Work Header

I See You

Work Text:

My first Rarry! 


This was written for the Write-a-Ron hosted by Ron’s Chessboard  :) I chose Seer!Ron and can only hope I did him justice!


Thanks a TON to AC_nelli for the beta! 


Quick background. This is a magical AU with no Hermione, no Ginny, and no Voldemort.




Five-year-old Ron Weasley walks into the kitchen one morning, yawning as he offhandedly asks if Bill received his prefect badge yet. 


His parents, who are both standing near the counter, look at each other in that way, making Ron feel as if he did something wrong, though he isn't  quite sure what. After a moment, Mrs Weasley tutts as she pats her youngest affectionately on the head. “Sweetie, we don't even know if Bill will be a prefect yet. The Hogwarts letters won't be arriving for weeks!”


Ron only shrugs, frowning as he takes  his seat at the table.




About a month later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Ron runs down the stairs in tears, his voice hysterical as he asks his parents if George will be alright.


“Yes, son,” his father soothes as he takes the child into his arms. “He’s fine, you see?” Mr Weasley gestures to the window, where the two twin boys are wrestling each other outside in the grass, completely unharmed.


To placate his parents, Ron nods, but the knot in his stomach doesn't dissipate at all. To distract himself, he sits down on the large rug in the living area, making up an imaginary game with the moving pieces of the wizards’ chess set. 


Not even ten minutes later, seven-year-old Fred Weasley runs into the house screaming. A branch fell from the tree above where they were playing, leaving George unconscious and with a nasty concussion.




Ron really doesn't want to go to St Mungo’s, but his mum insists and he knows he has no choice in the matter. He's terrified of the loud, bright building full of sick and injured people, and he hates the white walls, the chilly air, and the smell of potions all around him. 


They are led into a small room, where Ron refuses to sit on the table, choosing instead to stay in touching distance to his mum. When the healer walked in, Ron’s eyes narrow, suspicious of the man’s intentions.


“He’s saying these things with a certainty that he shouldn't possibly be able to have,” Mrs Weasley explains, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. “And the majority of them eventually come true.” The healer nods as he eyes Ron, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. “It's been happening for a while now,” his mum continues, “and we have been chalking it all up to coincidence, but now we aren't so sure. Could he be a seer? We’ve never had a seer in the family, I thought it was hereditary?”


The healer bends down, his neck turning to the side as he tries to study Ron, who scoots over, hiding behind his mum’s robes. “Sometimes,” the man finally answers. “But it could also be random. It will only take a few little tests, though, and we’ll know soon enough.”




Despite Ron’s protests, there are tests run. Luckily, none of them hurt, but he is repeatedly told to relax and concentrate, something that the normally rambunctious five-year-old doesn't feel like doing. 


By the end of the day, his mum is crying, but smiling as they are told the news.


“You're a special boy, my Ronnie,” she tells him. “An incredibly special boy.”




Ron doesn't feel special. 


He feels different. Like he doesn't belong. 


As soon as they get home and his mum shares the news, all of his siblings have questions they demand answers to. Bill wants to know if the girl he fancies fancies him back. Charlie eagerly asks Ron if he’ll grow up to be a professional quidditch player. Percy tries to get details about how successful he’ll be, and the twins just want to know how much they’ll be able to get away with regarding future shenanigans. 


Ron tells them all that he has no control over what he sees and what he doesn't see, and even if he did , he isn't  a bloody crystal ball and he wouldn't tell them the answers to those questions, anyway.




When his father takes him to a Chudley Cannons match at the age of eight, Ron is ecstatic. For once, he is the only one that gets to go, and it’s a relief to be away from the twin’s teasing for the afternoon. A few minutes into the game, however, he already knows the ending score. Feeling more than a little disappointed, he tells his father that the Cannons are going to lose, immediately regretting doing so when he sees his father’s face fall. Catching himself, Mr Weasley smiles, but Ron can tell that it's forced. 


“For future reference, son, you should never tell people the outcome of a game,” his dad explains. “It ruins the fun, you see…”


Ron says nothing about the game scores for the remainder of the match, but he still loudly and enthusiastically cheers on the Cannons, hoping with all his heart that his vision is wrong, even though he knows it isn't.




