Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.
The usual beta love to kabg01 who I will turn into a Romione fan!
Hermione flipped the book closed to look at the cover again, 'Sympathetic Magic – Two Souls Made One', and sighed. She should have known from the twee symbols and faux-mystical description on the sleeve that it was going to be a load of codswallop. She'd asked one of the assistants in Flourish and Blotts if they had any books about married couples being able to combine their magic and they had presented her with this. If she hadn't made precious little progress on her research so far she wouldn't have given it a second look. But other than Molly telling her it was just one of those things that sometimes happened between a husband and wife, and that it was nothing to worry about, she seemed to have hit a brick wall with her research. Idly she read the author's introduction and noted that the writer had been awarded some major prize for their work in the field of divination. Hermione felt cheated, having read through three chapters in which this charlatan had made claims about soul mates, and love and other things that Hermione knew to be untrue. Because it was her and Ron that had felt it – two people who had no business being together – so she was certain it must be something to do with the marriage contract itself – nothing as airy fairy as soul mates. Grabbing her wand, she levitated the book over to the bin, setting fire to it for good measure. She needed to focus – her mind was being pulled off in too many directions and she was starting to feel like she had exams coming up and not enough time to study. Her work obviously took priority, along with trying to find a way to end the marriage law. Then there was trying to crack the Dragora potion with Draco, which was still proving almost impossible, even with Snape's notes. As much as she wanted to know what had caused her and Ron's magic to join together in the cabin, it would have to wait. Reluctantly, she pulled a pile of parchments towards her – the work she had been neglecting in favour of perusing the book that was now smouldering in the wastepaper basket.
Suddenly, she snorted awake, scrubbing the drool off her face and wiping the parchment she had been resting on, with her hand. A quick glance at the clock told her it was late enough that she should have gone home instead of trying to push through the final document she had wanted to read. A knock at the door alerted her to what had woken her up in the first place, and this time it was accompanied by Harry's voice, sounding concerned,
"Hermione, I can see your lamp light under the door. Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to blast the door open?" The door handle rattled ominously.
Hermione scrabbled around on her desk to find her wand and waved it at the door, "Sorry, sorry. I was trying to read some changes that have been proposed to the Werewolf Registration Bill and I didn't want to be disturbed."
"Hard at work, were you?" Harry grinned knowingly. Hermione looked herself over frantically for what had given her away.
"I've not been made the youngest head of the auror department in eighty years for nothing," Harry tapped the side of his nose, "Not only did I hear you snorting like a hippogriff with a head cold when I knocked on the door but you have creases all over the side of your face where you've been leaning on the desk. Don't worry!" he assured Hermione as her hand flew to her face, her eyes wide with horror, "It's well past clocking off time, no one would accuse you of slacking. I'm only even here because I got back late from a raid and I needed to put some artefacts in my safe. The rest of the building's nearly deserted."
"Oh thanks Harry, I'll just finish reading this and then I'll go home, I promise."
"You'll do no such thing. Come and get a drink with me – I'm celebrating."
Hermione recognised the order hidden in his words and remembered the nights where he and Ginny would take it in turns to come and fetch her from work to make her leave for long enough to get something to eat and at least try to sleep. She nodded in acquiescence, tidied her desk and reached for her travelling robes.
Just a few minutes later they were in a little bistro with steaming bowls of soup, great hunks of bread and huge glasses of red wine in front of them. A candle, stuck in a wax dripped wine bottle flickered in the centre of the table, sending shadows dancing over the red and white checkered tablecloth.
"I love the food here, it always reminds me of Hagrid's cooking, except, you know…good," Harry finished guiltily as he dipped his spoon into his bowl and took an appreciative slurp of soup.
Hermione tried not to giggle, "So what are we supposed to be celebrating?"
"We tracked down Travers. It was horrible really, he was living in his grandmother's cellar, drinking her wine and eating whatever scraps he could sneak out of the kitchen. He hadn't seen daylight in so long he could barely stand it when we took him outside. If I didn't know some of the things that he'd done, I'd have felt sorry for him. The grandmother was so dotty she didn't even know who he was – she couldn't remember if she had known he was there or not." Harry shook his head piteously.
