Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me.
A/N: I'm just gonna say one thing, so it won't take so long. Alright, so, although Mary Sue's name is a homage/parody/joke for all you who know what a Mary Sue is, I've tried not to make her one. This isn't a fanfiction parody or anything, I just thought it was funny.
Chapter Dedication: Everyone who reviewed last chappie.
"See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Colder than the moon
It's been so long
Feel my blood enraged
It's just the fear of losing you
Don't you know my name
Well, you been so long
And I've been putting out fire
With gasoline…"-
David Bowie, Cat People (Putting Out the Fires)
A Perfect Day to Elope
Interlude: A Harry Story
In which Ron provides the beer and Harry wears women's clothing...
September 26, 2003
...A few hours previous...
A riotous explosion of red fire. A sudden wave of heat plows him over, twisting metal walls into melting silver sculptures as it sweeps past. An echoing, belated bang. Palpable Silence.
Darkness.
Silence.
A piercing wail, like a misguided radio, drunk on its own, incoherent static.
A flashing white light.
blink.
blink.
Someone screaming. Two people scream and scream and scream...
His forehead, numbed by the dull, incessant pain.
The walls melt away, shattering on the stone floor.
Nothing.
Darkness.
Silence.
Darkness.
He hears himself breathing. He's alive, which means...
He's not alone.
Details. A shallow breathing to his right.
He turns to see him... the boy. He doesn't know how he got there. He just is. He doesn't think on it.
He stands, shaky. He lifts the boy, astonishingly light.
He leaves, followed by a dull beeping.
...beep beep beep beep...
Harry Potter opened his eyes, slapping his alarm clock down into a mess on the floor. "One o'clock, lard ass!" it screamed. He groaned. He'd slept in... again.
He needed to get up. He knew that, his body just wasn't obeying. He pushed himself up and, with a tremendous "oof!", managed to swing legs over and onto the cold, wooden floor.
With a startled jump he caught his reflection, staring back at him from an enormous, rectangular mirror, Mary Sue's idea. He took a mental note to move it when he got home. He made a foolish attempt to fix his hair, instinctively pushing it down over his scar-less forehead. For the four-thousand-three-hundred-and-eighty-sixth time he ran a perplexed finger over the blank skin over his right eye.
After the 'Final Battle' (as the Prophet had dubbed his final duel with Voldemort), no one had been able to explain his missing scar. There had been theories, naturally. There would always be theories. He still couldn't say exactly what had happened and...
A sneaky, salon-bronzed arm snaked over his shoulders, followed by a sleepy, brown-haired head.
"Where do you think you're going?" Mary yawned.
"Work..." He pushed her arm aside.
"It's not even morning yet..." she murmured, dozing off again.
He looked out the window, she was right. It was still dark. He made a mental note to buy a new alarm clock... after he'd moved the mirror.
"Come back to bed..."
He jumped; he had thought she was sleeping.
"Please?"
"Sure..." He swallowed and stood. "I think I'll just... get a glass of water first."
"Alright." She yawned. He waited a moment before her breathing sank back into the rhythmic ins-and-outs of sleep, and then stumbled out into the hall, pulling a wayward T-shirt over his head as he went.
He didn't even bother going into the kitchen. There was, as far as he was concerned, no point in pretending he wanted a glass of water. He wanted a walk. He pulled a jacket over his shoulders, not bothering to check if it was his or Mary Sue's. It didn't matter.
Once outside, he dearly wished he'd thought to put some pants on over his boxers. It was frigid. But, however cold it might have been, it was also completely, utterly silent. That was how Harry liked it. That was why he was outside at one in the morning, walking, absorbing the silence. He set off down the street.
His footsteps echoed ahead of him, reverberating in unheeded warnings of shadows lurking up ahead. He pressed on, his problems stripped away by a fresh wind and the palpable darkness smothering him even as he stopped to catch his breath.
He'd been thinking about them a lot lately. He stopped. He shouldn't have felt guilty. He shouldn't be concerned in their affairs. After all, it wasn't his fault if they wanted to scream their business in crowded dance clubs. It wasn't his fault they'd been overheard. He shouldn't have felt guilty; but he did.
He shouldn't have felt guilty about Hermione leaving Ron. That wasn't his fault. True, he supposed he might have been more attentive. He might have picked up on her behavior. On his behavior. But he hadn't. No one had. He shouldn't have felt guilty. He did.
He shouldn't have felt guilty about Lupin dying. He couldn't have prevented that. The hero inside him disagreed. He could do anything.
He shouldn't have felt guilty about forgetting Mary Sue's birthday. Well... that was his fault.
He shouldn't have felt guilty about Tom. Certainly, no one blamed him for that. That's what made it so terrible. "Anyone would have done it!" they said. "He was just a little kid!"
True, but he had done it. He hadn't thought and so... well, he didn't want to think about that. It was quite depressing, really.
He shouldn't have felt guilty about any of it (expect for Mary's birthday); but he did.
He sighed, casting around for a street sign. There was none to be seen.
"Where…" he started, but was cut off by a loud pop! and a sudden weight bowling him over.
"This isn't the burrow…" someone said.
"Huh?" Harry groaned, having hit his head on the pavement with a painful crack!
