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Half listening to his mate Neville ramble about plants, Ronald Weasley pulled out his phone to text his best mate:
Ron: how fuckin long are you going to be
Harry: Id be faster if youd stayed and wrote the bloody report with me
Ron: Next time don't be so fuckin stuck up about smellin like piss and ill write the reports
Harry: I'll write all the reports just so that you are the homeless alley look out at not me
Ron: Okay then okay then! Hurry it up Nev is here and you know hes going to start talking about his plants and then ill die and then youll have to deal with my mum
Harry: Omfg
Ron: Shell probs start knitting you joggers as my replacement and then youre such a pussy youd wear them
Harry: Stop stop just stop
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Ron put his phone down carefully on the rough wooden table at the Leaky Pub. He had an immense sense of satisfaction at annoying Harry. Really, if Harry didn't want to do reports, then he should have been the one charmed to look like a bum and reeking of piss on the last operation they had run for MLE. It really was a matter of who wanted to do reports less, in which case Ron always won because Harry had some pesky standards.
"It was amazing. You should have come Ron, I got such a good batch this year." Neville's voice was dreamy, red slashes from the fire whiskey he had drank across his cheekbones. Neville was dressed in a grey sweater vest with a white-collared undershirt that screamed he was a professor of some sort, although people could be forgiven for being mistaken considering he was built like a bloody tank.
The pudgy shy wizard who had cried over his perpetually missing frog most of their first year at Hogwarts had unfairly grown up to be a tall muscular ladies' man. Well, not really a ladies' man, he was pretty much on a leash with his wife Pansy, but still. Ron had been active since he was born practically due to dodging his older brother's pranks, and he was like half the size of Neville.
Neville took another drink. "Why, the highest jumper practically leaped over me! It's going to produce some really excellent potions for Professor Cymric."
Harry better get his arse here soon, or Neville was going to start spouting poetry about his leaping toadstools.
"So are you going to chop up then with the missus?" Ron asked, taking a drink of his fire whiskey.
Neville jerked back, his dreamy expression narrowing briefly. "What?"
"You and Pans. She going to help you chop up all your leaping toadstools, then, for the crop?" Ron clarified innocently.
Neville leaned forward, still not sure if he was getting teased. His tree trunk-shaped biceps flexed intimidatingly. His brown eyes trying to focus and be threatening at the same time. "Ron–Ron—you better watch your mouth about my wife."
Harry arrived just in time to hear Neville's politely drunk threat about his wife. Knowing Ron had probably said something irritating to Neville, Harry smacked the back of Ron's head with a satisfying loud thunk. He had learned from the best watching Fred and George with ickle Ronniekins. "Behave."
"Ow! Fuckin- no, you bastard-" Ron leaned over sideways, covering his head. "What did I say about me mum?"
Neville was almost instantly distracted. "How is Mrs. Weasley?"
"She's told me to call her Nonna," Ron mumbled, his head still low, reaching for his drink as Harry sat down.
Both Harry and the slightly sloshed Neville gave Ron a baffled look. "Eh, what's that then? I think I misheard." Neville pronounced carefully.
Ron didn't look up. "She wants me to settle down already, so she said I can call her Nonna until I give her more grandkids."
Neville reached over and patted Ron's hand comfortingly while Harry thanked Merlin his mother wasn't grandchildren obsessed. Who knows what his father might do to make her happy then? To say that his father, James Potter, was obsessed with making his mother happy was an understatement.
"You have to stand up to her!" Neville encouraged, having had his own troubles setting boundaries with his Grandmother who was a bit overbearing. "When Pansy and I got married, Gran was constantly over and—and I had to tell her, you know, not to come over unless she had an invitation."
"Daphne told me about that she said Pansy threatened to make you sleep in the greenhouse and that's why you finally did it," Ron interjected.
"Yes. I have a very nice bed." Neville looked down and messed with his plain gold wedding band.
Harry looked back and forth between his two school friends, trying to think of what to change the subject to because, honestly, he didn't have these problems. He was single and his mother was a normal person, who was mostly focused on transfiguration research. "Uh…" He started looking down at his friend's half-drunk rounds. "I'll go get another round!"
Neville looked up as Harry walked away quickly, before looking back at Ron, who was still glum about his mother. "Is Harry still single? What happened to what's her face? The one Daphne set him up with?"
