Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.R.
AN: This story is part of the Halloween Collection of the Haphne discord server. You can find the other stories here.
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We're pretty open to other shippers, so you are welcomed, no matter which pairing you prefer.
This story is from a multiple pov. I will change the pov by chapter, so this means sometimes very short chapters. Don't tell me you've not been warned. ;) I'll try to post a couple of chapters at a time if they are too short.
Many thanks to Federer Rex for beta-ing this chapter.
Ron tugged at the collar of his best dress robes and looked up at the magnificent facade of the house in front of him. Cold October drizzle moistened his face. The day had started sunny and golden, but the afternoon didn't hold the promise of the morning. It had started to rain when he had left the shop to get ready for his dinner with Harry. He still made a point to meet his best friend for lunch or dinner at least once a week. While Harry wasn't the mess he'd been shortly after he'd left Ginny and during the long months of the divorce, while the papers dragged each detail of their short marriage into the open, it was still nice to have a boy's night out and catch up, given the different directions their lives took.
Hermione had insisted that he'd wear his best dress robes when he'd told her of his plans with Harry. He hated the stiff robes, however, they'd made him stand out less in the territory he was going to enter. Again, his eyes swerved over the house in front of him.
In defiance of the Statute of Secrecy, one of Britain's magical landmarks hid in plain sight in a row of elegant Muggle buildings, the noble counterpart to The Leaky Cauldron. It had been like this for more than two centuries. However, unlike The Leaky Cauldron, this building didn't serve the purpose of an entrance to a hidden wizarding world.
Muggles never noticed the wide entrance, thanks to a generous amount of Confounding Charms and Muggle Repelling Charms, and walked by without even giving the numerous windows, illuminated by soft flickering gas lights, a second glance. Until today, St James Street, London, was the home of elegant shops, sophisticated housing, and posh gentlemen's clubs. The founders of Baddock's club, Britain's only magical gentlemen's club, must have had a strange sense of humour to establish their club among all the famous Muggle clubs like White's and Brook's.
Or maybe they were just arrogant and wanted to show the Muggles their superiority.
Ron snorted to himself. That was more likely.
The soft buzzing from the wand in his pocket reminded him it was time to meet his best friend and get out of the rain. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and crossed the street.
The dark, carved oak door opened without a sound the instant his hand touched the cold brass finish of the old fashioned door knocker, the sign that the wards recognised him as a member. He'd joined the club shortly after his best friend, although he had never expected the snobbish members of the club would accept him. Ron suspected that Harry had a hand in his acceptance, and it was most likely thanks to Harry's reputation that he hadn't been balloted out.
Still, he couldn't understand why Harry insisted on them rubbing shoulders with both newer and ancient Pureblood families. At least half of them had family members who now were in Azkaban, thanks to the crimes they had committed during Voldemort's second reign of terror.
Ron stepped into a pillared hall, finished in white marble, an alabaster statue of a young man in the middle of the room, bulging muscles gleaming in the dim candlelight. The statue held a disk in its hand and twisted its naked body again and again as if to throw it.
Heat shot in Ron's face, and he cursed at himself. Would he ever get used to this display?
A house elf popped up next to his elbow to take his coat and wizard's hat, thus distracting him from his embarrassment. At the back of the hall, the door to the manager's office opened, and a tall, young man in impeccable evening robes came out, a welcoming smile on his face, and held his hand out to him.
"Good evening, Ron!"
"Malcolm." Ron took the offered hand.
Malcolm Baddock had been a few years behind him at Hogwarts. A Slytherin, unfortunately. Besides that, he was a nice fellow. While they'd drank a pint or two together at the bar of the club and got along well enough, they didn't run in the same circles outside of the club.
The Baddocks were managers of the club ever since its founding days. The club was even named for them, so there had never been a question about what Malcolm would do after Hogwarts. His job as the club's secretary was as far away from Ron's job as a shop co-owner and inventor of joke products as London was from Hogwarts, yet he'd listened to his stories about his newest developments in fascination and even made a good suggestion or two. Yes, Malcolm was alright for a Slytherin and a Pureblood, plus his family at least had had sense enough to lay down during the war instead of joining Voldemort.
