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Ron remembers watching his brothers’ parabatai ceremony. He was only nine at the time, so the rings of fire held his interest a bit more than the ritual itself, but even then he knew it was a big deal, that it was forever. And he wanted it for himself, for a while; the whole ‘best friend for life’ thing sounds pretty good to a kid. Fred and George made it look so easy; they’d been sending requests to the Clave since they were six until, finally, they’d been approved. It was an effortless decision.
As Ron got older, however, he began to understand the gravity of the situation. Fred and George were inseparable, like two halves of a whole. When one bled, the other felt it, and when one took a risk, the other stood firmly by his side, no matter what. When the Clave spoke about the bond, they compared it to a marriage, but that’s not really the case. Walking into a marriage, there’s always an out whether you need it or not. If the first one doesn’t work there will be a second, or a third, or even a fourth. But you only get one chance at a parabatai. No do-overs.
It scared Ron away. Such a huge decision, he resolved, was one he never wanted to make.
But then he met Harry.
They grew close quickly and before he knew it, Harry was his best friend. He’d protected his back like he was born to do it, like it was natural, and had his efforts returned in full. For three years, Harry spoke to Ron like an equal, treated him like family, and put himself between Ron and countless demons. And now, Ron knows what he needs to do.
“Hermione, I’m going to vomit,” he says, staring off into space. “I can’t do it.”
She sighs. “Ron, I’m trying to read.” She’s heard this rant sixteen times in the last week and, frankly, it’s getting a bit annoying.
“What if he says no? What the hell do I do then?”
“He won’t say no.”
He nods, relieved. “You’re right.” Then, with conviction, “But what if he does .”
Hermione slams the demonology textbook shut, a vein sticking out on her forehead as she takes a steadying breath. She traps him in a stare. “Listen to me. I mean it, Ron, pay attention. When I met you, I had little experience with the Shadow World, but the Clave leant me the Codex and I read it.”
“Of course you did,” he grumbles.
“ I read it , so I knew about the parabatai bond. And when I met you and Harry, I was so sure you’d already spoken the oath together that I didn’t even bother to ask.” She tries to convey the weight of her words through her eyes. “I was wrong for a full year. Fred eventually had to correct me, but can you imagine me being that wrong about anything? At all?”
The beginnings of a grin tug at his lips. “No.”
She studies him for a moment to gauge her effectiveness then sits back in her chair. “Well, there you go. Trust me Ron, he won’t say no.”
Ron finds him in the training room, swinging his blade through the air with a vengeance. His shirt sticks to him with sweat, and he’s got that look he gets when his thoughts are far away. Too far.
“Harry,” Ron says, prompting his friend to turn around.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” he replies, breathing heavily.
“You looked pretty focused.” Hesitating, he bites his lip. “Do you...have a minute?”
Harry must hear something in his voice because he sets his sword down without a hint of reluctance. He grabs a towel and starts dabbing at his exposed skin, trying to give Ron his full attention without scaring him off.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
One deep breath, a false start, and then another. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately…” He pauses for the typical sarcastic comment, but none comes. “Harry, you know you’re my best friend.”
“And you’re mine.” He rests the towel around his neck, arms crossing over his chest.
“And, you know, I’ve never really had anyone like that before. I mean, obviously Hermione is my best friend too, but it’s different, you know? You’re like my best friend.”
Harry’s brows draw together. “Yeah…” Just as Ron’s about to start again, Harry cuts him off. “Where are you going with this?”
Looking suddenly meek, Ron swallows hard. “Be my parabatai,” he says blatantly, face a mix of a million different emotions.
Harry studies them all as they flick to the surface. Then, steady and true: “Okay.” He retrieves his sword and returns to his swings, albeit less viciously this time.
Ron deadpans. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Did you want me to say no?”
“No!” Ron huffs. “Don’t you need to, I don’t know, think about it or something? It’s a big deal!”
Harry laughs, “I know.”
Ron marches up to him and catches his wrist mid-swing. “You need to take this seriously. This...this is forever.”
“I am.” He pulls his arm away, careful not to nick him with the blade. “I’ve thought about it, Ron, and there’s no one else I’d have as my parabatai. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”
“...you were waiting for me?”
Harry nods.
“Well why didn’t you just do it? I’ve been killing myself trying to work up the nerve,” he berates, but Harry can see the growing fondness in his eyes threatening to spill over.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the worst for letting you be the cool one. I get it.” He smiles. “Now get your head out of your ass and come train with me.”
The flames are hotter than he expected. They dance around his feet, never quite reaching him but coming ever closer. His mother stands near him. She’s trying to catch his attention, but he’s worried that if he looks away the flames will catch him and he’ll go up without a chance of being saved.
