Slow Morning
Harry blinks softly at the light coming through the window. The drapes hang limply from the rod above the window, like a wet blanket from a clothesline. They're heavy. The pastel green color is deceiving, making it seem as though they would be much lighter.
He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, drowsily trying to locate his glasses. He’s in a bedroom, not his. He hadn't been in his bedroom for quite some time. This bedroom is smaller, cozier, softer colors. A heavy wool quilt, thick with the scent of butterscotch, lays atop the floral cotton sheets. There is a dresser in the corner, solid oak, carvings of owls adorning its drawers –the birds tend to move and chirp in pantomime. Steel handles, shaped to look like tree branches stand out from the wood grain. The walls are a muted tangerine, like an orange cream ice lolly.
Harry tears his eyes from the wall color, pulling himself to his feet. He couldn't quite remember unpacking his belongings, but trunks lie empty at the foot of the bed and his suitcase is shoved in the corner of the closet, so he must have. It looks as if he had been here for a while, as if he would be here for a while. How long would he stay? How long until Hermione and Ron kicked him out? Where would he go after?
He let the anxieties absorb his focus a little too much and didn’t notice he buttoned his shirt incorrectly. The bottom hole remains empty at the hem while one button remains unsheathed at the collar. Once he notices this, grumbling to himself in annoyance, he begins to remove his shirt again.
"Morning Harry," Ron’s voice draws Harry’s attention from his task. The redhead leans against the doorframe, watching his friend fondly. “Didja sleep well?”
"Erm, yes I think so." His fingers feel like jelly, the buttons are a little too big for the holes. “Didn’t have any dreams.”
“Yeah, ‘Mione’s sleepytime tea has that effect.” Ron laughs softly and steps forward. “Can never figure out if she’s charmed it or if muggle tea is just that potent.”
Harry pauses his task for a moment, does Hermione give Ron melatonin? “Ron, d’you… still snore?
“Eh? Well, I’m not quite sure, but now that I think about it… Hermione hasn’t complained about my snoring in a while.” His thin lips purse to the side as he thinks. Harry bites his lip to contain his laughter, knitting his eyebrows to feign frustration at the buttons.
"It's pitiful to watch you." Ron scoffs, a smile reforming on his face. He begins buttoning Harry's shirt correctly, long thin fingers arguably more clumsy than Harry's. Once he completes his task, he brushes a spot of lint off Harry's chest and then pats it firmly. "There y'go."
"Thank you Ron, but I'm not daft." Harry rolls his eyes and fishes through a drawer for socks.
"Hmm, I don't know. Your credibility is a bit questionable when I've watched you wear your trousers backwards all day once." Ron taps the door frame as if to wake it up some more, the wood wobbles like gelatin. "Damn door."
Harry laughs softly and mumbles something along the lines of 'duro', causing the door to straighten itself up and become still like stone.
"Ha, didn't know you knew any spells besides expelliarmus." Ron sarcastically drawls.
"I know many spells, thank you. And for the record, expelliarmus is the spell that killed Voldemort." Harry stands, fully dressed. He glances fleetingly at the clock. "Don't you have work?"
Ron hums for a moment, inclining his head a bit "George actually gave me the day off. Something about the chosen one needing a little more attention than him."
Harry's heart clenches. The Chosen One. Ron’s playful tone betrays the meaning that Harry reads in the familiar phrase. Familiar like starvation. Familiar like a splitting migraine. Harry laughs dryly and walks past Ron to the kitchen, heavy footsteps follow him closely. Hermione is, unsurprisingly, up and bustling around, cooking something. It smells pleasant and meaty, filling.
"Morning, Ronnie, Harry." Hermione says, planting a kiss on Ron's cheek and ruffling Harry's hair. The action is so affectionate that Harry can only blink and mutter something of a greeting.
"Harry's forgotten how to wear a shirt, love." Ron says, setting two mugs of some steaming beverage on the table. He glances at Harry and gestures to the third, less worn chair at the table with a goofy grin. Harry finally understands the invitation and sits.
"Rather harsh words for someone who hasn't combed his hair today." Hermione pats Ron's head, flattening the tangled locks, before turning back to the stove.
"Oh come off it, I've seen you the morning after one too many fire whiskeys." He sits in the chair closest to Harry and sends a look his way. "'Mione could drink you under the table, but the next morning she's like a zombie."
