The Sugar Quill
Author: Abigail (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Matters of the Heart (or "Guy Talk")  Chapter: default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

DISCLAIMER: Nothing here is mine, except the excitement I felt while writing it



DISCLAIMER: Nothing here is mine, except the excitement I felt while writing it. Thanks J.K, for all the Weasleys (especially the ones discussed in the following story), for our valiant Mr. Potter and for bushy-haired genius Hermione.


Author’s note: I missed writing from Harry’s POV, and though it’s not the one I enjoy the most, I was in need of some Harry as a main character in my stories. That just proves I do have a tremendous crush on himJ. This story is about friendship, love, family, loyalty (sniff, sniff)…  Just plain old guy talk… with spies and all. Please read “Somebody Else” or you won’t understand some parts of it.


Matters of the heart (or “Guy Talk”)

By Abigail



The Burrow,

Summer 1995


“Pass the bread, Ron,” George Weasley said, pointing at the bread basket in front of Ron.


They were eating in the Burrow’s garden, and in order to do so, they had spent the whole morning de-gnoming it. It had been of absolutely no help whatsoever, because Harry could see the tiny gnomes creping back under the garden fence on their tiptoes.


Ron didn’t seem to listen what George had just said. He was chewing his food slowly and swallowing hard. Harry suspected he wasn’t hungry at all. Maybe he was too busy thinking about something else. Maybe he couldn’t think about food right now.


“Ron?” George said more loudly than before.


Ron didn’t answer.


Fred, George, Ginny and Harry exchanged expectant glances.


“EARTH TO RONALD WEASLEY!” Ginny yelled with violence.


Ron almost died of shock. He jumped as if woken suddenly from a dream. “Ginny, you don’t have to yell!” he snapped back.


Ginny gave him an exasperated look. “Ron, pass the bread, please,” George repeated.


“Sure, here,” replied Ron, handing him the bread basket.


There was a tense silence as, one by one, each of them understood what was happening. Well, except perhaps Mr. Weasley. Fred and George’s faces lit up, and Harry and Ginny looked at each other, grinning.


“Ron, dear, are you ok?” Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding really worried.


“He’s ok, Mum,” Fred replied, with a sideways glance at Harry. Harry smiled mischievously. “Ickle Ronniekins it’s just a little in-lo…”


“Shut up, Fred!” said Ron, fuming.


Mr. Weasley looked from one to the other. “A little what, Fred?” he asked curiously. Ron shook his head with violence.


“Nothing, Dad, a little tired, that’s all,” he said quickly.


“No,” Mr. Weasley replied, “Fred said a little in-something.”


“In-tired, ” Ron replied, looking away.


“But, Ron, I think in-tired is a nonexistent word, according to the English Dictionary," Percy said solemnly, but Harry noticed him winking at Fred.


“Yes,” Fred said, “a Head Boy’s word is a true word. And besides, that wasn’t what I was going to say.”


Ron went terribly red. “Er…”


“Then what were you going to say?” Ginny asked.


Harry was about to say something, but held back. As much as he wanted to be part of this joke, he could tell Ron was really embarrassed, and poor Ron was his friend. Of course, he didn’t stand up for him, either.


“Okay, dears, that’s enough,” Mrs. Weasley said, with a look that obviously meant or else. She had clearly understood what this was all about. Ron gave her a thankful grin.


Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be completely lost on the subject, but decided to listen to his wife.


“Mum, I’m done,” Ron said, pushing his half-empty plate towards the center of the table.


Harry looked from the plate to Ron and from Ron to the plate. This time he decided to speak. “Ron, you hardly ate anything.” How ironic; he had just sounded like Hermione.


Ron looked at him meaningfully, and Harry understood. “But I understand that you are not hungry,” he said quickly, “I’m done too, Mrs. Weasley.”



“Well, you can leave,” Mrs. Weasley said, picking their plates up and walking into the kitchen. “But first, follow me.”


Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged. They followed.


Mrs. Weasley placed their plates on the sink, took out her wand and muttered, “Lavendus Inmediatum!” And sponge and water started to work quietly on them.


