"Symbiosis" (3/?)
By MmeFleiss
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN: I'm going on vacation for two months starting in October, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload the next part after it gets written and before I move back to the States. Sorry. <.< Thanks to Jenn for the beta, as always.
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"I can't believe that you haven't started cleaning yet!" Harry heard Hermione shriek as he materialized directly outside Ron's front door, stumbling a bit as his feet encountered solid ground and in the process dropping the old pair of spectacles he'd used as a Portkey. He pressed his forehead against the cool wooden surface and attempted to will his roiling stomach still. The Ministry's method of choice for international travel was never fun, but the experience became exponentially worse whenever it involved moving between continents.
He was still regretting the rather large lunch he'd eaten at the going away party his co-workers had given him when Hermione continued her lecture unabated from somewhere inside Ron's flat. "You knew he was coming to stay with you. The least you could've done was utter a quick Scourgify or two."
"Oh don't be so uptight. It's nothing he hasn't seen before. Besides, he's been living over in Africa, hasn't he?"
A charged silence followed Ron's statement. Harry couldn't help but chuckle under his breath as his mind's eye conjured the familiar look Hermione had directed at Ron over the years whenever she felt he was being particularly thick, eyes narrowed and teeth grinding audibly. "Despite popular opinion," she eventually said, tone noticeably arctic, "civilization does exist outside of England. They're not all still living in houses made out of mud and sticks, you know."
"That's not what I…"
"Actually," Harry decided to interrupt from his position behind the door before things got out of hand, "I spent about a month each year living in one of those. It's part of survival training."
"Aha! So I was right!" Ron crowed.
"If you were actually capable of listening, you would have realized that what Harry actually said was…" The door suddenly slammed open, giving the off-balanced Harry a momentary close-up of Hermione's smiling face before she lunged after him. "Harry!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms so tightly around his waist that for a moment he couldn't see anything past the citrus-scented mass of bushy curls pressed against his face. "Why didn't you knock?"
"I was about to. I was just taking a moment to recover."
"Oh, then I'm probably not helping any, am I?" She said as she backed away, eyes wide and two identical splotches of pink staining her pale cheeks.
Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight of her deceptively meek expression. Though rare, it had misled more than one potential boyfriend over the years into believing he'd be dating a harmless kitten, only to discover a lion. "Don't worry about it. I really am feeling much better."
His smile only got wider as he looked past Hermione's shoulder and found Ron, as usual, frantically trying to accomplish his task at the last minute. He was barely visible through the stacks of used dishware being banished into the kitchen whilst dirty clothing scattered throughout the room sluggishly joined the line of soiled linen marching towards the bathroom hamper. It didn't take long before the lanky redhead noticed the extra attention afforded him, and the whirlwind of activity paused as he looked up with an answering grin. "Welcome home, mate."
"It's good to be back."
For the past six years, Harry always had this irrational fear at the beginning of every holiday and weekend they'd spent together that Ron and Hermione would just naturally come to prefer the best friend they'd each spent the most time with and unintentionally leave him behind.
His concerns proved to be just as unfounded as usual, however, for they'd barely gathered around the dining room table to gorge themselves on the numerous boxes of Indian takeaway scattered about when the redhead--in typical fashion--bulldozed past whatever awkwardness remained with the latest installment of the improbable-but-true adventures of Ronald Bilius Weasley, aged twenty-four.
"So there I was, right?" he was saying in between vicious stabs at the uncooperative hunk of chicken on his plate. "Walking around in the countryside without my wand, practically starkers, and with my skin a bright orange thanks to my new partner's botched spell--when this lorry almost ran over me. But instead of trying to help, the driver just stared at me for a bit as if he couldn't believe his eyes. So then I raised my right hand and told him, 'I come in peace' to keep him calm, y'know? Before I knew it, it was all over those Muggle newspapers that I was some kind of alien and the Ministry was giving me a citation for improper use of magic."
Harry choked on the bottle of beer he'd been imbibing, his eyes watering whilst Hermione-who sat directly on his left-patted him on the back and rolled her eyes. "Why is it that you're always getting yourself in these ridiculous situations?"
"Hey! Like it's my fault that they paired me up with such an incompetent… witch."
"You were going to say something else, weren't you?"
Sensing that he'd managed to put his foot in his mouth again somehow, Ron caught Harry's gaze in a silent plea for help. Unlike the panicked redhead, however, the shorter man had taken note of Hermione's relaxed posture and concluded that she was merely taking the piss. He stuffed a spoonful of vindaloo into his mouth and shrugged with a complete lack of apology.
Ron stuck out his tongue in response before turning his full attention back to Hermione. "Now I realize that you don't like that Word That Must Not Be Said, but you must admit that some people deserve the name."
"It's careless remarks like that which perpetuate the continuing misogynistic attitudes…"
Harry tuned out the rest of the mock argument, smiling fondly as he watched the familiar sight of their heads bent close together like two bulls preparing to take charge. It didn't take long before Ron's argument withered under Hermione's logic, and the redhead retaliated for it by reaching across the table amidst a clatter of silverware and tickling her sides.
