Ashtray
Teddy bounded across the playground with all the grace and energy of a baby German Shepherd, and Harry braced for impact, but it did no good. The wind got knocked out of him. He jerked back with an oomph, automatically wrapping his arms around Teddy. Only Kingsley's large, warm palm on the small of his back stopped them both from tumbling backwards into the flowerbeds.
"Steady on," Harry said, righting them both. "Alright there, Teddy?"
"Made you something!" Teddy said, steamrolling past the pleasantries and holding something aloft. "Miss Crab said we could take it home today but I don't think the paint's dry yet."
"It's Miss Craig," Harry said, not for the first time, and took the thing gingerly out of Teddy's wild grip. "Say hello to Kingsley."
"Hi Kingsley. Will you carry my bag? It's too heavy for me."
Teddy didn't stand still for long enough for him to refuse. Not that he would have refused; Harry knew he would have gladly carried a thousand bags if Teddy asked him to. Kingsley was soft like that. Considerate and easily bossed around by Harry's awful, sly Godson.
"It's not too heavy for you," Harry said, but the bag was already hanging from Kingsley's broad shoulder. He sighed, resigned and amused. "Alright, fine. Let's get walking, shall we? Your Gran wants us to buy you new shoes for your holiday."
Teddy pulled a face, but obligingly took the lead. He marched forward, heading for the road that went around the playground and towards the hidden Apparation Point, carefully and purposefully stepping on every leaf that crossed his path. Harry watched him walk for a moment, rooted to the spot. It took him aback sometimes, the depth of what he felt when he looked at Teddy. It was amazing and terrifying how someone else's happiness was instrumental to his own.
"Somethin' on your mind?" Kingsley asked, nudging him.
Harry took Kingsley's hand absent-mindedly and shook his head, holding Teddy's gift up to his eyes.
"I hate to ask, but what's it supposed to be?" Kingsley muttered in his ear.
It was a little clay dish covered in lumps and seemingly deliberate ridges. The whole thing was painted a bright, gaudy gold colour, much like Teddy's hair on the weekends, and there were splodgy green blobs dotted here and there.
"No idea," Harry said, tilting it this way and that. "Ted, I love the gift."
Teddy craned his neck and grinned. "I worked real hard on it."
"The gold was a very bold choice," Kingsley added, genuine in a way that only he could be. "It worked out well, I think."
"It's metallic gold," Teddy corrected him, though the happiness in his face was still wild and clear. "I know you guys don't smoke but I don't know anyone who smokes, so I figure you could put coins in it instead."
"Ah," Harry said, and Kingsley made a little amused sound beside him, deep in his throat. "Why are they getting kids to make ashtrays?" Louder, he said: "I can tell you put a lot of work into it. We'll put it somewhere everyone can see it."
"That's embarrassing," Teddy said, but his cheeks were all red and pleased as he whipped back to face the road. "Race you to the point!"
He set off without waiting for a reply, and Harry sighed. He let go of Kingsley's hand to tuck the ashtray inside his jacket pocket, zipping it up safely.
"Wonder how long it'll take him to realise we're not racing," Harry said.
"Speak for yourself."
Harry glanced up to find Kingsley a few feet away, walking backwards. He narrowed his eyes at the teasing grin written all over Kingsley's face, and shook his head.
"I'm not racing you," he said.
"Afraid you'll lose?" Kingsley asked, with mock sympathy.
"No, but you've got legs the size of tree trunks, and you ran a marathon last year. There's no point!"
"Sounds like something a loser would say," Kingsley said, and then he was off, running after Teddy and scooping him up as he passed. Teddy roared with laughter, tucked safely under his arm, and Harry watched helplessly as they got further and further away, heart swelling with happiness and affection and fucking exasperation, because now he was going to have to run, wasn't he?
[Word Count: 722]