"Poor old lady, was there any evidence of the imperius on her? Prolonged imperius can create effects like dementia. I've got a book about it somewhere at –"
Harry shook his head once more, cutting her off, "No, she was just about two hundred years old. And actually, she wasn't a very nice old lady. Her house was like Grimmauld Place, right down to the house elf heads on the wall and everything. It was some of her things that we'd seized that I needed to put in my safe."
"Even so."
"I only took the really dangerous things, I didn't want to distress her too much. It seemed like she'd lost her magic anyway. I'm going to send a healer round to take a look at her, see if there's anything they can do to help her."
Hermione allowed the corners of her lips to curl up just a little. Of course Harry had tried to help the elderly lady. It was one of his 'things' – one of his protective Harry things. After the war, when they had found the time and the courage to talk about things, Harry had admitted to her the guilt he felt about Bathilda Bagshot; about the horrible way she had died and that no one had missed her for so long. She had tried to tell him that it wasn't in any way his fault that Voldemort had killed her but her words had had little effect. This wasn't the first elderly person that he had pushed towards a woefully ill-equipped St Mungo's, where the healers seemed to all have been taught the same mantra, that the elderly should be cared for by their family, which hadn't really satisfied him. He'd even written a piece for the Prophet about it. Rita Skeeter had written a counter article claiming that Harry was trying to manipulate the elderly into leaving him everything in their wills. It had all got very messy and Ginny had managed to convince him not to turn it into a crusade but it didn't stop him trying to help individual cases when he could.
"So has Travers gone to Azkaban?" she asked as she dipped a crust of bread into her soup.
"We were about to take him when he pulled a package from his robes. The idiot blew himself up. I think he'd had enough of being trapped. We're waiting for the results of what it is but Eriksson from the potions lab thinks it was a mixture of powdered erumpment horn, salamander blood and ashwinder eggs. Injured two of my men with him."
"Well I think it's a shame he won't stand a proper trial, although I must admit I won't be mourning him too hard." Hermione shuddered as memories of Travers' face as he'd flung curse after curse at her when she was polyjuiced as Harry surfaced murkily from wherever she had repressed them to.
"Now there's only the Lestranges still on the loose, not that we've seen any trace of them for years. They've either died, gone abroad or they're being hidden by someone high up." Harry pushed his hair back out of his eyes and Hermione noticed the grey strands threading at his temples. She couldn't miss the dark circles under his eyes either, "It's been too long," he sighed, "All these years and I'm still clearing up the mess that Voldemort left behind." He lifted up his glasses and pinched his eyes, massaging the corners of them with his fingers to try and ease the burning grittiness.
"Are you ok Harry?"
"Sorry," he brightened, topping up their wine glasses, "Just tired. We were staking out the Travers house for three nights before we struck. I've barely had a decent's night sleep since we started. So why are you so tired that you're falling asleep in your office? Newlywed life wearing you out?"
"Not in the way you think! But Ron's so busy at the shop now George has gone and I'm snowed under at work – Luna's fallen in love with the grandson of the man who wrote our Magical Creatures textbooks and her reports have become, shall we say, scattered. We're both working every hour we can. And to fit in…." Hermione reddened, "The Ministry's requirements, well, neither of us are getting much time to sleep."
The waitress came over and cleared away their bowls and cutlery. When she asked if they wanted to see the dessert menu, Harry said yes with an eagerness that momentarily eclipsed his greying hair and tired eyes and transfigured him into the scrawny eleven year old boy that Hermione had grown to love. Her heart swelled with the kind of fondness that made her want to squeeze Harry into a tight hug.
Harry looked up from the laminated card, "Well that sounds promising? So you're spending more time together?"
"Hardly. We just get on with it once a week, which I managed to persuade the reproductive healer at St Mungos counts as 'regular'," she had the grace to blush slightly at this, "We don't really see each other apart from that and at family functions. On a good week, we barely need to spend more than twenty minutes in each others company." Hermione folded her hands primly over her menu and affected her sternest tones but if she was hoping that would stop any teasing from Harry, she was wrong.
"Sheesh, not much time for pillow talk then," before he sniggered into his wine
"What?" she asked automatically, although she wished she could take it back as soon as she had said it. She wasn't sure that she wanted to know what he found so amusing. She wasn't sure how much longer she could talk about her relationship with Ron as casually as if it were a potions experiment or a mildly interesting bit of news. Her fingers itched to grab Harry's lapels and demand he tell her if Ron had said anything to him about her but she forced her expression to remain serene. Fortunately the waitress took that moment to come and take their orders and she assumed that the thought of a hearty slab of date and walnut cake, smothered in custard, had distracted Harry sufficiently.
