You only live once;
but if you live it right
once is enough.
Adam Marshall
The succeeding month flew. Harry immediately told the Minister of Magic that he was no longer an employee of the ministry. Before the Minister could catch his breath, Harry was back at our flat laughing at the color of purple the Minister's face turned. With his new found freedom, we played at being kids.
Quite often we would go to the last part of Ron's practices to cheer him on, or egg him on in Harry's case. Then we would go out to pubs or dance clubs, wizard and muggle, with his team mates. While most Quidditch teams have women and men on them, due to a variety of injuries and other circumstances, Ron's team was all men. As any young woman of certain age can tell you, being the undivided focus of several young, athletic men's attention can be quite enjoyable. So can watching your best friends play at the protective older brothers. Honestly, those two are a riot!
One night we were at the three broomsticks. The boys and the rest of the Canons were regaling the crowd with stories of harrowing tactics and strange locals that their referees had found themselves in. The captain, and our long time friend, Oliver, was adding in stories about the days of glory on the Gryffindor House Team.
"I will never forget two particular days both characterized by the unusual shade of green, our hero Harry Potter wore," he inserted a dramatic pause here, "on his face!"
The crowd roared. "The first was when Professor McGonagall, the Terror of Transfiguration, nearly dragged him down the halls of Hogwarts by the collar of his uniform to my charms class. She asked for me by name, Wood, and at this point I wouldn't e surprised if Harry thought he was in for some corporal punishment. He looked like he was about to be sick. While he survived that day and the easy practices that followed," here a few of his teammates guffawed knowing Oliver's penchant for tough drilling. "As I was saying, he survived practices. Then on the day of our first tournament against Slytherin, he was so nervous I thought he would pass out. He looked green yet again and as if he forgot how to breathe."
The Quidditch players laughed and slapped Harry on the back. "Another round!" shouted one of the beaters. I think his name was Michael. He came to the open seat next to me and sat down. Before the poor man could even say anything, Ron and Harry appeared from no where, one on each side of him.
"Hi, mate, wotcha doing?" Ron asked with a hint of ice in his voice.
"Looks like your butter beer is ready over there," Harry noticed indicating the other end of the bar.
Michael looked at both of them. While they are 'my boys,' I do know they can be quite intimidating. Ron stands over six feet tall and has developed some meat on his gangly frame. Harry has a reputation few wizards in history have and due to playing on the pitch outside the Burrow has managed to maintain an athletic build. The two of them are formidable should they wish. I however found the moment hysterical.
"Honestly you two! He's your teammate Ron and was just sitting there!" I managed out throughout the laughter.
They looked a mite indignant. "What, you want me to fall on my knees thanking you for protecting me from a perfectly respectable young man who was just about to say hello? You're both off your rockers."
"We are so underappreciated, Harry."
"Aye, mate. No one sees what good we do for them. They just take us for granted."
"Right, mate. Two blokes trying to prove chivalry is not dead."
At this point I am near spitting the sip of butterbeer across the room. They have that routine well versed.
Other times we were traipsing around Muggle London. Ron has a love of musical theater. Like Harry's shopping secret and my secret 'girly' side, no one but the members of the Golden Trio is aware of this fact.
We all dressed up one night to go to see the latest musical. The three of us went to dinner, the show, and then drinks after. Ron spent the whole time after at the club going on and on about how fantastic the show was and how amazing the lead actress' voice was.
Harry looked at Ron, "I bet you didn't even notice how gorgeous she was either." He winked at me.
Ron flushed ever so slightly, "Harry, that has nothing to do with anything. She is a talented artist. I appreciate art."
At this Harry and I both lose all control. We nearly fall off the bar stools laughing.
"Ron, the only art you appreciate is that Muggle bloke Art who gave you a ride to that Quidditch game when you ran out of Floo powder," Harry managed between fits.
"I forgot about that. Weren't you off in France, Harry? And Ron manages to do absolutely no housekeeping when we're both gone so he ran out of Floo powder. Then he forgot that he could Apparate. Didn't you try hitchhiking like that American movie, oh what's it, and that Art fellow picked you up in his little car. You had to come up with some wild reason why you were being dropped off in the middle of no where at an empty pasture." I remember when Harry told me the story. I had no trouble believing Ron could be that clueless. At times it seems his mind is not fully connected to the rest of his body. We love him anyways. It adds to his charm. And provides constant entertainment.
During the days, Harry and I wandered London or spent quiet time in the flat. We went to the Zoo, various parks and museums. Given our childhood, we enjoyed doing muggle things together that were of little interest to most of the wizarding world. On rainy days we would make tea and sit in comfortable silence and read.
Two weeks of such laziness and I was fully relaxed. It was wonderful.