It’s a silly thought, brought on by nerves. Because he’s really, really nervous.
A ways away stands Sirius, Harry’s chosen witness. He’s positively beaming. Ron wonders what’s going through his head right now, wonders how it feels to watch his former parabatai’s son, who looks so much like his father, swear the same oath he once did. What’s it like from the outside looking in? Would he take it back if he could?
Taking a deep breath, Ron manages to look at Harry long enough to find him already staring. He’s relaxed, an easy grin on his face. A shelter in the storm.
We begin the Fiery Trial. The Silent Brothers’ speak in his mind, all at once. It’s a feeling he’s never gotten used to, and across the flames, he sees Harry wince. Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, enter the center ring. In this ring, you will be bound.
Another ring appears, connecting the two already present. It glows brighter, somehow, though when Ron works up the nerve to step into it, he feels no heat at all. Instead, he feels Harry, so close now, steadying him as he always has. Despite his previous slip, Harry is calm once again, and Ron draws as much of it into himself as he can. His hands clench at his sides, and the ring of fire burns higher.
You will now recite the oath.
Harry moves first. Hand outstretched, closed in a fist, waiting expectantly, patiently for Ron’s to join it. They meet, the backs of their wrists the only point of contact, and after a moment, Ron nods. ‘I’m okay.’
Harry smiles just a little, but it’s enough.
“Entreat me not to leave thee,
Or return from following after thee--
For whither thou goest, I will go,
And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.
Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.
Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.
The Angel do so to me, and more also,
If aught but death part thee and me.”
The flames are so high now that Ron can no longer see past them. In this moment, it is truly just he and Harry, and his anxieties finally start to slide away.
He pulls his shirt over his head as Harry produces a stele. Ron turns, offering his back, and a moment later feels the sharp sting of the rune being drawn on his shoulder. Harry’s hands are quick yet focused, sure in their movements. Ron lets the feeling wash over him as the rune is completed. The burn does not settle immediately like he’s used to; instead, it simmers on his skin, lying in wait for its partner before it will sink down.
He turns back around and Harry passes him the stele. Harry rolls up his sleeve to the elbow, leaving plenty of room for the mark. Ron’s hands shake as he positions them. He takes a few deep breaths, looking to Harry who’s still smiling, steady as the fire at their sides and the sting on Ron’s shoulder.
Harry has never failed him, and Ron won’t let him down now.
Gripping the stele, he carefulls traces the curves of the parabatai rune exactly where Harry had shown him, exactly how they’d practiced. His hands are steady.
As he pulls back, he watches the rune go from the color of glowing coals to a solid black, and feels his own do the same. It settles, and somewhere deep in his soul he feels the connection snap into place. The fire extinguishes all at once, and it’s over.
Harry is his parabatai.
With a whoop, Harry pulls him into a bruising hug. They laugh, ecstatic to the core, and are shortly joined by his mother and Sirius. While she dotes on Ron the way only a mother can, Sirius brings Harry aside. Between his mother’s stream of congratulations, he catches a piece of their conversation.
“Your dad would be so proud,” Sirius says, looking at his godson but seeing someone else.
“I know.”
“Your mom, too,” he adds.
For two people at their own party, Harry and Ron see very little of each other. Ron’s mom seems to have invited every shadowhunter in existence, as well as half of downworld, and they’re all itching to get a glimpse of The Boy Who Lived. As soon as they’d stepped through the door, Harry had been whisked away by admirers, leaving Ron to wander around the manor in search of refreshments.
Some time after Ron’s third trip to the kitchen, the twins find him. He braces himself for some kind of scathing remark about how he’s a loner at his own party, but they surprise him with copious congratulations, looking almost...proud? When they leave, he’s utterly bewildered by their good humor. Never before had they been so consistently civil--they hadn’t joked even once!
While he’s mulling this over, Harry breaks from the crowd and drags Ron back into the kitchen. He’s sweating a little.
“Tough crowd?” Ron jokes, but he’d be lying if he said he isn’t feeling a tad bitter.
“The worst,” Harry sighs. “I’m sorry--this is supposed to be our party and I haven’t even seen you.”
Ron’s annoyance melts away at the first sign of Harry’s guilt. He passes him his plate of pastries, most of them unbitten, which Harry digs into gratefully. It’s been hours since their ceremony--let alone breakfast--and with as much time as Ron’s spent there, he’s sure Harry hasn’t made a trip to the kitchen once. “It’s fine. We’ve got a lifetime, haven’t we?”
Before Harry can respond, Ron spots a wayward shadowhunter through the door, peering around in a way that makes it quite obvious who he’s looking for.
“Think you’ve got a stalker,” Ron says.