"Harry told me that you were dining together tonight. I will send an elf to inform him of your arrival."
"Not necessary, Malcolm, I'm already here," a male voice said from the left.
Ron turned his head.
A slender young man with a mop of unruly black hair came down the grand marble staircase in a light jog. He jumped the last two steps, walked towards Ron, drew him in a one-armed hug, and slapped his back. "Ron! I'm glad you could make it tonight."
"Evening mate." Ron returned the greeting in kind, while he once again marvelled at the changes in his best friend. Who would have thought four years ago that Harry came out of the broken pieces of his life like this, healthy, self-secure, and contend with himself and his life? He'd been well on his way to becoming an alcoholic back then but had turned his life around.
A shiver ran down Ron's spine. He'd better not think back to those days.
"Looking good, mate," he said, taking in Harry's appearance.
Despite being the youngest Head Auror since the founding of the Ministry of Magic and being confined to a desk job, Harry made a point of staying in shape. While he'd never be as tall and bulky as Neville, there was not an ounce of superfluous fat on his wiry body. His slender appearance was deceiving, Harry was all muscle under his distinguished evening robes.
Ron grinned at his best friend. "My, aren't you looking dapper tonight? Made any newsworthy friends recently?"
"I don't know, ask Skeeter, she knows more about my love life than I do."
They had a good laugh about that. Ever since the end of Harry's short marriage, Skeeter had written herself a fortune by coming up with a new affair for Harry every other week.
He took Ron's arm and led him to the open door of the club's dining room. "Maybe I should ask Skeeter to arrange a meeting with one of the many women she writes about. Can't be worse than the few real dates I had since—" Harry broke off and shrugged.
Ron threw him a sharp side glance. His friend had taken too long to accept the inevitable, that his short marriage was a disaster waiting to happen and he needed months to get over Ginny and to consider a date with another woman. Needless to say, there hadn't been a happy ending. The next few dates had gone better, but Harry had got cold feet as soon as the lady in question hinted that they were interested in more than dinner dates, and dropped out of the budding relationship quicker than the Quaffel dropped out of the hands of the chasers of the Chudley Cannons.
However, after four years, Harry should be ready to see someone. Was he still mourning his failed marriage? Or was he just once burnt, twice shy?
He'd have to talk about that with Hermione, she was better in reading people than he would ever be—
They had reached the dining room over his musings.
The waiter bowed to them. "Good evening, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. A table for two, as you requested, Mr Potter." He led them around the two big round tables set for eight each to a small table for two in front of a tall window.
Ron's eyes roamed the dark interior of the room as he sat down. Panelled walls, adorned with magical paintings of club members long gone who were either asleep or stared down at him along their noses with pronounced disapproval. Dark, upholstered chairs with dark red cushions and matching drapes at the tall windows. The big crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, the sconces at the walls, and the candelabra on each of the tables and the mantlepiece of the fireplace helped little to brighten the interior.
For the umpteenth time Ron asked himself why in the world his best friend had decided on living in such stuffy surroundings, for the other public rooms of the club weren't much better, all dark and richly furnished, with the air of wealth and great times, but as personal as the waiting area at a solicitor's office. Harry's apartment on the uppermost floor of the club was better, but not by much.
Harry had sat down opposite of him and now chuckled. "Stop thinking so loud, Ron. I know exactly what's on your mind."
"That is?" Ron's cheeks grew warm, but he raised his chin in a silent challenge.
"You are asking yourself why I am still living here." Harry's hand gestured towards the room, and he chuckled again. "You always do, each time we meet here. You still can't fathom why I stay in this stuffy place." He leaned back in his seat and grinned.
The heat in Ron's face intensified, but he met his friend's laughing eyes. "Well, yes, I do. It's so unlike you. Why don't you get yourself an apartment somewhere? Diagon Alley, or even Knockturn Alley, now that you and your department have cleaned up the place?"