Harry laughs softly, shoulders meeting his ears.
"I'd love to see that for myself sometime." He says, taking a sip of the warm liquid that he now recognizes as tea, a ginger and peppermint blend that Harry is rather fond of. Hermione stops her work at the stove momentarily, tapping the spatula in her hand against the steaming pan.
"Y'know what, it's been too long since we've had Harry ‘round. Let's do something special." She spares a glance at her boys, then returns to her cooking. "I'll pick up some drinks on my way home, Ron can cook us some dinner, we can make a night of it."
Ron grins. "I think that's a great idea," He takes a sip of his own tea and continues. "Mum’s just sent me a wicked lasagna recipe. I've been itching to try it out."
Harry audibly laughs, admiring Ron’s sparkling eyes at the thought of cooking pasta.
"I can't wait." Harry manages through his painfully wide smile. Ron’s eyes flicker to Harry’s face to match the other’s smile. He glances above and behind Harry’s head.
"8:30, Love." Ron cranes his head to Hermione who checks her watch with a sense of panic.
"Bleeding griffilow-" She moves the pan off the hot burner onto a dormant one and grabs her purse from the counter, rummaging through its contents. “Dammit, time got away from me, I-”
Ron stands. "There's a lot on your mind, cut yourself some slack." He holds her wand out to her, a smug smile on his face. “Deputy Head will do well to not forget her wand, yeah?”
Hermione stares at the object before laughing in relief and taking it. "She'll also do well not to be late. Goodbye Harry."
Harry waves to her, from the mere four feet away he is. Hermione takes Ron by the chin, pressing a kiss to his lips. Harry watches the exchange, finger tracing the rim of his mug slowly. Once they separate, Hermione waves to the two and turns on the spot, disapperating.
“Someday, ‘Mione will remember how to breathe in ‘er own head.” Ron chuckles softly, sipping his tea. “She doesn’t even have to be at work until 9. I just wish she’d slow down once and awhile, y’know?”
Harry nods, swishing the minty liquid in his mouth. “Yeah I know what you mean,” he swallows his tea. “She’s always been that way, since we were kids. It was annoying when we were eleven, but now I’m just… worried.”
“As am I.” Ron glances around the kitchen, eyes fixing on the hot pan left on the stove.
“Y’know what?” Ron says sharply. “Hermione always tidies up right when she gets home, before she even thinks about resting. We should clean up for her, have everything ready by the time she gets home.”
Harry grins at the gesture. This is probably the one and only time Ron will ever suggest cleaning of his own accord, but there's something endearing knowing that he wants to do something so menial as cleaning for the sake of Hermione. No air of selfishness can be found about the redhead, he is acting on the instinct of love, something about it makes Harry’s heart swell with adoration. “I think that would be nice.”
Ron is, admittedly, better at cleaning than Harry recalled. Was he only pretending to be clueless those long six years they spent living in a dorm together? Or maybe Hermione had to train him to be a bit neater, lest she lose her mind cleaning up after him. A few weeks sharing a tent in the woods with him nearly drove her mad, much less the past three years. Whatever the case, Ron’s brows are knitted as he meticulously scrubs the counter top with a washcloth, some solvent he poured from an unlabeled bottle onto the counter lifting the egg yolk that dried to a crisp on the marble.
He drops the washcloth in the browning paste and looks over his shoulder at where Harry sweeps the dining room.
“I was meaning to ask, Harry,” Ron turns fully, leaning against the sink. “Where’s Teddy?”
Harry blinks quickly, clearing his throat. “Ah he's uh, he’s with Andromeda. I didn’t want him to see me like… like this.”
Ron meets his eyes. “So he’s not with…”
“G-Ginny uh… she’s not technically a guardian of Teddy’s anymore so uhh, Andromeda and I are the only guardians he has.” Harry downs the last of his drink, wiping droplets of liquid from his face with the heel of his palm. Ron makes a small noise from the back of his throat.
“I was- Harry, what did she do?” He asks. “Ginny, what did she do, why did you leave?”
Harry freezes.