Harry curses under his breath and ducks behind Ron just as the man wanders past the doorway. He gazes curiously at Ron, who waves sarcastically back, and then continues on his hunt, unperturbed.
“Blimey Harry, these people are going to eat you alive.”
“Save me, my big strong parabatai,” he says, and Ron laughs.
Struck with an idea, Ron takes Harry’s arm and guides him out of the kitchen and away from the encroaching crowd. Harry lets him get halfway up the stairs before asking where they’re going.
“I’m saving you,” Ron responds, and he doesn’t know if it’s their bond or just intuition that tells him Harry is rolling his eyes.
He takes them to his bedroom, or at least the room he stays in during extended visits. It’s one of the smallest in the house, not that he’s bothered by it. As a kid, nothing made him happier than a trip to Idris, where he could run through the fields for hours, never worrying about demons or other unsavory creatures. He loved London, loved living in the institute, but there’s something comforting about being fully surrounded by your own kind, about never having to hide. Compared to that, the size of his room is negligible.
On the roof of his closet is a trap door leading to the roof. Ron cracks it open, releasing a fair amount of dust, and slides the ladder down.
Harry coughs. “Doesn’t get much use, I’m assuming.”
“Nah,” Ron says, beginning to climb. “When I was five, though, Fred and George hid up there ‘til I fell asleep and scared me shitless.”
He gets to the top, reaching down to help Harry up. Whatever remark Harry was going to make dies on his lips as he takes in the view. Despite the darkness, the Glass City shines in the distance, a right sight for anyone, Harry included. The two settle on the edge of the roof, their legs dangling off the side. They make quick work of the rest of the pastries and after that there’s quiet, nothing but mumbled music below and the steady rumbling of the river.
Ron lays back to look at the stars. He can never see them back home.
Harry, staring intensely forward, is the first to speak. “We’re really parabatai.” His thumb traces an idle pattern over his sleeve, right where his rune rests.
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad you asked me,” Harry whispers, almost too faint to hear. There’s more to it, more he wants to say, but nothing comes. It’s a loaded statement on its own, and Ron understands. He understands all of it.
I’m glad you asked me, You’re my best friend, You’re family, I love you. I love you.
“I know,” Ron says.
I know, It was always going to be you, You’re my brother, I love you too. I love you too.
Harry lies down beside him and they stay there for some time, watching the stars lazily cross the sky until Hermione interrupts them.
“Harry! Ron! Is that you?”
They sit up in unison, spotting Hermione down below.
“Hey ‘Mione. Enjoying the party?” Harry asks.
She props her arms on her hips. “Would you please come down? Ron, your mother is looking for you.”
“What for?”
“Does it matter?” she asks irritably, and when she crosses her arms her dress slips a bit lower, revealing more of her chest and a sliver of her--
Ron glances away, grateful the night is covering his blush. He mumbles something that even he doesn’t understand.
Harry comes to his rescue before Hermione can launch into a rant. “We’re coming down!”
The pair share a wicked look as Hermione sighs. They stand up and without a second thought, leap off the roof, hitting the ground hard and falling into a roll. It surprises Hermione who lets out a shout which quickly turns into scolding once she makes sure the two weren’t hurt.
“ Honestly, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Harry and Ron, laughing heartily and fairly mussed, gather themselves as best they can and follow Hermione inside where they’re promptly snapped up by Mrs. Weasley. She shoves them in front of a blank stretch of wall and promptly begins circling them with her camera. Hermione stands back, wearing a pleased smirk while Ron grows more and more uncomfortable.
“Okay, this next one’s a family photo!” Mrs. Weasley says, followed by more than a few disgruntled groans. With some nagging, she gets her husband and the rest of her children lined up and passes the camera off to Hermione. It isn’t until Ron’s sandwiched between the twins that he realises Harry’s slipped away, looking on fondly from over Hermione’s shoulder.
Hermione raises the camera but before she can take the picture, Mrs. Weasley breaks formation.
“Harry, you can’t get out of this that easily! Come on, there’s a spot next to Ron.”
Harry stills in surprise. The spot next to Ron is nonexistent, so when Harry forces himself into it there isn’t a single inch of him not in contact with someone else. Bill puts his hand over Harry’s shoulder to keep balanced, and Charlie is crouched in front of him, putting a lot of his weight onto Harry and Ron’s legs, and Ron worries that they’re making Harry uncomfortable. This is the first time he’s met either of them, and being forced into their personal space isn’t the best greeting. But when he sneaks a glance at his parabatai between pictures, he finds him beaming brighter than he ever before, his other shoulder covered by Mrs. Weasley’s own hand.
And Ron finds he doesn’t mind the photos anymore.