Then she looked at the boys, and smiled. “Well, we’ll have one more guest tomorrow, remember that,” she said. Harry turned to look immediately at Ron, who had gone white. “I expect you two will tidy Ron’s room a little, after all it’s your guest. You don’t want her to see what a mess you are.”


“But… Mum… she won’t sleep in my room, will she?” Ron stuttered.


Mrs. Weasley laughed quietly to herself. “Certainly not!” She looked at Harry, who smiled.


“What’s that supposed to-” Ron started, but Harry cut him off. 


“We will tidy Ron’s room, Mrs. Weasley. Don’t worry.”


“Right then. Harry, will you kindly wait outside?” she replied “I need to talk to my brilliant son here.” She placed an arm over Ron’s shoulders.


Ron looked at her curiously.


Harry nodded, and left the kitchen, but stopped at the other side of the door, hiding from view. He wanted to listen to this.


“Right, Ron,” he heard Mrs. Weasley saying. “About her. Are you sure you are ready for… her coming?”


Harry held back a fit of giggles.


Ginny came and stood by him. “She’s talking to him about Hermione,” Harry explained, muttering.


“Oh,” Ginny replied nodding.


“Mum!” came Ron’s exasperated voice from inside the kitchen.  “She’s just Hermione.”


“Ha!” Ginny exclaimed, loudly. Harry covered her mouth with his hand in reflex, and although he didn’t see it, Harry suspected she was blushing, both for what she had done, and because of the sudden contact with him. 


“Dear, she was just Hermione two years ago. Now she is Hermione.


Ginny’s giggles where barely audible under Harry’s hand.


“Mum!” came Ron’s voice again.


“I was just saying… if you want to talk about it…well… here I am.”


Harry then noticed that all the remaining Weasleys were hiding at the other side of the door. He smiled. His hand was still clapped over Ginny’s lips, and Percy was looking mischievously at him.


“Yeah, Mum. Thanks,” said a probably-blushing Ron after a few seconds.


“Certainly,” replied Mrs. Weasley. “Now go with Harry.”


It was as though a rampaging Blast-Ended Skrewt was hurrying in their direction. Harry removed his hand from Ginny’s mouth swiftly, and let her go, feeling a bit sorry. He was beginning to enjoy it.


Fred, George, Percy, Ginny and Mr. Weasley sat at the table and began to talk as though there hadn’t been an interruption. Harry pretended to be really interested in a painting of an old red-haired man hanging on the wall.


Ron came in from the kitchen, still a bit red.


“C’mon, Harry,” he said grimly, as he passed by.


The Weasleys stopped chatting at once and turned their attention in Ron’s direction.


“What’s wrong with them?” he muttered under his breath, starting to climb the stairs. With a last wink at Ginny, Harry followed.



Ronald’s Room.


They needed to do a lot of pushing in order to open Ron’s door, since there was a lot of stuff lying on the floor and blocking the entrance.


“Bloody room,” Ron whispered after they managed to get in. He was clearly in a terrible mood. “Bloody, stupid nonsense.” He kicked a pair of shoes out of his way and threw himself onto the bed, covering his head with a pillow.



Pig started to make a great deal of noise at the sight of them, and Ron sighed. “Stupid, tiny, hyperactive, pig of an owl,” he said, his voice muffled under the pillow.


Harry sat at the foot of the bed and sighed.


Neither of them spoke for a long time. The only sound heard was Pig’s usual racket.


Then suddenly, Ron sat bolt upright, the pillow falling to the floor. Harry wondered if there could be more things on the floor. Adding the recently fallen pillow, it seemed as though it wasn’t a single free space in it.


“Harry,” Ron said, suddenly serious, “what’s wrong with me?”


That was the weirdest question Harry had ever heard. How was he supposed to know what was wrong with Ron? If Ron didn’t know, then who did?


But this thought quickly fled. Actually, he did know what was wrong with his friend. He just didn’t know how to explain it. And he didn’t have to, because just then, Ron spoke again.