He’s nine years old when he’s laying in bed and has a vision that stuns him. Ron sees himself (a much older version of himself, anyway) snogging someone. Because the older Ron is blocking most of the view of the other person, Ron can't tell who it is or what they look like, only that they have very dark hair. It takes him several long seconds to realize, judging by the deep moaning sounds that both of the snogging people are emitting, that this older version of himself isn't snogging a girl, but instead, is snogging a boy


Ron didn't even know that boys could kiss other boys, had never heard of such a thing before. As it is so new, the concept should make him feel uncomfortable, but strangely, it doesn't. In fact, Ron finds the idea of kissing a boy far preferable to the idea of kissing a girl, though at the end of the day, he has no desire to kiss anyone and is sure it would be that way for a long time.


That night, as he sits on the counter while his mum cooks dinner, he swings his legs back and forth as he tries to work up his courage.


“Mum?” he finally forces himself to ask. “Sometimes, do boys kiss other boys?”


In the middle of stirring a large pot of soup, his mum freezes. Her body turns towards him, her features rigid. “What did you see, Ronnie?” she asks in a slow voice.


“I saw—” Ron pauses, losing his nerve. “Two older boys in the village. I don't know who they were, but they were kissing each other. On the lips,” he clarifies.


His mum doesn't  respond for a few long seconds, but then she nods. “It's not common, but it happens, yes.”


“Is it… bad ,” Ron presses, knowing there's more to it than what she’s saying. There's an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and for some reason unbeknownst to him, the answer to his question seems monumentally important.


Looking conflicted, Mrs Weasley stares hard at him. Ron’s heart is beating rapidly in his chest and he feels a sense of shame, though he knows he doesn't  have any logical reason to feel that way.


“It’s usually looked down upon,” she finally says. She shakes her head, returning to her previous task of stirring the soup. “I try to mind my own business, but at the same time, I don't know what on earth would possess someone to choose that lifestyle.”


“Yeah,” Ron replies in a weak voice. “I don't know, either.”




When Ron stumbles into a compartment on the Hogwarts Express at the age of eleven, he meets Harry James Potter, and the two are almost instantly the best of mates. They both love quidditch and sweets, and both have the same sense of humor. 


For once, because nobody at Hogwarts knows his secret, Ron can pretend that he is just like everybody else — that he is normal.


Soon, he discovers that sometimes it’s a good thing to be a seer and know about the things that are going to happen. Ron knows which kids are safe to befriend, and which ones he needs to avoid. He also knows which classes he will exceed in, and which ones he will barely pass. 


Ron is hit with a bout of jealousy when he sees Harry joining the quidditch team (something that is almost unheard of for a first year) but he is also so happy for his best friend and can hardly keep the news to himself until it happens later that day.




A few months into their friendship, Ron finally tells Harry his secret. Like most people are when they find out that Ron is a seer, Harry seems impressed. Unlike most people, though, Harry doesn't try to get any information out of him, puzzling Ron when he, instead, asks a different kind of question. 


“Want to sneak out and go for a fly tonight?” 


Ron smiles. “Hell yeah.”




By the time Ron reaches third year, he knows for sure that he is attracted to boys. Like the hundreds of other secrets he has inside his head, he keeps this to himself and doesn't tell anybody. To his dismay, he often finds himself thinking about Harry like that , and unbidden, his eyes gravitate towards his black-haired mate before looking away again — embarrassed.


Harry’s just a good friend , Ron repeats to himself. He repeats it over and over, like a mantra, until he believes it. 


It works. At least for a while.




Ron is sixteen when he finally admits (to himself, at least) that he’s madly in love with Harry James Potter.


There's nothing happy about this admission though. Instead, it hurts. It hurts so damn bad that Ron can hardly see straight. It’s obvious that Harry’s not interested in him, or even interested in boys at all. Just like Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and occasionally Neville Longbottom, Harry is always more than happy to chat about the girls at school up in the Gryffyndor boy’s dorm room. When Ron feels up to it, he joins in on the conversations, pretending to be interested as well, but most of the time he doesn't even bother.




That year, Harry starts dating Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, and Ron is miserable. When he sees Cho getting the affection from Harry that he would do anything to have, Ron has to look away, hoping that nobody can see the tears stinging his eyes. 


