Renegade Strings

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own. Yet. (sneaky glances)

Thanks for all the new reviews! You guys are the best! :D I'll try harder to upload more of these chapters-- usually I post first on my livejournal now, but I'll try to remember to keep up here, too. Thanks again! (And for those who asked, no, this isn't the end, these are just random drabbles from different universes that I've been collecting in one place. There'll be plenty more.) Sorry this one is so short, pointless, and slightly OOC. O.o I'll make something decent soon, I promise...

'I can't promise you anything,' he whispers in the dark, hovering on Ron's bedside and clenching his fingers around the hem of his pajama shirt, green eyes bright and anxious. His glasses are haphazardly crooked on his face, the moonlight glimmering off of them every time he dips his head to bite his lip worriedly.

Ron can feel nothing except the slight dip in the mattress where he is perched, uneasily, ready to turn away.

And this has happened a thousand times before in his dreams, but he never imagined it would be so painful. That the stench of dried blood would still be in the air, stretching awkwardly between them, and that his breath would be so shattered.

When Harry looks at him with that white-pinched face, there is fear, but there is desperation and need, too, and it makes Ron's heart ache painfully because he knows exactly how that feels. He wants to point out that a broken promise is still a promise, and that he's never expected anything from Harry, not absolution or sweet forever, and that he's willing to swallow the jagged shards of his own words, force them down to tear the delicate muscles of his esophagus, if only Harry will look at him like this, just now, and again then, and perhaps once more after all is said and done.

The hospital ward is empty, hollow in the night. They are locked like this, unreal and drenched in antisceptic scent and unfairness.

He fumbles with his arm-- it is bandaged, achy, slow-- and reaches out to touch Harry's face. His fingertips brush his sharp cheekbone, and Harry catches his breath, gazes intently at him, and there is nothing else to say.

But Ron says it anyway, murmuring, 'I'll make enough promises for the both of us.'

The End