“I mean, it’s just so…weird.”


“Weird how?” Harry asked. Maybe he would let Ron do all the explaining.


“I mean, it’s even… sick.”




“Yeah, it’s weird and sick.” Ron looked through the window with a longing kind of expression.


“But what’s weird and sick?” Harry asked, even though he knew perfectly well what Ron was talking about.


“This feeling I feel,” Ron replied.


There was silence again.


Harry was about to break it, when Ron spoke again.


“I mean… don’t laugh Harry, please… but…” he stopped and shook his head, “no, forget it. Damn!”


“C’mon Ron, you can tell me,” Harry encouraged him.


Ron looked at him suspiciously. “Promise me you won’t laugh at me.”


“Why would I?” Harry said, smiling.


“Well, it’s kind of girlish, if you know what I mean.”


“I won’t laugh, I promise”


“Well, I feel like there are a bunch of butterflies flying around in my stomach.”


Butterflies? Harry snorted loudly, and Ron glared at him. “I knew you would laugh.”


Harry wasn’t laughing, but he could faintly hear giggles coming from outside the door. He smiled. Ron didn’t seem to notice the noises, though.


“No, it’s just…” Harry said, making something up fairly quickly, “I… I feel it too, sometimes.” This wasn’t entirely a lie. He did feel like that. In fact he had just felt it, when he and Ginny had been so close. He wondered vaguely if that meant something. Surely it did, because he had felt it when he first saw Cho.


Ron looked at him, his eyes round and big. “You… you… you…” he stuttered, “you don’t like Hermione too, do you?”


“No,” Harry said firmly. He wasn’t a bit surprised about the question or the name in it. He expected it would pop out sooner or later. “Don’t believe anything Rita Skeeter ever says.”


Ron grinned.


“Oh, yes. I forgot about Cho,” he said.


“Cho?” Harry asked in reflex, then blushed. “Oh, yes, Cho, sure.” He wasn’t going to tell Ron about his awakening feelings for Ginny. And he surely wasn’t going to speak about it, when he half knew that all the remaining Weasleys were listening to them now.


Ron glanced suspiciously at him. “So, you were saying…” Harry continued quickly, avoiding Ron’s gaze, “so what you feel about Hermione…”


“Who said Hermione?” Ron asked suddenly, startling Harry a little.


I heard love is a disease. Well, it’s really starting to affect him.


“Ron, you just said… you asked…”


“Oh, right. Forgot about that," he replied, flushing. “Well, it’s weird and sick.”


“But, why?”


“Because she’s my best friend.”


There was another silence, and Harry could faintly hear hurried Shhhh’s from outside the room. Still, Ron didn’t notice.


“I know what you mean, Ron,” Harry replied. “Well, not exactly. But Hermione is like a…sister to me. So I’ll tell you this. Don’t be afraid of telling her how you feel. It’s not healthy to keep those feelings to yourself.”


Ron snorted. “Thanks, Dr. Love,” he joked. Harry glared at him. “But your prescription has one little flaw… the person in question likes somebody else.” Ron suddenly seemed to understand something, and his face lit.


“You mean Krum?” Harry asked.


“Yeah, Krum, right.” But there was brightness in his voice again. “Thanks, Harry. I mean it.”


“Thanks for what?” Harry said, perplexed.


“For… forget it.”


“Ron, Hermione doesn’t like Krum.”


“Sure, Harry, ” Ron replied. He was obviously not paying any attention to him. “We need to tidy this room, or she’ll see what a mess I am.”


Harry stared at him in amazement, and then shrugged. At least he seemed to be happy.


He could hear footsteps drawing away from the room. The crowd was dispersing outside.



He waited a while and then spoke. “So that you know, I don’t like Cho anymore.”


“No?” Ron replied, picking his chess pieces from the ground, and fighting a wrestling queen into the chess box.



“No, I like somebody else.”


Ron looked at him, his face full of understanding.


“That’s okay, Harry. You let me have your sister and I’ll let you have mine .



They both laughed, not noticing the tiny little gasp coming from outside the door.






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