"Y-You arse," she gasped in between giggles, her hands attempting but failing to reach his torso.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Ron demanded with a smirk as his wiggling fingers sped up.
"H-Harry!" she pleaded breathlessly. But the third member of the group merely continued eating his plate of naan and chicken vindaloo as if nothing at all out of the ordinary was happening. "S-Some hero you're t-turning out to be!"
"I do believe you were just insulted, mate."
"Then I guess I should teach her a lesson as well," Harry replied, his emerald eyes twinkling as his hands joined Ron's.
For a while, the only sounds emanating from the tiny flat were of furniture getting knocked over mingling with Hermione's shrieks and male laughter. They allowed themselves to be carefree in a way they weren't allowed to be in childhood; and even when their horseplay wound down, they could do nothing but grin at each other idiotically whilst they lay panting on the puce sofa.
Only a sound resembling an incoming train hurtling towards them broke the companionable silence. Harry sat up with wand drawn out of habit.
"Sorry," Ron muttered, his freckles nearly invisible as his face turned a bright red before he headed back towards the dining room. "Guess I should go finish eating dinner."
Harry rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the couch, tilting his face towards the still-flushed Hermione whose hair appeared even bushier than normal after their brief chase around the flat. His fingers itched to tuck the errant locks back behind her ears, and he gave into the impulse: enthralled by the way the mahogany curls sprung back up after being pulled taunt by his roving fingers. It wasn't until she sighed and her eyes fluttered shut that he realized that instead of the quick gesture he'd intended--it had become a constant, petting motion that left the witch beside him almost boneless in her repose.
"I guess it's true what they say about owners coming to resemble their pets."
"Just shut up and keep going, Harry."
He chuckled and turned on his side, his hands never pausing in their rhythmic movement as he redistributed more of his weight on his other arm. "That saying includes their pets' manners, too, I see."
"Shh."
They were still in the same position when Ron ambled back in a half-hour later, though Harry's hands had slowed as the constant pounding of raindrops against the windows only exacerbated his drowsiness. He watched from the corner of his eye as the redhead moved to the opposite side of the sofa closer to the crackling fire, rubbing his hands together to ward off the growing October chill.
"I'm glad to see she finally managed to nod off," the taller man whispered as he picked up the bright orange afghan and draped it over their best friend's sleeping form. "She's been running herself ragged trying to free those damned elves again."
Harry merely grunted and shifted his weight again to diminish the pressure on his numb arm, not wanting to end up in the middle of yet another one of the two's longstanding arguments.
"It's because she wastes so much of her free time on them that she ends up with loser boyfriends like Terry."
Harry raised an eyebrow and turned to fully face his new flat mate. "And what does that say about you? I believe she dated you as well."
"I was the one exception, of course."
"Oh, of course." Harry ducked just in time to avoid the throw pillow aimed at his head, sending it to bump harmlessly against a sofa cushion.
Ron gave him the finger for thwarting his assault before sitting down on one of the mismatched chairs and placing his booted feet atop the milk crate doubling as his coffee table.
"What's wrong with Terry, anyway? I don't remember him being all that bad."
Ron grimaced, his features scrunched up tight as if he'd swallowed a bagful of Acid Pops. "He wasn't. But he's been the Ministry's golden boy for the past couple of years now. If his head gets any higher up his arse, he'd be Lockhart."
"Ugh."
"So don't you think it's your sworn duty, as co-best friend, to rescue our Hermione from such an undesirable partner?"
"My sworn duty? What about you?" Harry uttered in a high-pitched voice quite unlike his own. The witch beneath his fingers shifted at the increase in volume, leading both men to pause all movement as if Petrified; however, when she gave no indication of waking after a minute, the two felt safe once again to continue their conversation unhindered.
"It's not like I'm asking you to do anything special here," Ron murmured in between frequent glances at their sleeping companion. "Just do what you were going to do anyway."
"What on earth is that supposed to mean? How will doing my job affect Hermione's love life in the least?"
"Let's face it," the taller man replied with the same resigned air one might adopt when one finds oneself having the unenviable task of inciting something aside from apathy from a centaur. "Once you're officially working at the Ministry itself, you're bound to usurp Terry from his position in your department. I'm betting his inner git will come right out after a big disappointment like that."
"But that's under the assumption that I'd want to play a significant role in office politics, which I certainly do not."
"You're Harry Bloody Potter. How would you not be even if you wanted to?"
"I got myself assigned to the Petty Crimes Division, seeing as it's been years since I actually did any sort of fieldwork. It's not like I'll be working on any high profile cases. Besides, last I heard, that section consisted of just one other person; aside from my future partner and superiors, my identity shouldn't be an issue at all."
"But you look…" Ron's voice trailed off whilst he stared hard at Harry under the bright lights, as if trying to superimpose the current image with his seventeen-year-old self. The redhead--for the first time, apparently--took real notice of the slight but significant changes the past six had wrought, for he sighed and shook his head. "…just different enough for your scheme to possibly work. Are you really going to go through with it? Seems a bit of a waste."
"If I can. Anyhow, it's probably better this way. You do realize that Hermione will emasculate us both if she ever finds out we're trying to interfere with her love life, don't you?"
End (3/?)
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