Hello everyone. Hope you enjoy this one!

I knock on Harry's door, bottle of wine hand.

He opens it, grinning when he sees me. "Hey. What's that you've got there?"

"Housewarming," I say. "Room-warming. Whatever. Now let me in, I want to see if it's bigger than mine."

Harry opens the door wider, stepping out of the way to let me in. "We get our rulers out if you like, compare sizes."

I clip him over the head as I walk past him. "Shut up Potter. I've got no interest in seeing how big your…" I pause. "Oh fucking hell, it is bigger though!"

I could easily extend the parameters of my room if I so desired, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

"McGonagall did it," he says, trying to hide his pleased smile. "Maybe Flitwick thought you needed humbling."

"Gryffindors," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "Such show-offs. I think Fillius understood that I wanted a cosy space, with good views of the grounds and high ceilings. Minerva understood that you wanted… red?"

Because it was. It was very, very red.

"I like red," Harry says mildly, passing me a glass and pointing his wand to the wine bottle on the table. It lifts into the air; I hold out my glass so that it can pour cleanly.

"Well, I'm glad I brought white wine then." I take a quick sip, enjoying the sweet taste. The wizarding world has introduced me to all sorts of new alcoholic drinks, but I still favoured the muggle wines my Mum sends me in the post. "I don't think even the Weasley's house is this scarlet. And if anyone needs…" I trail off, flushing. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Doesn't matter."

Now he looks intrigued. "Go on."

"I was about to say something wholly untrue."

"Audrey."

"And be entirely too kind."

"Audrey."

After a moment of intense staring, each daring the other to look away first, I stick my tongue out at him and take a large mouthful of wine. I mumble.

Harry cups a hand over his ear, grinning and expectant. "What was that?"

"I said," I say, exasperated and now, myself, bright red. "I was going to say that you were the one that needed humbling, if anyone, but that just isn't true."

"…Oh." He blinks, genuinely surprised. Our friendship operates largely on teasing, swearing, and just plain rudeness at times; he's as likely to get blood out of a stone as he is to receive a compliment from me, unless the circumstances are dire. "Really?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't play daft Harry. You had your moments in your fifth year, but I think you were allowed to be a little obnoxious when the whole world was acting like you were crazy. All I've ever known of you is a young man quite desperate to stay out of the limelight and keep your feet on the ground." I let a small smile curve my lips. "Apart from in Quidditch, I suppose."

Touched, he doesn't react to the joke. His eyes are uncertain, searching mine. "Do you really think so?"

What have people said to you? I can't bear it. "Yes, Harry. Unless people actively disliked you, for one reason or another, there were very few people who thought you were a prat. Not with your fame, at least." Then, gently, "And I guarantee you it's the last thing your students think. They just see Professor Potter: the goofy, scruffy-haired teacher who sometimes gives them too much homework."

Harry takes a quick drink, mulling over my words. Then, quietly, "Don't forget handsome."

"Feet on the ground," I remind him drily.

He looks at for a moment in the comfortable quiet that follows, eyes unreadable. I watch him patiently.

He opens his mouth, ready to speak, when there's a knock at the door. Neither of us move.

"That'll be Neville," I say dumbly.

"Right." After a second more of hesitation, he gets up to answer the door.

I'm almost disappointed.

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