"Harry?"
"What?"
"Lumos" A wand tip flared in the dark, outlining a heavily freckled face and reflecting off of flaming red hair.
"Ron?" Harry squinted against the glaring light.
"Harry! I've been looking for you!"
"Huh?"
"Yeah! I just stopped by your place. Mary said you were headed to the burrow so I was apparating there."
"Lost, eh?"
"Good thing though! I might never have found you." He yawned, then seemed to notice something. "Dress in the dark this morning, Harry?"
Harry glanced down at his T-shirt, a light blue number with the words "I like boys" and an enormous heart across the front. "It's—"
"Mary Sue's. I know." Ron laughed. "You're lucky you ran into me, mate. Anyone else might have got the wrong—"
"Ron?"
"Mhm?"
"Geroff me!" Ron made a hasty apology and stood, leaving Harry to sigh and push himself onto his elbows. "What was that about looking for me?"
"Right!" Ron held up a pack of what was evidently some kind of alcohol.
"Huh?" Harry stared dumbly for a second. Ron stopped grinning.
"Well..." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I couldn't sleep and… I figured…" He paused. "Circumstances being circumstances as they are… I thought maybe you couldn't either." He smiled sheepishly. "Drink?"
"Listen, mate, you're not drunk if you can lay on the floor without holding on!" Ron waved the bottle in front of Harry's nose. Harry pushed it away again.
"Uh-uh" He shook his head. "Mary is gonna kill me if I come home smelling like beer."
"Like that can be avoided, come on. There's a friend." Harry took the bottle, dropping his empty one on the pavement with an audible crash.
"It's your fault if I die." He sighed, taking a swig. "I'll sick her on you, you know."
"You're not drunk yet, mate! You need to stop worrying!"
"I need to stop drinking."
"Like hell you do." Ron scoffed. "Now come on, how's the alphabet go?"
"I'm not gonna forget to alphabet, Ron."
"Come on, let's finish that one before we get testy."
"You know… I think I might be drunk."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That's a first."
Harry knocked Ron on the shoulder, having missed his head by a good half-foot.
"Good job." Ron grinned and ducked another swing.
"You know, I've got an idea."
"No. No drunk ideas."
"Why?"
"I always live to regret them." Ron leaned back against the sidewalk. They'd settled themselves on a curb and were now surrounded by litter, most of which had not been there before.
"Oh? Do tell."
"No." Ron took another swig and folded his left arm under his head.
"Alright then, my idea."
"Your idea then, let's hear it."
"Well… Fred and George have those Skiving Snack-boxes, yeah?"
"Yeah…"
"And they've got those puking pastilles, yeah?"
"Yeah…" Ron sat up, trying to figure where Harry was going with this.
"So, well, I figured since they always said they'd give me all the free stuff I wanted…"
"Yeah…"
"Well… do you figure they could fix those pastilles into any shape?"
"They're melty… I s'pose they could…"
"Like… any shape? No questions asked?"
"You know they wouldn't care." Ron laughed. "What are we gonna do, make Malfoy a basilisk shaped one? That's real cruel Harry…" He sighed. "For a moment there I thought you were being creative. How silly of me."
"I was thinking more along the lines of a bachelor party…" Harry grinned.
"Huh? We're going to be nice to that… that… Malfoy!"
"Damn, you're drunk, mate."
Unfortunately, Fred and George were asleep. That was okay, though, because Ron had a key.
"Fred! George! We need—"
Also unfortunately, they weren't Fred or George. The instant they entered Weasley's Wizard Wheezes boxes of canary creams and fake wands began hurling themselves at the intruders, screaming insults and threats.
"Ow... that... what the... OW!" Ron bellowed as a skiving snackbox hit him across the cheek.
"I don't... OW! I don't... I don't think they're going to... huh?" Harry stopped swatting at the air as the boxes fell to the ground with a series of disorderly thuds.
"What was—"
"Do you wankers know what time it is?" George (Harry assumed it was him from the 'G' printed on his shirt).
"George!" Ron called, feigning mock surprise. "Is this your store? I didn't know!"
"Fred."
"Huh?" Ron cocked his head to the side.
"Fred, I'm Fred." He grinned, pointing at the 'G'. "It's funny! Learn to take a joke, mate." Fred (or was it George?) sighed.
"It's an ungodly hour in the morning, why are you here and why aren't we sleeping?" George (or was it Fred?) yawned.
"We need some puking pastilles." Harry replied.
"Oh? Planning to skive on work?" George (let's say it was George, just for the sake of continuity) grinned, suddenly much more interested.
"No, we need someone else to..." Ron yawned. They did not inquire further. "So do you have any?"
"Loads!" Fred grinned.
"You're lucky, we just got a fresh batch done." George agreed.
"Good!" Harry grinned. "You think you could make an... er... article of clothing for us?"
"Now?" they asked together, yawning in unison.
"Preferably." Harry tried to look likable.
"Urgh." George yawned again. "Will you leave?"
"Preferably."
"Fine!" Fred threw his hands up in exasperation. "What article of clothing was it that you wanted made?"
"Knickers…" Ron sat down on a pile of wooden crates. "If you don't mind."
The twins made a face but did not question further.