It wasn't until their desserts had arrived and Harry had taken a heaping forkful, his eyes rolling skyward in silent praise for the cake that he sniggered again, "It's like you've got a fuck buddy. But it's your husband! Talk about friends with benefits."
"Neither of us are getting any kind of 'benefits' out of this situation, I can assure you. It's only so we can answer the questions for our monthly testing. Did I tell you they're giving us veritaserum now?" She tried to say it lightly but she couldn't help the way her spoon shook in her hand, chinking gently against the glass dish that held her chocolate mousse.
"That's shocking! That wasn't ever in the law was it?" Harry gasped in horror.
"No, and Amy Jones, Amy Avery, I should say, at work hasn't had to have anything like this level of testing. She only has to go in every few months and have her health checked. No quizzing, no pregnancy testing, no orders to… They're threatening to put me on a fertility potion next month."
"I wonder what's in it for them that you get pregnant?"
Hermione's face darkened as Harry voiced the thought that she had been trying to dismiss as paranoia, "They want me out of the way. They think that if I'm distracted by having a baby to look after, I'll forget to fight them. They obviously don't know me very well. And of course, baby brain is just a myth."
"I don't know – I caught Ginny spooning frogspawn in her tea the other day." Harry said skeptically, picking up the fork that he had dropped in his shock.
"A craving?"
"No, she said she just got distracted."
"So are you looking forward to being a dad?" Hermione asked, hoping to turn the conversation to more cheerful topics and away from her marriage.
Harry's energy seemed to come back to him just at the mention of him being a dad – he sat up straighter, a wide smile on his face. Only a slightly manic gleam in his eyes betrayed his nerves, "Yeah! More than anything. But it's scary too. Like – how will I know how to do it?"
"It's just natural isn't it," Hermione immediately realised what the problem was and reached across the table to grip Harry's hand tightly, "– oh – Harry, you're going to be a wonderful dad. Just because you grew up with the Dursleys doesn't mean that you've missed out on some social need or something."
Harry groaned, running the hand that Hermione wasn't crushing the life out of through his hair, making it even messier than usual, "Hermione, it wasn't until Molly gave me a hug once that I realised, I couldn't remember ever being hugged."
"Oh Harry," her eyes stung with tears, both of pity for the neglected boy and at the memory of her parents' arms around her.
"What if I forget to hug my kid, or I forget to feed them, or I forget not to whack them with the wooden spoon when they're walking past me?"
"It's exactly because of that you'll always remember to be a good dad. And if you don't, I'm sure Ginny will remind you," she let go of his hand at last with a fond pat.
"Speaking of Ginny…" Harry checked the time on Fabian Prewett's watch, "She's probably expecting me home soon. I owled her to let her know the raid was a success. Plus you need to go and get some sleep, young lady,"
"See, you're a good dad already!" said Hermione, with a laugh, as she hailed the waitress for the bill.
oOoOoOo
"Cheers mate," Ron said as he clinked his pint glass against Harry's, nodding as Harry returned the sentiment, "I saw in the Prophet you got Travers. Nice one. I remember how he shook my hand, like I was dirt on his boot - and that's when he thought I was in his side! Scumbag."
They both drew deeply on their beers for a moment, smacking their lips in unified appreciation of the cold, frothy drink. As they'd got older, they had tired of the sickly sweetness of butterbeer and adoration alike and had tended to frequent muggle establishments more and more when they met up for a drink. Harry looked cautiously around the pub - the rest of the clientele seemed to be engrossed in the football game being shown on the widescreen on the far wall, but he flicked his wand under the table and threw up a muffliato, just in case, "Shame they made out like we'd offed him, still you can't expect the Prophet to report the facts can you?"
"What really happened?" Ron leaned in to listen over the angry roar of the men in the blue shirts and the jeering chants of the ones dressed in red. Apparently they'd kicked that little black and white ball into the goal. Funny sport, running about like mad men. Harry and Dean had explained the rules to him and it was a bit like quidditch but he could never quite get into it.
"Bastard had a dirty bomb. Nearly took half my team with him. Wilkins is still in St Mungo's. It's left us really short staffed if you fancied coming back and working with me?"
