This is a quick something I wrote today. (I'm still chapterising TH4.)
SPOILERS: The first four books and my Auror series.
CONTENT: Harry/Ron slash, AU, fluff, humour
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: Harry gets to grips with the essentials in life.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and all the characters associated with it are the property solely of J. K. Rowling, her agents and publishers. No infringement of any rights is intended from the creation of this story. Nor is any money being made from it. This story is written solely for the entertainment of the author and her friends, and is not intended for distribution in any shape or form.
NOTES: This story follows Circles Of Power, but is before Shameless Advertising and Mr. December in the chronology. Hermione is now married to Viktor Krum, and Harry and Ron have moved into the house they planned to build at the end of Circles, but have only just finished decorating, so this is probably about set about a year after the original story - maybe slightly later. And yes, Sirius is seeing Fleur Delacour – this is referred to in Padfoot & Moony Post-Circles.
DEDICATION: To Shocolate, Mad Maudlin, Fevvy and Madambeetroot, all of whom were really kind when I panicked a bit the other day about not having any inspiration.
Comments would be welcome, as always.
BRIEF ENCOUNTER
by Mad Martha
helwyn2000@...
Part 1/1
One thing Harry liked about the new house was the opportunity to occasionally be domestic (which seemed to be something irrevocably hard-wired into him) without being nagged about it or having the trait taken advantage of. He could clean his own pots, pans and cupboards without Hermione or Ginny asking suspicious questions about his state of mind, he could scrub the bathroom without having to remove a hundredweight of Seamus or Dean's filthy laundry first, and if he was feeling a bit stressed and needed to clean dustballs from under the bed, it was in
the comforting knowledge that Ron would probably be waiting to banish the dust for him when he re-emerged. Probably waiting with a raised brow and the pointed offer of herbal tea, but he wouldn't nag and that was something.
Laundry was a shared task, although in practice Harry probably did more of it than Ron simply by virtue of him being home more often at good times for doing laundry. Not that Harry had a problem with this; it was one of those necessary jobs that could be done with only minimal attention to the task, after all. They'd
got into the habit of doing each other's laundry at the student house anyway, and Harry thought he was probably better acquainted with Ron's underwear now than Ron was himself.
So he did rather wonder, one sunny Thursday in November, how he'd failed to notice that Ron's boxers were in a pretty decrepit state. They were frayed. The elastic was sagging. Probably the only thing preventing them ending up around his ankles in the street was the close fit of most of Ron's jeans.
Harry scowled and balled up the offending items, leaving them on top of the washtub. He went upstairs to their bedroom and pulled open Ron's underwear drawer. More tatty pairs of boring blue, black, grey and white cotton boxers stared back at him. Harry supposed (now that he thought about it) that he should be grateful Ron had replaced the unromantic maroon y-fronts his mother had given him every Christmas they lived in the student house.
Another thought occurred to him and he pulled open the next drawer down. It was full of rolled-up socks - some black, some blue, some fairisle pattern (those had to be a mistake, surely Percy was the only Weasley who wore fairisle?), all sensible cotton, a little worn and bobbly at the heels and toes. Harry wondered where on earth they'd come from. It wasn't as though there was a branch of Marks & Spencers in Diagon Alley, after all, and wizard clothes weren't usually noted for being plain. Apparently there was a suicidally depressed wizard outfitter somewhere who enjoyed Ron's patronage.
Not, Harry supposed, that he could say much, as he found it hard to throw away his own old clothes. Old underwear was another matter entirely though.
Enough already! It was time for a change - and Harry knew just the person to help him effect it.
xXx
"Aren't you old enough to buy your own smalls?" Sirius Black demanded, only semi-humorously.
Harry spared a moment to be grateful that the office door was closed. Sirius was loud and these being the offices of the Daily Prophet, he'd prefer it if the words "Harry Potter's smalls" didn't make it onto the front page of the evening edition.
"I haven't a clue where to buy men's underwear in Diagon Alley," he explained. "I always buy it from Muggle shops. Besides, it's not for me - I'm buying for Ron."