Like trying to work out a puzzle, his mind constantly goes back to the vision he saw as a nine-year-old child. He tries with all his might to put an identity to whoever he’d been snogging, desperately hoping that it could somehow be Harry. However, he hadn't been able to see the other boy clearly, even back then, and the amount of time that had passed since he saw it doesn't help matters at all.


Not for the first time, Ron wishes he had some control over his visions. What was the point of being a seer when he can't even get to fucking choose what he sees? 




“Did I do something wrong?” Harry is exasperated, his eyes full of accusation and questions that Ron can’t answer. “Because if I did, you need to tell me!”


“No. Nothing,” Ron replies, his features hard as he stares at his feet.


“Then why do you keep avoiding me, Ron? Every time Cho and I walk into a room you're in, you stand up and walk out. Even during classes you stick closer to bloody Neville than you do to me!”


“Neville’s my friend!” Ron snaps back.


Harry's eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “And I’m not ?”


Ron shakes his head. “You are . It's just—” 


“Just what Ron?” Harry interrupts. “Is it because you're jealous? Do you fancy my girlfriend?” Though it’s not spot on, of course, Harry has no idea just how close he is to the truth. Ron is jealous. The look on his face must confirm it for Harry. “That’s it, isn't it?” he continues when Ron doesn't answer. “You're jealous of Cho and I!” 


“I don't want your bloody girlfriend!” Ron hollers. 


“Yeah, right,” Harry hisses. “That's obviously a lie!”


Ron barks out a loud laugh. “Shows how much you know, Potter. I wouldn't touch your girlfriend even if she crawled into my bed starkers!”


“Stay away from her,” Harry snarls. “And stay away from me as well!” He turns around and stomps towards the door, obviously in a hurry to get away. 


“No fucking problem!” Ron yells to his ex-best friend’s retreating form.




“I’m sorry.” 


Ron’s eyes snap open in the middle of the night to see, or rather, kind of see, Harry's shadowed form sitting in the dark at the foot of his bed. 


“I miss you, Ron,” Harry whispers, even though there’s no need to do so due to the closed curtains and the silencing charm Ron can sense around them. “I miss you a lot. Nothing's the same without you.” 


Trembling, Ron pulls his blankets up to his neck but doesn't say anything. 


“Don’t you miss me?” Harry asks, his voice pleading. 


It takes several long seconds for Ron to find his voice, the sound of it raspy and almost unfamiliar. “Yeah,” he says, “I miss you, Harry.”


There's a loud sigh of relief as Harry releases the air from his lungs. “Good. Can we be over this fight now?”


“Harry,” Ron whispers, his throat tight with the threat of tears. “I don't want Cho.”


Even though it’s not an outright admission, Ron knows his message is loud and clear. He’s not sure why he admits it, especially when he knows how it will be received. Maybe it’s because he’s still half asleep or because Harry caught him at a vulnerable time. Maybe it’s just because he is so damn tired of keeping it to himself. 


All is silent for almost half a minute. “I know,” Harry finally says in a soft voice. “I think I’ve known for a while now.” He pauses. “But I— I just can't, Ron.”


Ron chokes down a sob. He nods, even though he knows Harry can't see it. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, sounding so childish it’s pathetic.


“Don't be,” Harry says quickly. “It's okay.”


Ron nods again, but he disagrees. It isn't okay. Not at all.


“Tomorrow, let's start fresh.” Harry goes on, his words coming out fast as if to stop Ron from getting any other words out. “We can pretend like none of this ever happened. We can be like how we were before. We can be best friends again.” 


Ron doesn't have the heart to tell him no. “Alright,” he whispers. 


As soon as the word leaves Ron’s lips, Harry opens the curtains and is gone.




The summer after sixth year is a bad one. Ron spends most of his time alone up in his room, much to his mum's displeasure. After two weeks of him coming down only for meals, she storms up to his room one morning and demands him to tell her why he’s acting the way he is. 


Sitting on his bed facing the window, Ron slowly turns to look her in the eye. His face expressionless, he says the words he thought he’d never utter aloud— especially not to her.


“I’m gay.”


Seemingly in shock, his mum doesn't respond. As Ron watches, her eyes fill up with tears seconds before she turns and runs from the room, slamming the door behind her. She doesn't bug him for the rest of the day, even for lunch and dinner. Ron ignores his grumbling stomach and continues to stare out the window. 


