Chapter 2
Harry doesn’t know what comes over him to lie, but he doesn’t dwell on it, following Ron down the narrow path.
His feet sink into the soft ground and he frowns, hoping his displeasure isn’t noticeable.
”What else did Theo tell you?” The redhead asks, breaking the silence. His pace slows down as he glances back, the red of his hair in the moonlight.
There’s a certain softness to his voice when he says Theo and Harry pushes it to the back of his head, planning to question Nott about it later. “Just that you’re…unique in the way you alter clothes,” he says vaguely, watching for Ron’s reaction.
“Oh, that?” Ron laughs sheepishly, motioning for Harry to turn left near the oak tree. “Well, I guess you could call it unique. Nothing much, really. I reckon Aunt Muriel could tell you a lot more.”
The black haired boy observes him critically, mind racing. “Is she also the one that set up the wards outside the village?” He prods, trying to sound as unsuspecting as possible. Ron glances back and Harry can’t help but notice the way his shoulders tense at the question.
Oh, he thinks, cursing inwardly. That was the wrong thing to ask.
“I need someone to put up wards around my manor,” he clarifies, choosing his words carefully. “There are…more than a few people that disagree with the way I do things,”
Ron visibly relaxes, but he can see the vigilance in his stance.
”Aunt Muriel doesn’t have that sort of patience,” the redhead murmurs, stopping before a worn fence. He kicks it open, trudging forwards until he reaches the door. “Well, we’re here. Welcome to Prewett & co.”
He struggles to open the door with the basket in his hands, letting out a groan when he realizes he can’t kick it open this time.
“Could you…” he turns around awkwardly, tilting his head towards his hands. Harry leans forward, and Ron stiffens slightly, finding himself pressed into his embrace as he twists the doorknob.
“It’s certainly…easy on the eyes,” Harry offers lamely, unable to come up with anything better.
Ron lets out a soft breath of relief as he steps away, amusement dancing in his eyes as he walks in.
“It’s a mess, isn’t it? I wasn’t expecting guests anytime soon,” he says, kicking aside a roll of fabric before setting down the herbs on the couch. Harry chuckles, pulling back his hood as he follows him inside.
Ron busies himself with tidying up and he takes the time to look around, scanning his surroundings. There are books and pieces of clothes scattered around, and Harry barely manages to avoid stepping on a pair of scissors that are laying defenselessly on the floor.
“It’s homey,” he comments. “Not what I was expecting, but homey nonetheless.”
The redhead shakes his head. “Theo didn’t warn you about the mess, did he?” He asks pityingly, but Harry can see the barest hint of a laugh in his voice. “He probably wanted to see you freak out over how messy it is in here.”
“I don’t mind the mess,” he says easily, taking the bundle of clothes from his arms. Ron watches him, freezing in place. “Where do these go?”
He points towards the hallway, a flush creeping up his neck. “Over there,” he mumbles, shrinking back when their fingers brush against each other.
Harry doesn’t seem to notice, already turning away. “The one near the flower painting?” He calls loudly, his footsteps lightly treading against the floor.
“Yeah,” Ron says, voice a but strained. He coughs, willing the warmth away from his face.
He puts the clothes away quickly, gaze lingering on the countless carvings of unfinished runes lining the walls. He slows down, scrutinizing them with great interest, jolting when someone taps his shoulder.
“Lost in thought?” He asks, offering him a glass of water. Harry accepts it gratefully, watching as Ron follows his gaze towards the runes. “Brilliant, aren’t they? My friend was trying to figure out a way to incorporate defensive runes but…theory is always easier than putting it into practice.”
Harry nods. “Are you incorporating them into the fabric?” He throws the question out offhandedly, taking a sip. “I don’t want to intrude, but Ancient Runes has always been a passion of mine.”
He doesn’t mention the fact that the passion leans more towards offensive runes.
“Really?” Ron looks at him in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Why does it seem like everyone I meet has an interest in some obscure subject?”
Harry chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans forward. “I think your work is more obscure, isn’t it? It’s rare to find good tailors around here nowadays.”
He doesn’t fail to notice the way he stresses the word tailor, taking a step back. ”Aunt Muriel’s great,” the redhead says, voice wavering slightly. “But she’s away on a family trip, so uh…not really taking any orders at the moment.”
The stillness in the room grows suffocating. “I’m not here for your aunt, Ron. I’m here for you.”
His gaze doesn’t waver and Ron suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.