"I think I can safely say, hand on heart, that I have no idea where a gay wizard would buy underwear," Sirius protested. "I don't even know what kind of underwear a gay wizard would wear - "
"If they're wearing anything different to you, I don't want to know," Harry told him firmly. "Ron certainly isn't - unless you've taken to
wearing a rubber jock-strap, in which case you can forget it and I'll ask Remus instead."
"I really don't need to know about Ron Weasley's underwear."
"So? I reckon he doesn't want to know about yours either. And he needs socks."
"This is the bloke who wore leather trousers to your birthday party once," Sirius said, incredulous. "Why can't he buy his own clothes?"
"Because if I leave him to buy his own, I'll have to get excited about seeing him in blue boxers and fairisle socks for the next five years," Harry said, exasperated.
"He's got a blind spot or something where underwear's concerned. Besides, he might ask his mum and that'd mean y-fronts."
"Not a visual I needed, thanks."
"Wimp!"
"Fine. I will do this - under protest - on the understanding that you don't kick up a fuss the next time I drag you into Silky-Mitts to buy knickers for Fleur," Sirius warned him.
Harry screwed up his face but reluctantly agreed. Silky-Mitts, a dainty little lingerie shop halfway up the Alley, was an Emporium Of Horror in his estimation, but he could probably bear it. Sirius then cheered up to such an alarming degree that he began to wish he hadn't.
"Am I going to regret this?" he asked as they set off up Diagon Alley.
"Now who's the wimp?" Sirius cast an appraising glance at Harry. "You could do with some new gear
too. How old is that shirt?"
"Not very old," Harry muttered.
"I haven't forgotten having to make you burn your cousin's old clothes. You've got a fetish for old rags - "
"It's not a rag! They're softer when they've been washed a few times - "
"More like a few hundred times." Sirius pounced unexpectedly, and was dragging the frayed and faded label out of the neck of Harry's shirt before his godson could work up a decent squawk of protest. "I knew it!
I bought this shirt for you five years ago! The sleeves must be clinging on by a thread."
"Gerroff!" Harry batted him away. "I like it, it's still comfortable!"
"I'm touched!
That does it, we're buying you more clothes. I'm damned if you'll make me look bad by dressing like you live out of a charity box."
"Fine. But I don't like bright colours," Harry grumbled. "And I still need to buy Ron more underwear."
"You're such a housewife. I'll buy you a frilly apron and feather duster while we're at it," Sirius teased. "Well, come on then. I've got a meeting with some advertisers later this afternoon, so we'd better make this ... brief."
"Oh, ha ha!"
xXx
Ron found Harry stretched out on the sofa, dozing, when he got home that evening.
"What have you been up to?" he demanded, amused. "You're not usually trashed this early when you don't have practice!"
"Oh - I did some washing ...." Harry paused to yawn and sit up. "And I went shopping with Sirius."
"Uh-oh! What were you buying?"
Harry was on the brink of telling him when it suddenly occurred to him that it might be better for it to be a surprise. He modified his response a bit.
"Clothes. He started nagging me about wearing stuff he bought me when I left school, so I spent most of the afternoon trying on jeans." And wasn't
that the truth? "When I got back I had to chuck a load of stuff away to make room for it all." Also the truth, although he left out the part where he'd gleefully dumped all of Ron's old boxers and socks into the dustbin.
"Does that mean I get to watch you try it all on for me later?" Ron had a definite gleam in his eye.
"Only if you promise to kiss my sore spots better," Harry retorted. "New jeans chafe, you know, and I feel like I've tried on about fifty pairs today."
"It's a hard life," Ron told him with mock-sympathy. "All I've had to do today is hunt down dangerous criminals and buy two juicy rump steaks for dinner."
"Shocking. What happened to the good old days of chasing a dinosaur on foot, clubbing it to death and dragging it back to the cave by its tail?"
"I didn't think we'd have room for it in the freezer!"
xXx
Harry was in the shower the following morning when the first inkling that Ron had noticed the change occurred.
"Harry?" he heard, from somewhere beyond the shower curtain.
Harry dragged his head from under the stream of water and snorted foam off his face. "Yeah?"
"Where are my boxers?"
"In your drawer, where they usually are."