It isn't until it's dark outside that there's a knock on his bedroom door, and even though he doesn't respond to the noise, the door opens anyway, and his dad pokes his head in, a plate of food in hand.


“Hey,” he greets cheerily, “Are you hungry?”


Not looking at him, Ron only shrugs. Instead of retreating, Mr Weasley walks all the way into the room and closes the door behind him. He sets the plate down onto Ron’s nightstand before clearing his throat. “Your mum told me what you said to her earlier today.”


“Of course she did,” Ron snaps back as he finally looks up at his dad. “And let me guess, you're here to tell me to pack all my things and move out of the house? She clearly doesn't want me here.” Despite trying to act like he doesn't care, Ron’s eyes sting, and he turns away from his dad’s pitying gaze. 


His dad doesn't answer, but there's a dip and the groaning of bedsprings when he sits on the mattress next to Ron. “You're not going anywhere, son,” he reassures. 


Ron says nothing, but finally bursts into tears as his dad takes him in his arms.


“I'm sorry,” he cries between sobs. “I can't help it.”


“Shhh,” Arthur soothes, his lips on the top of his son’s head. “I know.”


“I'm so tired of feeling like this,” Ron cries. “I just want to be normal.”


“Well, that’s a shame,” his dad says in a soft voice. “Because as your father, I don't want you to be anything other than what you already are.”


Ron shakes his head. “You're just saying that because you feel sorry for me. Nobody wants a gay son.”


“You are not a ‘gay son’, Ron. You are my son, who, I learned today, just happens to be gay. And whether you are gay or not, I love you.


Ron only cries harder. “Mum doesn't love me. Not anymore.”


“She does ,” his dad insists. “And she’ll come around, love, I promise.”


“What if she doesn't?” Ron asks.


“She will. She’s just scared.”


Ron scoffs as he finally pulls away. “Scared of what ?”


“Of other people judging you. Of the unknown. This is just new to her, Ron. Her family was very old-fashioned, and it’s how she was taught.”


“How come you're so cool about it, then?” he questions.


Mr Weasley chuckles. “I think I’ve always kind of known you were, so it’s not such a shock to me.”


“And you don't mind?” Ron asks slowly, observing his dad's face for any signs of deception.”


“No. Not at all. It doesn't change the way I feel about you in any way,” he says sincerely.


Ron can tell his dad’s telling the truth. “I still don't want to tell everybody,” he admits. “Not yet, anyway.”


His dad nods. “Of course. Everything is on your terms.”




Eventually, Ron’s mum does come around. They talk, but she doesn't ask him for any details, and Ron is grateful for this. Talking about things like that with your mum isn't at all comfortable, no matter what sex you are attracted to. Despite her lack of words on the subject, Ron knows she will love him and accept him, always. 


That's really all that matters.




Harry is with Cho for five long, agonizing months after that, and Ron hates every second. When they finally break up, he feels as light as air, elated to once again have all of Harry’s undivided attention. Deep down, he knows he should try to get used to Harry dating girls. Surely, he will date plenty more and then eventually marry one of them one day. Unfortunately, that thought doesn't make it any easier. 




“Come on ,” Ron laughs as he tugs on Harry’s arm, dragging the sullen boy begrudgingly along with him. 


“Where are we going?” Harry asks in a huffy voice. He’s frowning, but Ron can tell he’s also trying to hide the curiosity he’s feeling.


He rolls his eyes. “I already told you. It’s a surprise!”


Harry’s frown deepens when they stop. “Er..” he looks around. “There’s nothing here, Ron.”


Ron only grins. Closing his eyes, he walks back and forth, imagining the Hogwarts quidditch pitch on a perfect day. When he opens his eyes, a door appears in what moments ago had looked like an ordinary stone wall.


“What the fuck?” Harry exclaims, his mouth dropping open.


Without giving Harry any kind of response, Ron opens the door and pulls him inside before shutting it behind them. They wince because of the bright sunlight, but both are grinning widely.


“How is this possible?” Harry asks. “It's pouring rain outside!” He spins around to face Ron. “You better explain fast, Weasley, because I’m so damn confused.”


“It’s called the Room of Requirement,” Ron explains. “You can make it anything you want it to be.” He turns around and picks up two sleek, shiny new brooms from the grass. “Luna told me about it, and I can’t believe it fucking worked!” He tosses one of the brooms at Harry. “Let’s fly!”




