Who: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley
When: Thursday, lunchtime
Where: No. 12, Grimmauld Place, London
What: A little fuel before hitting Diagon Alley
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Harry thanked Kreacher and dismissed him from the kitchen, slumping down at the table in front of a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a grilled sandwich the size of his face; across the table was a mirrored setting, waiting for Ron. He hadn't slept last night, not a minute. Partly because he slept in Ron's room, without Ginny, partly because the noises in the Burrow had Harry on edge, wand clenched in hand, as he waited for something to emerge from the shadows outside and attack this family and this home he loved so dear. He relaxed slightly before the end of the night by reading a book on the Chudley Canons by the weak light of his wand. It wasn't until he arrived at Grimmauld, still heavily fortified from its days as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, did Harry find himself able to rest, slumping into his bed in the room he once shared for part of summer with Ron and sleeping deeply for a few hours. Until the Healer for the Auror Department arrived on the doorstep with her kind yet sharp eyes and spent the past hour with him in the drawing room, the second of their meetings, appointments that Harry knew would stretch on for years.
It was that idea that made him tired all over again.
Still, Ron was about to show, and after their lunch, they would attack something almost as loathsome as dueling with a dark wizard: shopping. Harry sighed, picking up his spoon and allowing himself one bite, his entire body warming when the soup hit his tongue, before setting the utensil down and waiting for his best mate to arrive. He opened up the book on the Canons and started in on another chapter devoted to their incredible ineptitude in the meantime.
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