Ron heard the tone of hope in Harry's voice and noted how he had said with me rather than for me, but he shook his head to dispel the visions of them running from burning buildings side by side, their cloaks billowing behind them; the shiny badge that read 'Auror Weasley', "Wish I could mate, just for a break. I'm run ragged at the shop since George decided to go to America. I had to have a nap standing up in the stock room the other day."
"I'll have to remember that one for when the baby comes along!"
"You alright about all of that? It's pretty bloody scary isn't it, thinking about, you know, having a baby."
"Sometimes I'm ok and sometimes it all just gets…..pfffft in my head," Harry waved his arms outward to demonstrate. They drained their glasses in silence and Ron returned to the bar for another couple of drinks.
"Schtill, oo and Inny are a itty good eam," he mumbled around the packet of crisps he was carrying in his teeth. He deposited the glasses on the table and ripped open the foil packet and flattened it out on the table. "I'm sure that must help. You'll both be around for the kid."
"For all the good it'll do," Harry said grimly, "I'm sure Ginny'll be fine but I don't really know about family stuff do I?"
"I reckon being a dad's easy - when they're little, pick 'em up and cuddle them a lot. Changing nappies can't be worse than trying to feed a blast ended skrewt. Stick some food in them if they look hungry, make them go to sleep when they're tired. Same with your wife, I reckon. Then teach them how to fly a broom, help them with their homework, tease them if they fancy someone and tell a few bad jokes. Not that I reckon I'll get a chance to find out. I doubt I'll even see much of my kids -they're from a broken home before they've even been born. Pretty fucked up, that is."
"Mate, when are you and Hermione going to just give up on pretending that there isn't something between you."
"Don't know what you mean Harry," mumbled Ron, reddening before adding in a falsely casual voice, "she, err, hasn't said anything to you about it has she?"
"Yeah, she said she was madly in love with you."
"Really?" Ron asked, his voice squeaking in shock, before he saw Harry laughing, "Bugger off! You only had to say no!"
"She said you're really busy - she seemed pretty tired."
"Not half, we're both working every hour on the clock at the moment. I was so tired the other day, Hermione had to use one of her charms, you know, for doing it, and let me tell you I never have problems in that department."
"Did it work?" Harry leaned in with horrified fascination.
"It was Hermione doing it, of course it worked. Bit too well really, I had to stay behind the counter all morning at the shop!"
They both laughed and sipped their beers.
"And, erm, how about Hermione?" Harry asked, cringing slightly. Ron's insides curled like a salted slug just thinking about the conversation that he had had with him in which he had explained that Hermione refused to let him make the experience pleasurable for her.
"Still the same. I think she feels like if she enjoys it too much or does anything over and above the Ministry's express instructions, then they've won. It's either that or something to do with hormones. I'm not quite sure. She's actually drawn up a schedule of when we need to do it. It's like a homework planner!"
"For shagging!" Harry spluttered into his drink, ending up with a foamy moustache.
Ron shoved him with his shoulder, "Shut up!"
"But you're getting on better aren't you?"
"Just peachy," Ron grimaced, "She's talking about us moving in together. Not like that," he said in response to Harry's surprised face, "Just she thinks I need looking after. She's worried about me, or something, I reckon. Probably thinks I'm too useless to look after myself."
"What's happened?" Harry asked when he had recovered enough to speak, Ron's reddening face only making him all the more curious.
"Whassammarrarr?" Ron mumbled groggily, burying his head into his soft pillow. His soft, warm pillow that smelled of the flowers in the back meadow back at the Burrow. A sharp poke in the ribs dragged him back to unwilling consciousness.
"Ron," hissed Hermione in his ear. Her breath tickled and he reached up and attempted to swat her away with a slumber-weighted hand.
"Ron," she tried again, "You're...in me."
The words had the effect of an electric charge.
Ron's eyes shot open and was greeted by Hermione's face, only inches from his own. Doing a mental inventory of his body, he found himself sprawled over Hermione and that her statement was indeed true. Mortification washed over him in a flood of hot blood that flushed his face and made his ears tingle. How in the name of Merlin's underpants had that happened? They had been doing it, it had been going fine. Better than fine. Fantastic actually. Hermione felt so hot around his cock it was like a dozen mouths kissing and licking him at once and her tits were jiggling up and down as he thrust into her, the action making her nipples peak. The sight of them made him nearly blow his load straight away. He had leant down to nuzzle his face against Hermione's neck and it had felt so warm and soft, like coming home. His balls tightened at the feel of her hands on his arse, urging him on. He had slowed down, to prolong the experience. Slower. Slower... Shit. He must have fallen asleep. He rolled off and onto the mattress with a groan.
