Randominity

The scar cuts an angry path through Ron's right brow and down over the eyelid before trailing to a rest among the freckles on his cheek. It is of a completely different nature than Harry's; jagged and rough-edged where Harry's is surgically precise. Harry doesn't let himself think you've got one too, now, but he does ask if he can touch.

"Will it hurt?" he asks, brushing his fingertip against it. He has no frame of reference for a scar that doesn't ache with the presence of evil.

"No," Ron says. "Shouldn't, anyway." His good eye closes when Harry presses.

~*~

Voldemort is dead, but so is Charlie, and they're not sure if Fred will ever wake up. There are parties occasionally, in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, where nobody feels much like celebrating just yet.

Harry and Hermione both stay at the Burrow, and Harry is only sorry he never got to say good riddance to the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley frets over them, and Harry feels like family, but he hasn't slept a full night yet, in his bed across the room from Ron.

Ron moans low in his sleep, sometimes; sad, painful sounds that he forgets making in the morning.

~*~

Hermione loves Ron even when his choices hurt her. "Without perfect vision, you won't be able to be an Auror!" she says, and Ron argues in favour of working in Muggle artifacts with his father while Hermione reads books about magical eye technology. Their fingers link between them on Ron's narrow bed.

Harry remembers the first days after it happened, and the way Ron's mouth had twisted when he said Harry's name. "I'm tired, Harry," Ron had said.

"I think you should do whatever makes you happy," Harry had told him.

He sits on Ron's bad side and feels invisible.

~*~

They make shy attempts at conversation, curled up like children and eating Every Flavour Beans. Only the tip of Ron's scar is visible above his bandage, and Harry avoids staring, knowing too well what it's like. His fingers itch to touch something, to feel. He hasn't felt anything since the battle; he wonders if he'll ever get it back.

"Hermione thinks I'm making a mistake," Ron tells Harry. "She won't say it -- she just expects me to know." He looks up, mildly accusing. "You never say anything anymore, either."

Harry shrugs. "It's over now," he says. "There's nothing to say."

~*~

Harry knows Ron and Hermione haven't been alone together, because Ron never leaves his sight. He sees Hermione's longing glances and wants to tell Ron, she needs you, or maybe stop being selfish, but somehow Harry knows he's the selfish one.

"We've been drifting apart," Ron says, "Hermione and I." The rook he's been neglecting for five minutes shouts angrily and shakes its fist.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, wiping his palms on his jeans. "I didn't know."

"I don't think I love her the way she loves me, Harry," Ron says sadly. His rook splits Harry's knight cleanly in two.

~*~

[blah, blah, angstpuppies, lofty notions of eventual slash, whatever.]