"Too nice," Ron replied.
Neville pictured Pansy's furious face when she realized his Gran had brought house-elves and was trying to make a baby nursery in their home. He shuddered. His Gran had come close to finding out exactly why his wife would always be a Slytherin with that one. "Too nice?"
"You know how he is like that muggle fairy tale. Too short. Too tall. Too nice. Too mean. He's going to get eaten by a bear or something."
"Muggles have weird fairytales. But why do you know about muggle fairytales?" Neville asked curiously.
"Cocomelon."
"Because of Victoire," Harry said, coming back with drinks and seeing Neville's confused face at Ron's response. "He can't say no to her so he ends up watching really brain-numbing kid's video's with her every time he visits."
"I'm her favorite uncle—not even Fred or George can handle Cocomelon–they start drooling," Ron said proudly, puffing up a little bit.
Harry shook his head at Ron. Not even he could handle Cocomelon videos. They were worse than any confundus charm he'd seen. He took a drink of dragon scale mix drink, feeling the rush of fiery warmth as he swallowed. "Are you sure you don't want to head out with me to the club Saturday night?"
"George could go—or I think Charlie might drop by too." Ron shook his head. "I'm not about that single life anymore, mate. You should settle down too."
Harry shrugged. "I just haven't found the right person."
"Maybe if you gave them a chance Harry—Pansy, and I were friends for two years before I asked her out." Neville offered helpfully, grabbing his new glass from the trio Harry had brought back with him.
Harry gave Neville a deadpan look. "You had a crush on Pansy since second year in Hogwarts when she told you no one handled the mandrakes as well as you did."
"That's what she said." Ron grinned at them before ducking both Harry and Neville, reaching over to smack him. "Too slow, so slow. Fred and George would be disappointed with you two. Besides Harry, this isn't about Neville's lifelong crush on the meanest girl in Hogwarts—"
"Hey!" Neville said, reaching over to shove Ron's shoulder.
"-this is about you changing your mind on every single girl you meet." Ron rolled his eyes and took another drink. "Even your sister—"
"Ugh." Harry shuddered at the thought of his sister making mushy faces with Ron's brother Fred. So sappy. He was not going to fall into his family's predilection for going head over heels for a person.
"Oh, yes!" Neville smiled widely. "So you guys are going to become brothers for real! That's so awesome!"
"Harry here is probably going to show up at their wedding with wards drawn around him."
Neville gasped. "Harry is like a snitch! No wonder quidditch-playing witches are so keen on him."
"Look." Harry waved a hand in the air. "Just because everyone is settling down doesn't mean it's something that is required. I like dating. I like women. I just like for them to go home after —"
Ron made a vulgar gesture, and Neville laughed.
"I mean! I just like—my personal space — and you know some quiet—" Harry hastily backtracked.
"Let's look at your history, hmm? We're not muggles, are we, then? Magic — is like the ultimate um —-" Ron stumbled, trying to think of the world.
"Matchmaker!" Neville provided. "Yes! I was just having this conversation with Theo Nott the other day — you know, about his investigations into genealogy and time travel."
Ron and Harry shared a look. They had both visited Nott Mansion to confiscate several items and give warnings to Theo about the Ministry laws regarding time travel magic. "Yeah, mate. We know." Harry said, not giving any of the details he and Ron knew.
"Well, we have stronger family traits and inheritance than muggles and Theo thinks it's not scientifically based – it's actually our magic maintaining our family lines, which is why, when you have families with stronger magic, they tend to follow a pattern."
Ron nodded sagely before turning to Harry. "You hear that? You'll meet your match, then your single life is fucked."
"Look, I'm not saying I don't want to fall in love—maybe I do," Harry admitted. "I'm just saying maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm meant just to be the crazy uncle to my sister's kids or something."
"Maybe you should try dating some muggles. Remember Seamus's dad?" Neville offered.
"Nah," Harry said while thinking of it. He loved magic and had always imagined having a wife who was a witch. But still… if it was just for a few dates…. That might be interesting.
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Hermione paced back and forth in her new flat, bored out of her mind. Moving from France to England had been exciting. When she had stepped back on English soil with the intention of staying, there had been some strange feeling that came over her. It was like the feeling of getting hit with a spell, a snap of magic that had filled her with both anticipation of the future and a sense of rightness about her decision.