"Oh bollocks, do you think that means we need to start again?"
"Ron, you fell asleep! Whilst, you know! And all you're worried about is that you need to subject yourself to it again!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief, causing thick clouds of hair to flick over his face. Clearly he'd said the wrong thing. The filter, weak and full of holes as it was, that existed between his brain and his mouth, had clearly given up due to exhaustion.
"I just meant….Hermione, I'm really tired," he was aware of the whining tone in his voice and attempted to stifle it. Complaining about having to shag didn't seem like much of a complaint after all.
Thankfully, Hermione either didn't pick up on it or decided to let it slide, "I know," she murmured, patting his shoulder, "How long were you at the shop today?"
"Eleven hours," Ron admitted sheepishly, "I flooed straight there from the meeting I had with the Minister for Magic in Australia."
"When was the last time you slept" Hermione looked horrified, propping herself up on one elbow whilst being careful to tuck the quilt around herself. As soon as the deed was done, she became terribly prudish, Ron had noticed, keen to make a clear distinction between them shagging and them going back to normal again. He wondered what would happen if he just leant over and kissed her right then, probably he'd get a slap.
"What day is it today?" he asked groggily, the warmth of the covers lulling him back to sleep. Hermione's sheets were so much more comfortable than his own. When they had been living together, Ron had always been shocked at how much Hermione was prepared to spend on sheets and the like but after having bought the very cheapest things he could find to cover his bed in the flat when he moved in there; in an act of childish rebellion that had seen him muttering under his breath as he stalked down the aisles of Couche and Cawldrone, the wizarding homeware shop, throwing pillowcases and blankets into his basket with surprising viciousness; he was grudgingly able to see her point. Where his sheets were so scratchy and rumpled that no amount of Madam Skower's fabric softener could revive them, this bed was warm and inviting. His eyes were growing heavy again even as he ran his hand over the smooth, 300 thread count sheet.
"If you need to ask what day it is, I'm going to assume that the answer is that you haven't slept in a while. Honestly Ron, you need to get some help for the shop, you're going to make yourself ill."
Ron swiped his hand down his face, groaning inwardly because as usual, the infuriating witch was right, and what's more, she had probably guessed why he hadn't done it, "I know, I know. I just feel like, if I go ahead and get someone new to work in the shop…"
"Then it's like confirming George really has gone?" Hermione guessed, "But he has gone Ron, and by the sounds of it, they're having a fantastic time in America – Angelina sent me a postcard last week – working yourself into the ground and refusing to talk to George isn't going to make him come back."
"I'll do it next week," Ron agreed, sleepily. Hermione had that gleam in her eye that if he didn't get on with it, she was going to get involved and then there would have to be meetings, and ridiculous interview requirements, and shortlists and all sorts, "so…errr…don't bite my head off for asking but do you think we do need to do it again?" he extended his hand under the duvet to lay it on the sof of her waist but withdrew it again before he touched her. He didn't think he wanted to see her flinch away from him. "No, I don't think so. The rules don't explicitly say that either of us need to finish."
Ron saw how her cheeks burned and her mouth set in a determined line. The fact that she was refusing to allow herself to let go, to fully enjoy the experience Bemused and frustrated him. He was sure he could push her, he could angle his cock to hit just the spot inside her, suckle on that sensitive patch of skin behind her ear and force her over the edge, but it didn't seem right.
He scratched the back of his neck, uncertain. He was pretty tired but seeing the flush across her face and neck made his cock twitch in response and he reckoned he was up to the job. It wouldn't do for her to think he had problems or anything – she might make him read that pamphlet about wobbly wands and then he'd just about die, "I'm pretty sure old Madgwick won't like us playing any more games like that."
"How about just this once?" Hermione suggested.
"Cool," he mumbled, his eyes already starting to close as he tucked his hands under his head and settled deeper into the pillows.
Hermione kicked him in the shin, jerking him back awake with a snort, "You can't sleep here, you know. Go home."
"You have got to be kidding me!" which even he knew was a pretty bloody stupid thing to say, because he could see from her face that she wasn't joking and since their honeymoon he had never been invited to stay overnight.
