Chapter 2 - It Is What It Is

Harry looked up as Ron plopped down into the chair opposite him, holding a bottle of beer loosely in one hand.

"Alright, mate?" his best friend enquired casually, although the frown wrinkling his forehead and cautious look in his eyes gave him away. He knew, which could only mean one thing — Jay had told him…what exactly? Fucking Jay. Harry felt a bubble of heat rise in his chest and he quickly tried to quench it with a messy slurp from his pint.

"You've seen Jay." It wasn't a question, and Ron knew as much, shrugging his gangly shoulders before responding carefully.

"Not really, mate. Me and 'Mione bumped into him in Diagon earlier on. He wasn't too happy to see us, which was weird since he's usually so Hufflepuff with everyone he meets. We asked him what was up and he just said we should ask you about it and ran off before we could even get another word in. Obviously, that couldn't mean anything good and, when you weren't at your flat or Grimmauld, I figured the pub was my best bet."

Harry grunted in response and turned a page in the rather sizable file in front of him, hoping against hope Ron would take the hint and let it go. No such luck.

"Well, what happened? I'm going nowhere, so you're as well to get it over with and tell me."

Wasn't that the truth, thought Harry. Everyone tended to think he was the more mulish of the two, but Ron had him beat by miles. If Harry was stubborn, Ron was impossible. Harry took another sip of his pint and looked Ron in the eye for the first time since he sat down.

"He's been shagging some woman since before we got together. I found out the rather wonderful news when I walked in on them fucking like rabbits on my bed. Thanks for asking."

"That's — shite, I don't know what to say. No wonder he looked shifty earlier, the arsehole." Ron looked equal parts shocked and pissed off on his behalf, which somehow only made Harry feel more angry, not less. Ron was right, it was fucked up, and Jay was a fucking fucked up fuckface of a—

"You want to take a breath, mate?" suggested Ron lightly, lifting Harry's pint off the now vibrating table with a wince. "Imagine what a shame it would be if your temper spilled your drink? This is good booze. Priorities."

Harry snorted a quick huff of a laugh at Ron's blatant attempt to lighten the situation and leaned over to reclaim custody of his pint. He took a deep, calming gulp before setting the glass down on the suddenly still table.

"That's the ticket. Don't want to have to arrest yourself for improper use of magic, do you?" Ron laughed at his own joke before taking a greedy slurp of his own beer.

"I don't get it, though, why bother with you if he was already with whoever she was?" Ron looked genuinely baffled, which, Harry supposed, was perfectly reasonable given the circumstances.

"Yeah, that was a bit of a head-scratcher to me too. The arse wanted to marry her, but she said he wasn't renowned enough — not enough money in the vault for the likes of her. Apparently, she had some fucking pure-blood elitist idea of what a secure marriage should be." He took several steadying breaths before continuing, knowing Ron would be relentless until he had the entire story. "So they did the only logical thing they could think of and cooked up a bloody stupid plan to solve their problem — me."

Ron's eyebrows drew closer together, clearly not following Harry's explanation. "Isn't it bloody obvious, Ron? They decided I would be their meal-ticket. They would get close to me and worm their way into my life. Get me to fucking marry one of them! Then bam, divorce. Half of my vault would be theirs. Everyone would know them as the person who fucking dumped Harry Potter. And they could skip happily into the fucking sunset together, leaving me with my life in bloody ruins—"

Harry broke off his rant as his pint glass shattered in his hand, causing lager and blood to run down his palm and wrist. Ron quickly pulled his wand from his sleeve and healed the cut, vanishing the spilt lager, blood, and broken glass.

"Take it you want another one, mate? Or something stronger?" Harry nodded his agreement and Ron went to the bar, returning to the table a few minutes later with a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses.

"Figured the situation was fucked up enough to warrant the whole bottle, mate," explained Ron when Harry raised his eyebrow.

"Damn fucking right it is," agreed Harry, snatching the bottle and pouring them both healthy measures. "Here's to fucking cheating bastards giving us a fucking reason to get rat-arsed on a work night." They toasted and chugged their drinks, wincing at the burning, before Ron refilled their glasses.

"And they both just told you all this? And you just stood and happily listened before patting them on the back and sending them on their merry way?" The look on Ron's face was pure scepticism.

"Not exactly; I sort of flipped out, blew in some windows, and threw her out. Then I made Jay sit and tell me what the fuck he was playing at. In all honesty, he didn't tell me all of it, but I sort of forced it out of him."

"Sort of flipped out? Sort of forced him to tell you? You went ape, didn't you, and then used Legilimency for the bits he left out?" Harry's silence was all the answer Ron needed. "Fuck, Harry, you can't just go around attacking people with angry magic bursts and mind shite. The last thing you need is for the Prophet to get wind of your outbursts."

"To be fair, I did warn him I would look for myself if he didn't tell me everything."

Harry had the grace to look slightly sheepish at his friend, who luckily opted to shrug it off and move on. Good old Ron.

"Why did you bring that thing with you?" Ron asked, nodding to the folder still in front of Harry in a bid to get on safer ground.

"It's my Malfoy File," replied Harry, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"And that is…?" enquired Ron with the air of someone who was worried he wouldn't like the forthcoming answer.

"I — well you guys don't like me mentioning Malfoy, so I then it was all just bouncing around in my head." Harry shrugged. "So instead, I just wrote it all down in the file. That way, I'll have all the proof I need when the time comes."

"When the time comes for what, you mental-case?" exclaimed Ron in pure exasperation. "The guy is a moron but that's it. You're bloody obsessed, mate. You should go to some kind of support group for stalkers."

Harry looked indignant at that. "I'm not stalking him! I'm investigating. It's called building a case!"

"It's called being out of your bloody tree, more like," mumbled Ron mutinously, before reaching over and snatching the file for a look. "What's in here anyway? June 4th — Malfoy 20 mins late for meeting — why? Oh, Merlin, it gets worse! June 6th — Malfoy puts 2 sugars in his coffee — extra energy? — suspicious, keep note of future coffee intake. What the fuck, Harry? You, mate, are bloody mental."

Ron shook his head in a pitying manner as he slid the folder back over to Harry, who had the grace to look sheepish in the face of his friend's judgement.

"You'll be sorry when it comes out he's done something terrible and I have all the proof in here. Then who'll look like a chump?" stated Harry defiantly, sending Ron into an infectious, full belly laugh, causing a smile to tweak the corners of Harry's mouth.

"So why do you have this amazing Malfoy File with you then? Trying to take your mind off of fuckface numero uno?"

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat, knowing the next thing he was going to say would be taken to be confirmation of Ron's stalker theory. "I was trying to find a link between Jay and Malfoy, see if maybe this was his fault."

At this, Ron lost it completely, nearly toppling back in his chair as Harry harrumphed grumpily at his friend's refusal to take the situation seriously. He picked up his glass and downed the contents, relishing the stinging in his throat. Fuck Ron. And fuck Jay. And Malfoy, too. Fuck them all.

It was well after midnight when Harry stumbled out of the Floo into his flat, almost dropping the Malfoy File all over the place. Godric, he hated Floo travel at the best of times, but being drunk just made it nauseating. As he struggled to hold onto the contents of his file and his stomach, Ron's head popped into the Floo behind him.

"You ok, mate? Grab some water and head to bed and I'll see you at work tomorrow. I'll bring the coffee, right? And get rid of that ridiculous stalker file!" With a final nod of farewell, Ron's head vanished from the fireplace, leaving Harry entirely alone. Well, not entirely alone, thought Harry, as Aurelia hooted from her perch near the living room window.