Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't even own my own plot! It belongs to the lovely rock opera Rent. So JKR, Jonathan Larson, kudos to both of you. And thanks for the stories.
We begin on Christmas Eve, December 24th, 9p.m. Greenwich time. With me, Ron, and my roommate, Harry. We live in a flat on the corner of Regents Street and Shaftsbury Avenue, on the top floor of what was once the recording studio to the Weird Sisters. - Just one of the many casualties that resulted in us living here in the first place. But that's to be explained later. – Old newspaper clippings hang on the walls. They all have Harry's picture and a large headline, the oldest reading something about "The Chosen One" the newer ones featuring a despondent Harry lying on a hospital stretcher in St. Mungos. We have an illegal wood burning stove; its exhaust pipe crawls up to a skylight. All of our electrical appliances are plugged into one thick extension cord which snakes its way out a window. Outside, a small tent-city has sprung up in Green's Park, near our building. Inside, we are freezing, because we have no heat.
In the corner, sits Harry, polishing his old wand and broomstick - painful reminders of his past. The years he spent at Hogwarts, and memories he can never hope to relive. He'd defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort in his final year at Hogwarts, something the wizarding world had come to revere him for. But as all happy endings go, there was a hitch. In the last duel between Harry and Voldemort, Harry had lost all of his powers in the curse that defeated Voldemort. Or should I say Tom Riddle? Seeing as he was human again, since Harry had successfully destroyed all 7 horcruxes. After Harry had been found, he'd been allowed full recovery at St. Mungos. But that was all. Harry was – is – no longer a wizard. Not even a squib. The wizarding world had no choice but to cast their hero out. No magical dwelling would ever reveal itself to him, and any charm cast in his presence would result in a stern reprimand to whomever cast the spell. So it was with a heavy heart, that Harry moved to London to live as an ordinary muggle.
Well, maybe not ordinary. Harry had little money, and no business would hire someone who – from the looks of things – had quit school after grade 5. But Harry was determined, and still is, though with a more somber air about it all. At the very least, he still has his best friends.
That'd be me, Ron Weasley, and my ex-girlfriend, Hermione Granger. We'd seen too much during the Second War to continue living among wizards once it was all over. Of course, the three of us still visit the Burrow occasionally (it's one place Harry can still see). But even those visits are getting fewer and far between, as Mum's become a bit of a nag since Ginny moved out. Speaking of Mum –
"Ron, would you please get the phone?" asked Harry, in a slightly exasperated voice.
"Let's just screen, I have a hunch who it is."
The loud sound of Harry and my voices saying "Speak." echoed out from the answer phone and around the room.
'That was a very loud beep." It was Mum. She'd unfortunately learned to use a telephone when I'd told her I was going to live the muggle way. "I don't even know if this is working, Ron? Ron? Are you there? Are you screening your calls? It's Mum! We just wanted to call and say, we love you! And we'll miss you tomorrow. All your brothers and the kids are here, send their love. Oh! I hope you like the hot plate! Just don't leave it on, dear, when you leave the flat. Oh! And Ron…We're sorry to hear Hermione dumped you, I say c'est la vie. So let her be a lesbian! There are other fishies in the sea! Love, Mum!'
"Sometimes Harry, when we're really broke, or hungry, I ask myself why the hell I'm still living here," Harry looked up at me sharply. "Then she calls, and I remember."
That managed a smile. Albeit, a small one. But it was a step. The phone rang again. Harry looked at me to answer. Come to think of it, I don't think he'd answered the phone since I lived there.
"Screen?" I asked. Harry nodded.
'Speak.'
"Chestnuts roasting…"
I rushed to pick up the phone.
"Dean!"
"Harry picked up the phone?"
"No, it's me."
"Oh, well can you throw down the key? I'm freezing my arse off out here!"
"Sure!" I grabbed the pouch holding the key off the kitchen counter, and threw it out the window to the telephone box Dean was in below. "A wild night is now preordained."
From the receiver, I heard some muffled sounds of speaking from the other end.
"What was that, Dean?" I asked.
"I may be detained."
Dial tone.
"Detained? What does he mean….?" I looked at Harry. But the phone rang a moment later. I jumped on it, thinking it was Dean ringing back.
"What do you mean 'detained'?" I asked.
"Ho, Ho, Ho!" said a voice from the other end.
'Seamus' I mouthed to Harry.
'Shit.' He mouthed back.
"Mates, I'm on my way." Said Dean, merrily.
I motioned towards the floor to Harry, to indicate he was coming here.
'Fuck!' mouthed Harry in response.
"Listen, guys. I need the rent for the flat."
"What rent?" I asked, putting the speakerphone on.
"The rent I've been letting slide since you both moved in."
"Let slide? You said we were 'golden'."
"When you bought the building!" Harry burst out, before looking surprised at himself.
"When we were roommates, remember? You lived here, man." I said, covering up for Harry.
"How could I forget, Ron? It was you, me, Dean and Hermione. How is she by the way?" he asked smugly.
"She's performing tonight. To save the lot next door."
"I know, still her manager?"
"Fired. Two days ago."
"Too bad."Seamus said, not sounding sorry at all. "Still her boyfriend?"
"Broken up with. Last month."
"She's in love." Said Harry, looking visibly humored.
"She's got a new man, already?" asked Seamus, surprised.
"Well – no." I was going to kill Harry for making me explain this to him.
"What's his name?"
"Hers. Remember Lavender Brown?"Seamus snorted with laughter.
"Rent, mates, is due. Don't make me have to evict you!"Seamus sighed "See you in a few."
Harry and I looked at each other. Rent? Fat chance of us getting any quid together in time. I looked down, anger growing inside of me over Dean springing this on us. Then – the power blew.
I guess inflating Aunt's isn't the only thing that can happen when you're upset.
A/N: Good? Bad? Just a story I had the inspiration to write while I try and end the writer's block on my other stories. But if it isn't good, I can always go back to attempting to write the love story of Fred and a non-lesbian Hermione…
