeping paramour, took his own thumb and swept it across Harry's forehead, ignoring the low puzzled sound that accompanied Harry stirring.

"Hmm?"

"What is this, Harry?" he asked softly, and punctuated the question with another gentle sweep of his thumb across this odd, lightning-bolt scar.

The contact between his skin and Harry's meant he felt the latter's flinch right away.

"I..."

Albus' auburn brows drew together. The hesitation told him more than words could. The scar was indeed not new—and Harry had not expected to ever have to answer for it.

"How long have you had this, love?"

Harry's body sagged back into the mattress. The endearment seemed to ease something in him that had been drawing tight and tighter still. Reassurance that he was still adored tended to do that.

His belated answer was: "As long as I can remember."

Albus decided, without telegraphing such, that he would tread more cautiously to solve this mystery.

"And does it pain you?"

"...It used to, sometimes. It doesn't anymore."

"It appears to be a curse scar." Albus allowed his forefinger to join his thumb at Harry's forehead, stroking and measuring the little shape. "You mentioned once that your parents were murdered when you were very young. Perhaps this happened then?"

"I think so. Yeah."

Harry wasn't cold, but his sentences were definitely more clipped than usual; Albus could hear the aversion to this topic clear as day in his voice. But he couldn't help the questions brimming at the edge of his mind, desperate to have their turn in the sun.

"The person who did this to you—"

"—he's dead," Harry interjected at once, reaching for Albus' free hand and rubbing at it until it unclenched. He was good at reading the fluctuations of temperature in the air and matching them to Albus' mood, adjusting accordingly. "Been dead for years. I found out who he was, and I killed him."

Albus exhaled. He had ended more than enough lives himself, but he never liked to think of Harry having to kill. Of people who might, inexplicably, wish to kill Harry and thus need to be stopped.

But that did not answer the question he was truly stuck on. Harry was extremely handsome, but was also the furthest thing from vain. He would not have hidden the scar simply to lie about how he looked, or to improve his romantic prospects. (He looked, in fact, more complete with it visible, in a way Albus could only appreciate the more that he looked at Harry.) But with vanity out of the question, and the perpetrator beyond the reach of Albus' retribution...

He inhaled, and asked, "...Why did you feel you needed to hide it?"

From me remained unspoken, but not unheard.

Harry's cheeks flushed. His brilliant green eyes flickered downward toward his own bare chest, and stayed there.

"The scar... makes me stand out. For a long time, that was dangerous, so I got accustomed to hiding it. And once I didn't have to anymore..."

He swallowed; Albus moved his questing hand away from Harry's forehead and up to his hair, stroking slowly and encouragingly through it.

"I didn't mean to lie to you," Harry went on, but in a whisper. "I just decided long ago that I was tired of being known by my damn scar. It's a constant reminder that I don't have my parents."

Albus' own eyes darted away for half a moment. He tried to imagine what it would have been like, gaining a noticeable curse scar every time he lost a member of his family. His father, his mother, Ariana.

"I've kept it glamoured so long that I forgot I was doing it—I barely ever have to refresh it nowadays. Still, I should have... said something to you. Long before this, erm, started. I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize." Albus shook his head, tapped lightly under Harry's chin so he'd look up, and their eyes could meet.

"But I did lie to you, Albus. Even if I didn't mean to."

"My concern was centered more around if you were self-conscious about the mark, or in pain and choosing to hide it. I do wish I'd known about your scar before tonight, but I cannot begrudge you the desire to blend in when it is a desire we share."

Harry's eyes were beginning to look a little shiny. A distraction was clearly in order.

Albus took stock of their immediate surroundings—but Fawkes was fast asleep in the corner, having snuck in sometime after their evening activities, so he couldn't be roused to cheer Harry up until morning. Something else, then. He extricated his hand from Harry's and placed it near Harry's belly instead, right at a spot he knew was ticklish. He grazed it, and delighted in how Harry squirmed.

"H-hey—"

"I am not upset with you," Albus said gently. He dragged his fingers back and forth, smiling at Harry's gasp and bitten-off huff of laughter. "Nothing has changed for us."

"You mean that?"

"I do." He brought his other hand back to rest in Harry's hair, stilled himself completely so that Harry might read his sincerity with one glance. It seemed to work—the younger man stopped looking as though he might cry, or bolt at any moment. "And I shall prove it. Tomorrow, you will wake to a breakfast tray of all of your favorites."

"Just because you've seen the ugly mark on my head?"

"It is the furthest thing from 'ugly'." Albus pressed his lips gently, gently to the scar he'd been ignorant of a mere hour before; he murmured the words right against Harry's skin. "But even if it managed somehow to dampen my desire for you, you would still receive breakfast in bed in the morning."

