Written for the 'You're My Best Friend' Flash Fiction Comp in Dumbledore's Armada.
Thank you to my beta, meditationsinemergencies, for their time!
My prompt was 'Purple'.
Harry stepped through the Floo into Ron's flat and paused to assess the situation he had just walked into. It was a good habit he had acquired in his Auror training many years ago and, Merlin's pants, he had quickly learned it was usually pretty useful when it came to his friends as well.
The first thing he noted was Hermione sitting curled up on the floor crying. No. She was definitely laughing. In fact, she was laughing so hard that she was gasping for breath as tears of mirth streamed down her face.
Well, that certainly told him about what kind of emergency this was; Ron hadn't been terribly specific when his frustrated shouts had come through into Harry's office less than a minute ago, pleading for his help. Regardless of the circumstances, the man was one of his best friends, and so he had jumped up to come help.
Besides, it wasn't like he had any other very important plans at two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. He had slowed, only long enough to kiss Daphne on the nose and tell her he would be back as soon as he could. His wife, who had been leaning against him on the sofa while she read her book, only sighed and waved him off. Then again, she was probably accustomed to these situations, being married to one of the Golden Trio. They did have a tendency to drop everything for one another at fairly regular intervals.
Glancing quickly around the room, nothing else seemed to be out of place, until his eyes landed on Ron, who was standing by the kitchen door with a scowl on his face.
His very purple face.
Ron was purple.
Harry tried very hard not to grin, but it was all for nought the moment he had the misfortune of locking eyes with Hermione.
"Not you, too!" Ron grumbled.
"Well, can you really blame me, mate? Have you noticed you're a little bit...purple?" Harry asked, fighting again to keep a straight face.
Ron stomped over to the armchair nearest to him and dropped down into it, clutching a large bowl full of ice cream, which he promptly dug into. Incidentally, Harry noted the ice cream was also purple, probably Forstecue's Berry Blast, which was Ron's favourite.
Hermione was still giggling. "Did you notice his freckles?" She managed to sputter before she was gripped by another fit of bubbling laughter.
Ron's freckles were also purple, a darker shade that contrasted cleanly with the paler lilac of his skin, but not quite the rich depth of colour of his hair.
"I'd ask you what happened, but we all know you work for George," Harry ventured, shrugging apologetically. "What did Pansy say?"
Ron slouched further into his chair and had another spoonful of his dessert, sulking. "She rolled her eyes at me and told me to ask Hermione for help. Wouldn't even kiss me goodbye before she left for the afternoon. Muttered something about preferring gingers to eggplants."
Harry snorted and bit his lip to keep from snickering.
"Oh! I wish I had my camera! I can't wait to tell Draco!" Hermione cackled, unhelpfully.
"Now that's taking it too far, Hermione! You can't tell the ferret!" Ron burst out and Hermione turned to look at him, finally regaining some of her composure.
"But how can I not tell him! You have to admit, you would be the first one laughing if it was either of us." Hermione's eyes widened as she focused on the bowl in Ron's lap. "Are you really eating purple ice cream right now?" And she was lost again, clutching her sides. "I have to stop, it's starting to hurt!"
"Serves you right! And I reckon a bloke has every right to eat his feelings in a situation like this." Ron whined.
"Alright then, how can I help? You know I'm no good at spell reversal," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Maybe not, but I thought maybe you could calm that one down enough to help me." Ron glanced over at Hermione, still helplessly wheezing on his carpet, and finally cracked a smile. He sighed. "I suppose it is kind of funny," he conceded.
Hermione sat up, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Okay, I'll help you, now. Thanks for that! I needed a good laugh."
"What are friends for, if not to provide entertainment, right?" Ron answered, eating the last of his treat as Hermione stood and started waving her wand over him, casting diagnostics and trying to unravel the magic George had used on him.
"Never change you two." Harry smiled, watching them. It was hard not to smile when the three of them got to spend time together. He was all too aware of how lucky they were to have made it here after everything they had been through, from danger to war, to growing up and changing relationships. These moments were precious.
"Enough with your sentimentality, Harry. I can see you getting mushy from here! Help me figure out how to prank George back for this." Ron grinned at him.
"Isn't that how you got into this situation in the first place, Ron? You don't have an ounce of self-preservation, do you?" Hermione chided.
"Probably not, but it's just a workplace hazard of being employed at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, really. Where's your sense of adventure? Your husband's rubbing off on you. Besides, you don't want to let George win , do you?"
"No, I suppose not." She sighed. "I'm in, but let me finish making you less purple first."
Harry walked over to sit on the sofa beside Ron's chair. "I have an idea," he said mischievously. "But it's only going to work if we do it together."