"I'm not enlarging the bed, it'll scuff the carpet. And I like sleeping alone."
Ron rose reluctantly out of bed, pulling on his vest and trousers, shrinking the rest of the clothes he had left in a neat pile by the bed and stuffing them into his pocket, grumbling sulkily as he did so, "Twycross said you shouldn't ever apparate when you're tired."
"Well…Twycross said a lot of things, as I recall. Now bugger off. I need to be at work in…" she checked her watch, "four hours."
Ron took the fact that Hermione was criticising a teacher to mean that she was entirely serious. With one last longing look at the bed, Ron turned on the spot, trying to concentrate on the flat above the shop.
Pain and blood. That was all Ron was aware of as he sank down onto the carpet. So much of both. A cold sweat sprang up over his body and he had to fight his immediate urge to vomit. He looked down and immediately wished he hadn't. A crimson puddle was spreading over the floor at an alarming rate, gushing from the area where his foot should have been but wasn't. He was just trying to reach for his wand in his back pocket as black stars sparkled and multiplied in front of his eyes when the crack of apparition echoed through the air.
Hermione landed almost on top of him, clutching his foot, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over as she bent low over his leg, her thick curtain of hair mercifully hiding his injury from view. There was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke and although his leg was still agony, he was also aware of the strange sensation of his foot reattaching. It felt almost like when he had fallen asleep on his arm then felt the blood flowing back into it when he woke up and moved. Eventually she seemed satisfied and sat back on her heels. Ron saw she had a smear of blood across her cheek and her thin dressing gown was badly stained deep red.
"Thanks," he muttered, his voice rasping.
"You could have killed yourself, and it would've been my fault!" Hermione choked through her sobs.
Ron reached over, even though moving sent fresh pain through his injured limb and patted her on the shoulder, "Yeah, well I'm fine. Good as new," he grimaced round the lie as he looked down at the unhealed flesh of his ankle, "Very neat job you did. Much better than in the forest."
"I've been practicing," she hiccuped, "I didn't want to be in that situation again," she looked down at the wound and shook her head sadly, her lips tightly pressed together as though she was fighting the tears back again.
Suddenly, she stood and turned on the spot, vanishing. Ron assumed she had left and was just wondering how he was going to get up off the floor but seconds later, she was back with an armful of glass bottles, "I went to an all night apothecary," she explained, passing him a large bottle, "blood replenishing potions - drink as much as you can stomach."
Ron gulped at the viscous, ferric liquid and tried not to gag. A stinging in his ankle and a familiar herbal scent left him in no doubt that one of the other items Hermione had brought with her was dittany.
"I've done all that as can for now." she sank down next to him and gripped his hand tightly and leaning her head against Ron"s shoulder, which still bore the scars from his previous splinching accident. Ron's stomach flipped over in a way that was completely unrelated to the blood replenishing potion as he felt the warmth of her body seeping into his skin, the way her hand fitted so neatly against his own...
"You got splinched? You splinched your whole foot off?" Harry shouted shrilly, calling Ron back from his recollection.
"Errr, yeah." He hitched his foot up onto his chair and rolled up his trouser leg to reveal an inch wide ring of fresh scar tissue around his ankle, "Hermione keeps applying essence of Dittany but it's still taking a while to heal."
"And you didn't think to mention it? How did you even get here today? Please don't tell me you're using magic?"
"As if, she won't let me do anything. That's what I was trying to tell you. She won't even leave me at the flat on my own, keeps fussing over me. She even took a day off sick from work the day after so she could stay with me
Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his shock of hair, fixing Ron with a look that was just a bit too knowing. Ron wondered if he could fake his leg hurting to distract him, "Oh I bet you're just hating that, having Hermione nursing you back to health. Mopping your fevered brow," Harry smirked.
"Shut up," Ron punched him lightly on the arm, "She thinks that I'm running myself into the ground and we should be housemates or something so she can keep an eye on me. So now we've got to go house hunting because she thinks the flat's too small for us and Crookshanks and her place is too far from the shop. House hunting. Sounds like a bloody holiday. Glad I don't need rest or anything."
The pub rang up with a cheer - the blue team had scored a goal. Ron feigned interest in the television for a moment in the hope that Harry wouldn't notice the delighted grin spreading across his face.