They fly around for what seems like hours. As there's only the two of them, they can't play a real game, but they toss the quaffle back and forth, laughing hysterically as they try to make it as difficult as possible by charming it to whiz around in random patterns. Exhausted, they fly down and lay in the grass next to each other, both of them closing their eyes as they try and regain their breath.


After a moment, Ron opens his eyes and looks to his left. Harry’s glasses-covered eyes are still closed, and he looks so relaxed there, basking in the sunlight. Ron turns his body to the side and rests his head on his hand. His move is quiet, but Harry senses it anyway and opens his eyes to look up at him. For a moment, and only a moment, his green eyes echo what Ron is sure his blue ones are saying, but then Harry blinks and sits up quickly, the atmosphere suddenly colder. 


“We should get back,” he says in a strained voice. “They probably miss us.”


Frustrated, Ron rolls to his previous position on his back and glares up at the sun that had been so comforting only moments ago. “You can go,” he snaps.” I’m staying right here.”


“What’s your problem?” Harry demands as he stands up and crosses his arms over his chest.


Ron ignores him. 


“I don't understand you!” Harry continues. “Things are going good, and then yo—”


“Things are good for you ,” Ron corrects. He stands up, towering over the shorter boy. “Not for me.”


Harry turns his head away. “What's your bloody problem?” he mutters under his breath.


Ron’s anger finally reaches boiling point, and he reaches out and shoves Harry, causing him to stumble back a few steps. “You are, Harry! You're my bloody problem!”


Looking bewildered, Harry regains his balance. “Yeah?” he retorts angrily. “Well, you're my problem!” he says as he shoves Ron right back.


Ron doesn't even know how it happens, but the next moment, the two of them are wrapped in an embrace, their lips roughly crashing together. The sweaty, yet sweet taste of Harry’s lips makes Ron moan, and his hands move into Harry’s hair as his tongue darts out to taste even more. As if to prove his anger about this, Harry’s fists are pushing Ron’s shoulders back, yet his mouth is insistent, moving with the same intensity and desperation as Ron’s. 


Ron can't even begin to question why Harry is kissing him, can't even form a coherent enough thought to wonder, his whole body bathed in a bliss he’d only ever dreamt about. His bubble is burst, however, when Harry finally pushes him back, his tanned hands coming up to cover his face as he breathes heavily.


“What the hell was that ?” Ron pants when Harry does nothing but stand there. Gently, he reaches out and peels Harry’s hands away from his face. “What was that?” he repeats softly, his heart beating wildly as he awaits one of the most important answers of his life.


“Something I’ve been trying not to do for ages,” Harry finally mutters, not looking at Ron.


While the words make his heart soar, the grimace on Harry’s face makes Ron feel more than a little wary.


“What do you want, Harry?” he asks in a weak voice, unsure if he can take Harry’s rejection… again.


Harry finally looks at him, his face red from what looks like a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “Why don't you use your seer powers and tell me , Ron, because I have no goddamn idea!”


Ron shakes his head. “You know I can't. And trust me, I’ve tried. So you tell me, what do you bloody want?”


“I don’t know,” Harry yells, the words cutting through Ron like a knife. “I just don't bloody know,” he adds, quieter this time.


It’s not as if Ron expected anything— has ever expected anything from Harry, but his heart still shatters just the same. It’s obvious that the kiss was too good to be true. The regret on Harry’s face lets Ron know just how much of a mistake he thinks it was, and Ron feels sick, the beautiful moment now tainted.


The next second, though, he blinks and everything changes.


In this vision, he sees himself and Harry walking down a sidewalk, hands intertwined. They appear to be in their late forties, and they look happy. As Ron watches, they smile at each other in that comfortable way that couples who have been together for a very long time tend to do.


Relief, and something akin to elation rushes over him, and suddenly Ron is laughing, laughing so hard that tears start streaming down his face. He can only imagine how insane he looks at that moment, but he doesn't even care. 


Harry takes on a look of befuddlement, even concern as Ron continues to heave with laughter. “What the hell, Ron?” he says, a little hurt.


It takes Ron a minute or two to calm down, but when he finally does, he pulls Harry in for a hug.


“Everything’s going to be okay,” he says. “Just trust me.”