My Lungs are Full of You

one: the man i ought to be

Harry Potter is the son of James Potter. He looks exactly like him. The hair, the eyes, the build -- even their height is matched one to one. People tell Harry often that he is a carbon copy of his father and he laughs, says thank you, takes the compliment. Because that is what James does.

Harry has spent his life walking his in father's shadow, lining up his feet to James' and he's happy to, he'd like to think. His father is a happy, strong, masculine man and Harry, being just like him, is, too.

He hears his neighbors say in quiet voices over wine that James is such a catch -- Lily's so lucky -- and any woman Harry marries will be just as overjoyed.

Harry, for some reason, despite his best intentions, lets the simple string of words hover over his head. When he goes to school, goes to work, wood works with his father -- it's there, just in the back of his head.

Any woman Harry marries will be just as overjoyed.

Woman. Right.

Woman...

And why, Harry thinks, does that bother him? He allows himself this pondering only until his father explains what a 'poof' is, what a 'fag' is and then he tells himself, resolutely, that it doesn't. It doesn't bother him at all.

He's a man. A man like his father and men like his father? They're not bothered by anything. They're not fucking poofs.

xxx

Harry is thrown a party on the day he gets the job -- the job he's been dreaming over, ever since he was a child; the job his father used to have -- and says, with just the right amount of modesty, that they shouldn't have. "It's no big deal, really."

Ron Weasley, his best friend nearly seventeen years running, scoffs. He hands his a bottle of wine and exclaims, "It's the biggest deal ! Like, ever! How can you get the position of clock mechanic and expect me not to throw a party?"

Harry gives a resigned grin. "Fine," he says, rolling his eyes. "We can have a party." He holds out the bottle of wine. "But you know I don't drink wine. It's a --"

"Girl's drink," Ron finishes. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say there's something sad in his eyes. But if it is there at all, it clears quickly. He takes the bottle from Harry and grabs his free hand in Harry's own. "I know. We've got beers, too."

Harry smiles. He lets himself be dragged off.

There are many people from his college there. His old football buddies -- he'd been the star quarterback in high school -- and girls he'd almost dated. He drinks and dances and laughs.

Ron is by his side the entire night. Weasleys never take their alcohol well and by the time his face is a deep crimson and he's too many drinks in to even think about backing out, he's also forgotten why they started partying. "Why're all these people here?" he says, wrinkling his nose, slumped against Harry on the couch. "They're grrross."

Harry chuckles. "You invited them, dimbo."

"What?!" Ron gasps out, expression so offended Harry can't help but laugh. "You're... you're my favorite. I'd never hang out with these... weroids."

"Weirdos," Harry corrects gently. "You did it because you know I hang out with them. And it's my party."

"Your party?" Ron slurs.

"Mhm," says Harry, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, beer clasped loosely in his other hand. "Because I'm a clock mechanic now."

"A me-can-what-now?"

Harry rolls his eyes, endeared. "You're too drunk," he says. "Go to bed.

"Noo," Ron whines, burying his head in Harry's shoulder. "Not -- not yet... I still don't know what a cock mecanit is."

" Clock mechanic, Jesus Fuck, Ron," Harry says, laughing incredulously.

"Whatever," says Ron, looking up at him. "Tell me?" he pleads. "I -- I want to celebrate. With you. Cus you're my... best friend."

Harry looks down at him. He eventually sighs, setting his beer on the table beside the couch. "I'll do it," he says. "But you've got to go to bed after, okay?"

Ron whoops and stretches so he's laying with his ear against Harry's chest. Harry rolls his eyes, but returns the close hold. "There," he says, softly, "are these magic, giant clock towers. They're in the center of several towns--"

" All?" Ron asks around a yawn.

"No," says Harry, gently, running his fingers through Ron's hair. "Only some. And they're special because time in towns with these clocks, time is directly correlated to their condition. So if a clock breaks, time in that clock stops. Fascinating, don't you think?"

Ron shakes his head. "Mh mh," he protests, vaguely. " No. "

"You don't think it's cool?"

" Dangerous, " mutters Ron. "Scary. I don't... want time to stop because -- because a stupid clock is... well! Stupid!"

"Well, that's why there's clock mechanics," says Harry.

"Like you!" gasps Ron.

Harry grins fondly. "Yes, Ron. Like me. We're here to fix up the clock, provide regular maintenance, keep everything in running order. We're the only people time won't affect if things go all.. stop-y."

Ron is nearly asleep now, nestled against his chest. Still, he sputters out, mumbled, "That.. that doesn't make any sense. Why would... That work?"

Harry shrugs. "A clock mechanic's secret. But I'll know soon enough. It's a Potter tradation, to be a mechanic. It's like... our coming of age thing. I'm," he says, proudly, "finally a man. A manly man, Ron. That's why you threw me this party."

"Blegh," says Ron. "I don't think you gotta be a cock mechanic to be a MANly MAN... that's just... stupid, Harry. That's STUPID."

Harry lets the incorrect wording pass. "We all have our versions of manliness, Ron. This is just mine."

"Well," Ron insists, "it's a STUPID one."

"If you say so, Ron."

"And -- and," Ron continues, uncharacteristically indignant, "I don't get why you gotta be -- be all MANLY to be a MAN!"

"You're plenty manly yourself, Ron," Harry chuckles. "If that's what you're worried about."

Ron mumbles something unintelligible into Harry's shirt. "... not why I threw you this party."

"Hm?"

Ron says, louder, clearer, "I said your position is not why I threw you this party."

"No?" says Harry, tilting his head. Harry lets his curiosity spike. "Then why did you?"

Harry waits for a response, but he realizes quickly that Ron is already asleep on his chest. In the morning, Harry will have forgotten all about it.