The mirth vanished from Harry's eyes. "Because I'd be alone there," he said in a quiet voice, his eyes cast towards the tabletop. "I'm not used to that. All my life, I've lived with someone else. My parents, my aunt, uncle and cousin, then Hogwarts, and after that first with your family and then with Ginny. You know how it turned out when I left and lived on my own, how close I came to destroying myself. If it hadn't been for Hermione and you—" He broke off, raised his head and looked at Ron.
Ron's breath caught. The shadow of the pain he'd gone through still was visible in his friend's eyes.
"I don't want to go down that path ever again," Harry said with a deep breath. "Living here is like living in the dorms again. The public rooms of the club are like the common room. There's always something going on, someone to talk to." An impish smile appeared on his face. "Not to mention all the first-hand information I get. Whenever the old farts have a drink too many, they forget I am Head Auror Potter. They think they talk to club member Harry. The things they let slip—"
He chuckled, and Ron joined his laughter.
The waiter approached their table once again, handed them the menu and took their orders for drinks.
Harry opened the menu and gave Ron another impish grin over the rim. "Besides, the kitchen of the club is one of a kind. Better than Hogwarts, and even better than your mum's. Don't tell her I said that."
They laughed again.
"I won't," Ron promised.
Harry turned his attention to the menu, while Ron still observed his friend and considered the new information.
Contrary to all the Weasley children, Harry always enjoyed it when mum pampered him. They had all left the house at a young age because she could be a bit overbearing, and each of them, except Percy, had chosen a career she disapproved of. Ginny had taken that to extremes. She'd eloped with Harry shortly after the battle and moved in with him. While mum was disappointed that Harry and Ginny didn't have the wedding of the century she had always dreamed of and that Ginny refused to complete her NEWTs, she'd comforted herself with the thought that Ginny was now Mrs Harry Potter, and set to teaching her only daughter all the skills she would have to know to become a good housewife.
Ginny, however, had other plans. While she loved Harry in her own way, she didn't see her life's goal of becoming a housewife and mother immediately. Instead, she had joined the Holyhead Harpies as a reserve chaser and trained incessantly to make it on the team. By the next season, she had a starting position.
She had spent more time on the training ground and with her teammates than with Harry and eventually realised that she'd shackled herself in wedding bonds way too soon.
While Harry— Damn, it still hurt to think about that, and it still was hard not to become angry at his sister for her thoughtlessness.
Harry had joined the accelerated training programme the ministry offered to all who had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts—on the right side, of course—completed his degree in record time, and then quickly rose through the ranks. He'd been as busy as Ginny, and between their busy lives, they didn't notice that their love bled out until nothing was left.
Even Hermione and he hadn't known—until that fateful night when Harry came to their flat and told them that he'd moved out of Grimmauld Place and that he and Ginny would be getting divorced.
They'd been dismayed, of course, and mum had been beside herself when she heard the news. As a result, Harry and Ginny both had avoided the weekly family lunch at the Burrow for some time, maybe because they didn't want to run into each other, but most likely because they didn't want to listen to mum's tirades and watch her tears.
Harry had become reclusive, refusing his and Hermione's attempts to talk. He'd completely avoided them, and that's why they hadn't noticed the downward spiral. If it hadn't been for Seamus and Dean—
The waiter roused him out of his morose thoughts when he came to take their orders. Ron hurried to pick an entree and a main dish, then handed the menu back to the waiter. While they waited for their food, he and Harry caught up on what had happened in their lives over the last week.
The topics of Hermione's day-long morning sickness and the new registry system the head of the DMLE was considering for Auror files were soon dealt with. Ron had just described a new prank item he and George were developing for the shop when Harry stiffened.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Nott, at the table behind you. No, don't turn around," Harry said when he moved to look over his shoulder. He grinned at Ron. "That's one of the reasons why I like to stay here. Sooner or later, all the Death Eater spawns will come here, because their daddies put them on the waiting list the day they were born and they became full members the day they turned seventeen. And when they are here, they will talk to each other and other members, and sometimes even to me. Because within the club, I'm not Harry Potter, Head Auror. I'm just Harry, who is another club member. My pedigree from the Potter side is as good as theirs, and like them, my grandfather put me on the waiting list the day my mother announced she was pregnant. We're on equal footing."