Her parents had had her later in life, her mother had been forty, and her father forty-five. When Hermione had been five, they moved from England to France to follow their dental practice group, which had been like family members. But after they retired, Richard and Helen Granger wanted to move back to England. It hadn't been too troublesome at first to visit her parents as she could. Both governments had granted her dispensation for apparition travel between the two countries.
Hermione had been part of a private firm researching ancient magics, many of which had been lost to present witches and wizards because honestly most magical folk behaved like dragons hoarding knowledge instead of gold but still. They'd made some really interesting discoveries that might actually provide a reason behind the deep-rooted blood prejudices that still persisted somewhat in society today. The research was so fascinating that Hermione found that she frequently completely forgot the outside world when she was working. Which was fine as a young single witch—it was not fine, now though, as her parents approached their seventies.
When Saul Croaker had contacted her regarding her work, offering her basically free rein as a researcher in the Department of Mysteries, if she chose to move back to England it had been like the hand of fate reaching out to help her. She had accepted after some tough negotiations regarding her salary and making sure to keep some claim on any breakthroughs she made on behalf of the Ministry. Now it was Saturday before she started her new position with the Ministry of Magic, and she was at loose ends.
She had already organized her files and books twice. Wrestled with Crookshanks to let her run a cat brush through his fur. Her owl Archimedes had twittered annoyingly the whole time, causing Crookshanks to be even more irritatable. Archimedes and Crookshanks got along as well as an owl and cat could get along, which was to say they picked on each other constantly. She rewatched Lord of the Rings—the extended version of course—and partially convinced herself she could have taken down Balrog without falling off the cliff.
Really, it was all about the swish and flick. Hermione twirled her wand in her hand for a moment, thinking about it. Maybe a nice aguamenti to douse the demon from the deep and prevent her from getting any burns. One would think she'd be immune to sunburns with her darker skin, but no– that was just her luck. Her window opened, and she glanced over expecting to see Archimedes leaving for a nice evening flight when she spotted her grocery list in his beak. "No! Archimedes! Come back! You don't deliver that!"
Hermione jumped up and ran to the window, but her little black owl was already high in the sky probably about to drop off her list to some unsuspecting random grocer. With a groan, she leaned against the sill. Shit. Well, she probably remembered most of the things on her list.
Crookshanks yowled at her from up on the very top of her bookshelf, where he had planted himself to escape the cat brush. She stopped looking up at him while he gazed down at her with the default snooty cat expression. "Archimedes is just trying to be helpful."
Maaorrao.
Hermione sniffed. "Don't be mean–"
Yrrrowwwl.
"You are not my only friend, I have human friends! I just moved here —"
Aohhuu.
"You know what? Fine. You'll see. I can make friends. I can get a date! I'm just busy. I like to be busy. I like to work! Is that a crime?"
Mew.
"That sarcasm is uncalled for. Watch. I am perfectly proactive at getting dates."
Hermione pulled out her phone and went to the app store and slowly typed out the name of a popular app. She looked up at Crookshanks as it was downloading and stuck her tongue out. Crookshanks lifted his nose in the air, silently letting her know she was the peasant in his world. Both her pets were going to drive her batty.
"Whatever." Hermione rapidly filled out her profile. She just wanted a distraction. Maybe some muggle she could chat with for a fun night before starting her new job with the British Ministry of Magic on Monday.
"Bleh." Immediately, she began to swipe left on profiles. She was definitely not DTF. Men were men, whether or not they had magic, she thought with a roll. Then one particularly cute muggle caught her eye.
"He's in law enforcement, Crookshanks." The cat made no reply. There was something about his eyes. He definitely looked like someone with an interesting past. And really, from her experience, no one had better stories than the Auror division—so it was probably true for muggle law enforcement too.
With a smile, she swiped right.
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A/N: FFN doesn't have nearly the capabilities of AO3 in regards to formatting and texting fics, let's see how sharing a Modern HP AU with texting goes for this site. This fic is posted on ao3 much further along with better formatting on the texting than I am allowed here. I do post teasers and updates on my writing progress on reddit/facebook/instagram under the same pen name Myst867 if you want to follow along!