Warnings: CRACK
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The cup in his hands was red.
That was what Harry noted amidst the buzzing in his ears and the almost numb feeling creeping up his neck.
"Harry, breath mate," Ron whispered, squeezing his hands.
Fine thing for him to say. He wasn't the one who had to do it.
"I'm getting freaking married," Harry said, voice slowly getting louder. "And you want me to … calm down and breath?"
Hermione, in his other side, is trying give life to his frozen fingers. She squeezed his hands once, twice, before giving up and just hugging him.
"There's a clause," she points out. "If you could point out that you are incapable or any other of these clauses, you don't have to marry her."
Right. Her. Pansy Parkinson. He had nothing against the woman, but it was honestly a bad sign of marriage if he couldn't even manage to say "I do" sincerely.
"What does the clause say?" Ron asked, and Harry was suddenly absurdly grateful that his friends came with him to the bank. A year running for their lives had solidified their friendship into steel.
"Well," Hermione read, face set into disgust. "If he is incapable of having children, he's out. If he's married to someone else at the time of the contracts consummation, he's out. If he's missing by the time of the contracts consummation, he has a three month leeway of being missing and a penalty of 1,000 Galleons. If he's….Wait, I'd rather not read it."
If Hermione said that, there must be a reason and Harry and Ron crowd over her shoulder to see why.
Finding the right clauses, both boys scramble away in a hurry.
"If he's damaged, the wedding is off, no questions about it?" Ron asked, voice pitched high with anger.
"I suppose the Parkinson's don't like an imperfect groom," Harry said with a small smile.
Hermione caught it anyway. "Harry, you can't be seriously thinking-!"
He grinned at her. "No, I am not going to hunt a Nundu, just to get injured. But their definition of damaged is rather broad, isn't it? Can I just…"
With wide eyes and slowly dawning grins, they discuss how to go about it. The goblin who read the will, who was still in front of them, listen with a smirk.
(x)
The headlines blared about the Chosen One's mental instability. The engagement, if there even was one to begin with, is off. Harry, just for the fun of it when they visited him, threw around some vases and shouted Voldemort's name several times.
It was entertaining to see them all flinch and jump at the defeated Dark Lord's name.
Honestly, acting like a more deranged version of Mad-Eye Moody was entertaining.
Hermione and Ron, after letting him have his fun in St. Mungoes, bust him out after three weeks.
"Honestly mate," Ron said with a laugh. "You caused the Prophet to reprint several times. The Evening Prophet Special and the Noon Prophet Special. The Quibbler presses had to be pulled in to help print it all. You could hear Xenophilious complaining about it."
Hermione scowled at both of them, though it wasn't serious.
"Both of you," she started. "Are the only people who can cause an economic crises in trying to avoid marriage."
Harry and Ron blinked at her in unison.
"An economic crises?" they asked her blankly.
She points to a different part of the Prophet, which they had been neglecting, since it was boring and dry economic graphs. The price for goods had gone up.
"Oh," Harry muttered. "How did that happen?"
She explained it with another sigh, but the grin in her voice is there, making the boys elbow each other.
"Well, since apparently, Great Britain can't take care of it's own hero, they likely can't be trusted to take care of other things. Like, protecting trade routes and merchants," she explained.
Harry laughed, while Ron lunged for the paper, trying to see if he could make heads or tails of it himself.
"So," Hermione continued. "How does traversing the Amazon sound to both of you?"
Harry smirked. "Brilliant. It's large enough that they'll likely declare me dead by the time we find our way out."
With a fist bump, the trio of friends vanished.
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This is crack. do not take seriously.