A light went on in Ron's head. "You're spying on them!"
"Tsk, tsk, what a bad word!" Harry grinned. "I'm collecting information." He made an inconspicuous motion under the cover of the tablecloth.
Ron's eyes went wide. "Did you just cast a silent Listening Charm on Nott's table?"
"That, and a Privacy Ward on ours." Still under the cover of the table cloth, Harry slipped his wand back in it's holster he wore up his sleeve. "Theodore Nott is a person of interest to the Aurors. While he never took the Dark Mark and was never involved in anything illegal, as far as we know, he is still a dutiful son and visits his father once a month in Azkaban."
Ron strained his ears.
"Just a butterbeer for me, Jorkins, I'll order later, I'm waiting for someone," Nott said.
Their first course arrived in time with Nott's butterbeer. While they ate the delicious food, Harry maintained a light conversation about mutual friends. Nothing in his demeanour let on that he was listening into the ongoings at the table next to them. He'd changed a lot from their school years when his emotions had always been plain to see in his eyes. Auror training and years of working as an Auror would do that to you, although the change in Harry had already set in during their time on the run.
Nott was still alone at his table when they had finished their soup and the waiter had removed the plates.
Ron grinned at his friend. "Seems someone stood Nott up."
"Uh-huh." Harry's eyes were directed at the entrance door, and he tensed. "I believe his date just arrived."
Ron fought the urge to turn around and strained his ears.
"Theo! I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight," a pleasant voice said. It sounded familiar, and Ron cast Harry a questioning look.
"Zabini," he mouthed.
"I'm waiting for Draco," Nott said. "We agreed to have dinner tonight."
Ron made a face. Malfoy made a point to stay out of his and Harry's way ever since the end of the war, but that didn't mean that he had got over his misgivings against the man yet. Some wounds just ran too deep to ever heal completely.
"He's not here yet?" The amazement in Zabini's voice was palpable. "Usually, he's at the club as soon as the card room opens, as regularly as a clockwork."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. Malfoy was a gambler? He cast a look at Harry. He seemed not to be surprised about Zabini's revelation. Of course, Harry lived at the club and would know everything about the regulars, contrary to him, who only came to the club to meet his friend and sometimes Neville.
"Actually, he and I are meeting here tonight to settle a small business deal."
Ron didn't have to turn around to know that Nott was smirking.
Zabini chortled. "Cleaned him out, didn't you? He should have known better than to play against you. You are deadly, you were back at Hogwarts."
Nott joined Zabini's laughter.
Ron turned his attention back to Harry. "You knew about that?" he asked under the cover of the Privacy Ward.
"That Malfoy's a card addict? Yes, all regulars of the club know about that, I think. After all, he spends most nights here and almost always in the card room. Of course, it's never mentioned outside of the club."
"What happens in the club stays in the club," Ron repeated the club's most important rule with a knowing smirk.
"Right. I'm not sorry about Malfoy spending his time in the card room. That way I at least don't run into him when I'm down here. And the less gold he has to spend on dubious activities, the better, I'd say."
Ron stashed away that tidbit of information. "Neither Malfoy nor Nott ever struck me as gamblers."
Harry shrugged. "Some gambling is expected, I think. I've sat down for a game or two when asked, but it's not something I'd do of my own volition. Way too tame, compared to other adrenaline boosters I know." He winked at Ron, and they both laughed.
"Nott is a surprise, though. I told you that he's a person of interest. We have brought him in for interrogation whenever that was feasible. Strange guy, Theodore Nott. Quite the opposite of his dad and very different from Malfoy. We never found a connection between him and the Death Eaters, except that his dad was one. He usually doesn't hang around with Malfoy when he is at the club, and this is the first time I hear he went to the card room."
"You know a lot about the regulars here."
His best friend shrugged again. "I'm the most regular here, I suppose, almost a part of the furniture by now. I observe people and pick up on their habits."
Their main course arrived, and their conversation took another turn.
When they got up to close the night with a drink at the bar, Ron noticed that Nott still sat alone at the table he had booked.
t.b.c.