"Huh. Good to know."

"Mm, yes, knowledge is most valuable in any circumstance. Though not as valuable as getting a good night's sleep."

Harry snorted. "Subtle," he said, but his eyes were already closing, and he made no move to distance himself when Albus repositioned and tugged him closer with one arm.

That meant that when he drifted off again, quicker as always to the land of Nod than his partner, Albus had all the time he wanted to map Harry's face once more—if only to seal his true appearance in his mind's eye, to appreciate for all the mornings and breakfasts-in-bed to come.

Sometimes, You Have To Date Your Best Friend

Author: ZoomieZoomie324 Tumblr: @zoomiezoomie324 Word Count: 3k Rating: Teen and Up Summary: People at Hogwarts keep assuming Harry and Ron are a couple, even though they aren't. Right?

Hidden from the World (Calling out to You)

Author: Lucigoo89 Tumblr: @lucigoo Word Count: 5k Rating: Mature Summary: Harry has found himself in a situation, one he needs help with. It doesn't matter that he hasn't spoken to Ron in much to long, that he has been isolated from him and everyone else due to his boyfriend. All that matters is that he called for Ron and without wasting a second, Ron came!

You Know Me Better

Author: anna_beast Tumblr: @ashfirnen Word Count: 1k Rating: Teen and Up Summary: What's so wrong with sharing? Why's everybody staring?

Understanding

Podficcer: CailynWrites Tumblr: @cailynwrites Minutes: 43 Minutes Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Of course Hermione knows boys are idiots, and her best friends are no exception. But over the years, watching them dance around each other again and again, she really wishes she weren't the only one who understood what all of it means.

One Hundred Galleon Kiss

Author: Schmem_14 Tumblr: @schmem14 Word Count: 5k Rating: Mature Summary: Things get tense when Ron comes back home after years of living abroad.

All Night

Artist: digthewriter Tumblr: @digthewriter Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: General Summary: There was only one bed.

The Waltz of the Fools

Author: sliebman10 Tumblr: @sliebman10 Word Count: 5k Rating: Teen and Up Summary: As one of the Hogwarts Champions, Harry is expected to lead the dancing at the Yule Ball. When he realizes all of the girls he's willing to ask to be his partner already have dates, he decides to invite Ron instead. The prospect of going to the ball with his best friend brings unexpected feelings to the surface.

Playing to Win

Author: stormy_sea Word Count: 1k Rating: General Summary: Ron and Harry have to pair up when they play the dating game with a group of couples. But the game ends up leading to some realizations.

The Box

Author: The WhumpTexts Tumblr: @souptastical Word Count: 6k Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Harry and Ron find themselves in the midst of a scare after three of their kids go someplace they shouldn't have.

Wrong Room, Good Results

Author: piximera Tumblr: @piximera-fic Word Count: 2k Rating: Explicit Summary: Ron tries to open the Room of Requirement so he and Harry can get some dueling practice done, but the room keeps offering them a BDSM dungeon. They can't exactly practice in there, or can they?

Realizations

Author: stormy_sea Word Count: 2k Rating: General Summary: Harry kissing Cho sets off a series of revelations for Ron. Ron tries to move on from his newly discovered feelings for Harry, until some of Harry's actions lead him to rethink this plan.

Brighter Now

Artist: Laserswordtraining Tumblr: @laserswordtraining Art Medium: Digital Art (Comic) Rating: Mature Summary: Ron and Harry go out for margs and go home totally realising their feelings for each other. Drunken words are sober thoughts, and they're not going back. They're simply best friends, forever.

Romance in Reverse

Author: SiobhanHazel Tumblr: @siobhanhazel Word Count: 31k Rating: Explicit Summary: Every weekend, Harry stumbled through the same routine—pints with his mates, passing out, then a bleary-eyed morning of struggling through Dark Arts texts for his apprenticeship. But one fateful day, Harry woke up next to Ron, matching wedding bands on their fingers.

At least neither of them had any girlfriends to disappoint—actually, their accidental ‘platonic’ marriage had more pros than cons.

Except, Harry found himself longing for the man who was already his husband, belatedly realising his interest in men—at least, in one particular wizard.

Slowly, then all at once

Author: Bright_rain Tumblr: @bright_rain_writes Word Count: 19k Rating: Explicit Summary: What’s that cliché about falling asleep being like falling in love? That probably applies here, he thinks bitterly, looking down at Harry’s face. He traces light fingertips down the famous scar and wonders how they got to this point, with the sneaking around and the lies and the unrelenting press of guilt. He kisses him, then hurries out the door and home to his wife.