Chapter 12
Bugger
Tom took another sip of his tea, glancing up to find Harry's cold glare still directed right at him. The entire teatime had been brutally tense, and Tom had a feeling it was all his fault.
Ginny cleared her throat again. "So, Harry, what kind of stew are we having for dinner?" she queried, trying fruitlessly to start conversation.
Harry didn't look away from Tom as he curtly replied, "Beef."
"Is . . . is something wrong?" Ginny asked.
"No. Just admiring that cut of Tom's," Harry said, realizing with a jolt that he was displaying his jealousy a bit too clearly and looking down into his cup. "What happened?"
Tom shrugged, meeting Ginny's gaze. "Had a run-in with Ron."
For once, when discussing Ron's sour attitude toward the guests, Harry didn't seemed displeased; he looked quite the opposite, in fact, what with the barely noticeable smirk adorning his lips. "Did you? What did you do?" he inquired politely.
"I dunno. Ginny and I think that he thinks I'm trying to steal Hermione from him," Tom responded casually.
Harry stared up at Tom, a fresh wave of dislike on his face. "And are you?"
Harry's reaction had Tom fairly stunned, and he just stared back.
"Of course he's not," Ginny butted in. "Goodness, Harry. Even I know that."
Harry couldn't look at her. It was too painful. Instead, he pushed his chair away from the table in silence. "You must be right," he muttered, taking his cup to the sink. "Ginny, can we speak . . . in private?" he asked.
Ginny looked at Tom dismissively, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Tom smiled at her and stood to leave the room.
No sooner had the door closed than Harry had turned to face Ginny. "What about Colin?" he interrogated curtly.
Ginny gave him a befuddled look. "What?"
"Colin Creevey, your current beau?" Harry reiterated, wincing at his last word.
Ginny went tomato red. "Oh, that Colin . . . Erm . . . We broke up last week," she admitted, squirming under Harry's piercing gaze.
Harry calmed down a bit. "But you told Hermione-"
"I lied, all right! He ditched me, and I guess I wasn't over it," Ginny interrupted.
"I . . . I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.
"Don't be."
There was an awkward silence, and Ginny moved to put her empty cup in the sink.
Harry looked at her, leaning against the counter casually, though the pounding of his heart told him that he was anything but relaxed. "So, this thing with Tom . . . It's serious?" he asked.
Ginny smiled dreamily. "I don't know; I've only known him for a day. But I hope so. He really is fabulous. I almost can't believe Hermione didn't go after him after all these years," she quipped.
Harry's heart ached with the pain of replacement, and he turned away, nodding. "She has Ron, of course."
"Yea, but Ron's . . . Well . . . he's Ron," Ginny laughed.
Harry chuckled in response. "Good old Ron," he sighed. "What are we going to do if our plan fails?"
"I dunno. I imagine that they'll work things out themselves if we just give them a little push. Sometimes, that's all it takes."
The door to the hallway opened slowly, and a fearful-looking Ron entered. He looked at Harry warily, avoiding his sister's gaze completely.
Harry realized that Ginny was watching him expectantly, and he knew he had to bring himself to reprimand Ron, though he was actually rather satisfied with his previous actions, considering the circumstances. "So, Ginny told me about the incident," Harry began, trying to muster the maturity to accept that it was wrong to punch people in the face, even if they were stealing the love of your life.
Ron stared at him inexpressively. "What about it?"
"It's completely unfounded for you to go punching our guests," Harry continued.
"Exactly!" Ginny butted in. "You are the most indignant pig ever to live! You had no reason to go hitting poor Tom! He didn't do anything to you!"
Ron looked at her finally, giving up his stand. It was no use arguing with people who adored Tom over their own kin. "Fine. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit him. I just need to get some milk." He walked past them and to the refrigerator, pulling a glass from the cupboard.
Ginny and Harry stood dumbfounded. "What?" Ginny asked.
"I need some milk," Ron repeated, his voice dull. He poured the milk into the glass. He put the carton back and started back toward the door.
Ginny grabbed his arm and stopped him. "No, you apologized! Since when does that happen?"
Ron shrugged her hand off him and kept walking. "I dunno."
Harry caught the tone in his voice. He sounded beyond depressed. Perhaps he had been a bit too hard on him in the past hours.
------
The kitchen door shut behind Ron, and he sighed. Standing still, he apparated into his room upstairs, making sure to get a good hold on the glass of milk before he did so.
He checked the lock on the door to his room and moved to his bed, where a certain black kitten was cleaning itself on a towel. Ron sat down next to the towel and held the cup of whole milk close enough that the kitten could smell it.
"Mew," the feline called, stumbling over to the glass and dipping practically its entire face into the milk to get a drink.
Ron shook his head, pulling the cup away. After a few minutes of fumbling about, attempting to get the cat to drink the milk the easy way, Ron ended up hand-feeding it the milk by dipping his finger into the cup and letting the cat lick the milk off it.
"You're going to be harder to take care of than I thought," he murmured, stroking the furball's head absentmindedly. "And you still need a name . . ." The cat stared up with its wide, yellow eyes and dug its claws into Ron's hand for no apparent reason. "Ow! That hurt, you little bugger!" Ron snapped, setting the glass on his bedside table and picking the cat up. "That's it, I hereby name you Bugger," he proclaimed, looking at the kitten in a new light. He couldn't get too attached. In fact, he shouldn't have even been bestowing the cat with a name. Tomorrow, this cat is going back where it came from. Sure.
"Merow!" Bugger yowled in reply, struggling to free himself from Ron's grip. Ron laughed mockingly and set the cat on his floor, from whence it scurried under Ron's bed.
