Tucked into the largest of the library chairs, Harry ignores the Floo in favor of continuing his current reading choice.
"Probably Theo again," he mutters as he flips the page.
"Ah-hem." A squat, broad-faced elf walks into the room and stands in front of Harry.
"Can I help you?"
"There's a call for you, Mr. Harry Potter."
"Do you know who it is?" Harry puts a spare bit of parchment in the book to hold his place and sets it aside.
"Mr. Ron Weasley, sir."
"Oh. All right then." He stands and follows the elf, whose wobbling stride keeps Harry surging back and forth so as not to step on him.
Harry's waved in to the sitting room, where Ron's face greets him from the fireplace.
"Hello Harry!" Ron's overenthusiastic grin catches and soon, Harry's smiling in return.
"Hello, Ron. How are you? Hermione? The kids?"
"Whoa, whoa. Give me a minute to take it all in." He chuckles, but clears his throat. "I'm good, mate. Things are good. Hermione is… Hermione." At this, he splutters in laughter and Harry can't help but let out a snort.
"Rose and Hugo?"
"Larger than life, mate. You can't begin to imagine how life changes when you have kids. It's like… they're like miniature tornadoes running through your life, but they're so incredibly amazing. Hugo's rolling over and Rose never stops talking. Hermione reads to her every night."
"Of course she does. Let me guess—Hogwarts: A History." Ron and Harry say the book title at the exact same time and they guffaw out loud, leaning back to hold their bellies.
"Harry, can I come through for a few minutes?"
"I don't see why not. Draco hasn't come out of his room for a week now." Harry moves out of the way.
Once through, Ron shakes off his robe and looks to Harry. "That's sort of why I'm here." At Harry's baffled expression, Ron continues. "Look, mate. He hasn't been to work in over a week. We get it. Shacklebolt gets it. But he's got to respond to an owl or two. We have to know when he's planning to come back." Ron scratches at the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to word the next bit. "He's got open investigations that need his attention and… if he doesn't come back soon, I think Shacklebolt's going to assign them elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" Harry asks. "What does that even mean?"
"It means exactly what you think it does. He's going to be demoted without the change in title. He'll get shite cases because his ferrety arse isn't at his desk."
Harry gapes for a moment, sitting back on the couch in a huff. "They can't do that, can they? I mean he just lost his mum."
"I know. Believe me, I know. I've been carrying his workload and Hermione's not too happy at the moment."
"I didn't know." Harry's face falls. He's wriggling his fingers, twining them together, then harshly tugging them apart. "What am I supposed to do? He won't even come out of his room."
Ron moves toward Harry, who stands in response. He reaches a hand out and places it on Harry's shoulder. "If you care about him—if you care about him at all, you'll help him. He helped you when you needed it. He needs this. He needs you now. Figure it out, Harry. He doesn't have much left to lose."
Ron's mouth quirks in a sad approximation of a smile. He squeezes Harry's shoulder, then turns back toward the Floo. Before he tosses the powder in, he turns back.
"I miss you. We need to get together soon. I think Rose would enjoy a visit."
"What?" Harry looks up, catching the worried look on Ron's face. "Oh, yeah. Soon."
Ron's shoulders sag, but he calls out his Floo address, letting the flames take him away.
He barely notices when a letter lands at his feet. The owl, however, is quite persistent. The envelope has a familiar crest and Harry grimaces.
Mr. Potter,
It would please me greatly if you would consider accepting a recently vacated post for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Do think it over.
Headmistress,
Minerva McGonagall
He replaces the letter in the envelope and sticks it in the book he's reading. "There's no response," he tells the owl, giving her a scratch and sending her on her way. He's not sure there ever will be.