What did Ginny do? What could he say? Ginny didn’t tell Harry she liked women, even after Harry came out to her. She clearly didn’t want anyone to know. So is Harry supposed to tell Ron the truth? That his sister cheated on his best friend with a girl? With Luna Lovegood? Did Luna want anyone to find out? Does Neville know? He holds so much contempt towards Ginny, so much frustration, so much heartbreak. Yet…
“There was someone else, she uh, I caught her with someone else.” Harry says finally. Ron gasps softly.
“Merlin… who was it, do you know?”
“A coworker maybe, never seen ‘em before.” A lie, spoken by a liar.
“What did he look like? A journalist or a Quidditch player?” Ron queries. Harry raises his hands in surrender.
“Mate, it all happened pretty quickly and I- I uh,” he shakes his head rubbing his hands over his face. “I really don’t want to talk about this, it was weeks ago.”
Ron remains silent for a moment, biting his cheek. “Teddy, he’s… what… five now?”
“Six and a half.” Harry clears his throat, returning to his sweeping. “He will not let you forget that half a year.”
Ron chuckles lightly. “Oh I’m sure.” He pokes at the washcloth on the counter, though he doesn’t pick it up. “Victorie is, aha, she’s five now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, fiery little thing. She definitely got that from Fleur.”
“Is she still obsessed with aeroplanes?” Harry asks, upturning the dust from the pan into the bin.
“God, yes.” Ron laughs, finally returning to his work. “Bill took her to an airport last week, you’d have never seen a little girl so excited before.”
“I’ll bet.” Harry sets the broom aside, drumming his fingers on the table. “Teddy misses her, you know? Vicky, I mean.”
“Does he?”
“Yeah, he misses her like hell.” Harry says, laughing dryly. “He’s taken to turning his hair blonde and staring out the window for hours.”
Ron laughs at this. “A bit melodramatic doncha think?”
Harry says nothing, gaze fixed on the window above the sink that Ron resides by.
Teddy is so miserable, so desperate to get away. When Harry dropped him off at Andromeda's he didn’t even say goodbye, he just ran inside and left him at the door. Does he really make him this unhappy? So unhappy that he can only stare out the window and wish he was somewhere else.
"Mate?"
Lupin was a fool to leave Teddy in his care. Teddy would be better off anywhere, anywhere but with him.
“Harry?” Ron gently shakes him. The man blinks quickly, turning his head.
"What's up?"
The ginger inhales deeply, eyebrows knitting. "Are you... angry with me?"
"What? No, of course not." Harry shakes his head fervently. "Why would I be angry?"
"Ah, I guess I just thought..." Ron laughs dryly, rubbing his neck. "Don't laugh, but 'Mione told me that when a girl is mad at her boyfriend she'll stop talking to him. The silent treatment she called it."
Harry stares, lip raised on one side, eyes squinting. "Huh?"
"I thought maybe you were mad cause y'weren't talking is all." Ron nods curtly. Harry raises his eyebrows, a chuckle escaping him. "Hey, I asked you not to laugh!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's just," Harry shakes his head, a smile dancing on his lips. "Am I your girlfriend, is that it?"
Ron drops his head, delivering a sharp shove to Harry's arm. "You know that's not what I meant, I just figured it would also apply to friends."
Harry laughs once more. "No really, I’m flattered, darling .”
"Oh please, “ Ron covers his face, laughing airily.
"What’s wrong, darling ." Harry asks, laughing light heartedly. Ron lifts his head once more, meeting Harry's eyes with a glint in his own.
"If you call me that in front of ‘Mione, I will really kill you.” Ron laughs, head tilting.
“Good luck, last guy that tried that turned out in sod shape.”
Ron snorts, slapping a hand over his mouth as if to reclaim the noise. This sparks something in Harry and he dissolves into laughter. “What, too soon?”
Ron turns his back to Harry as he struggles to breathe, bent over the counter. Harry notices at this moment that the counter hits Ron at the hips, the tower of a man. The skyscraper turns back to his friend, laughter replaced with a painfully wide grin. “You just can’t help yourself huh?”
“He killed my mum and dad, I feel like I have the right to take the piss at his expense.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with that, it's just,” Ron tips his head a bit forwards and to the side. “You can be so light about it, cause we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow but his smile remains.
“I’m glad you get to be light about something like this, he’s not a part of our lives anymore he’s just some creep who lost to a 17 year old kid.” Ron laughs softly. “We just get to be ordinary now.”
Ordinary, Harry thought, that sounds nice.