"...Oh."
There was a pause. Harry made a noisy performance of scrubbing and splashing, and after a moment he heard the bathroom door click shut again. He grinned.
Disappointingly, Ron made no comment at breakfast. He was his usual breezy self, humming along with some excruciating Celestina Warbeck number on the wireless while they made toast and tea, and discussing the day's schedule. Harry had an early Quidditch practice though and didn't have time to analyse his partner's behaviour.
When he arrived home that evening, very tired, he was greeted by the savoury smell of fish frying and found Ron making dinner in the kitchen while Hermione gave advice. It was a very familiar scene, one reminiscent of their days in the shared student house and now, much as then, Ron made the occasional amiable noise in response to Hermione's comments and carried on with what he was doing regardless.
"If I were you, in future I'd stuff it with herbs ...."
"Hmm."
"... use more olive oil and sea salt ...."
"Hm hm ...."
"... really you need a proper steamer ...."
"Yeah, probably ...."
"... or a
fish kettle, why haven't you got a fish kettle?"
"No idea. Give the spuds a poke for me, would you?" Ron turned his head slightly. "You all right, Harry mate?"
Harry grinned ruefully and put his head around the door. "I was just going to sneak upstairs and get changed. Are you stopping for dinner, Hermione?"
"I might, if Ron doesn't overcook the fish," she said. She was perched on a tall stool next to the counter, helping herself to cottage cheese and cream crackers from Harry's stash. "Why on earth would you sneak around in your own house?"
"It's an ambition. You can't sneak anywhere when you live with the Inner Eye, you know."
"That's a bit daunting," she remarked. "I mean, suppose - just suppose - you fancied having a quick fling with Draco one day - " Ron waved the fish-slice threateningly, making her giggle. "All right, all right! Suppose you fancied having a quick roll on the sofa with Seamus while this great lump was out of the way. It's not much fun if he's always going to know about it."
"Seamus?" Ron let out a hoot of derisory laughter. "Yeah, right! That'd be one to watch!"
"But I don't fancy Seamus in the slightest," Harry protested. "Just as well, really, since I think he'd probably murder me for even suggesting it. You know what - I think I need a shower now."
"Ten minutes 'til dinner," Ron warned him, amused.
"Yes, dear!"
"Seamus needs to learn to relax a little more," he heard Hermione say as he slipped up the stairs. "And you need to keep your Inner Eye to yourself ...."
Harry liked it when Hermione came to dinner. The three of them sat around the table and squabbled just as they had at school; it was comfortable and reassuring. Sometimes he missed the cheerful evening meals at the student house, where everyone sat around, talking about their day and laughing and arguing over finances and house rules. There had been family-like warmth, friendship and company that he'd needed during the bad years of Voldemort's rising, and while he cherished the privacy of the house he shared with Ron he did sometimes miss the company of the others. They'd spent ten years living in each others' pockets, after all.
"Isn't it about time you two threw a housewarming party and invited the others around?" Hermione observed, echoing at least part of his thoughts uncannily.
"Could do," Ron said, when Harry didn't rush to answer. "Everyone's had a chance to recover from your wedding, so it's about time for another knees-up." He winked at Harry. "What do you reckon? Shall we order in a couple of vats of butterbeer and firewhiskey, lay
on some pizza, and Floo everyone to bring their arses over here one evening?"
Hermione gave him a pained look. "It's not like having a party over to listen to the Quidditch World Cup on the wireless, Ron!"
"Nah, you're right. Nobody had better chuck up on the carpet, it's
new."
Harry chuckled at Hermione's expression. "You are so easy to wind up these days!" he told her.
"Living with Viktor is so civilised," she retorted. "I hardly know how to deal with you barbarians anymore!"
"Make a note," Ron told Harry. "No beer for Hermione. Too barbaric."
"You could throw an engagement party for Draco and Cho," Hermione suggested blandly.
"Not a hope," Harry told her at once. "There's no way I'm going to rot my brain out trying to arrange any kind of party for Draco. Have you any idea how picky he is?"
"Besides, they've got the whole Manor to throw parties in," Ron added, an evil little grin crossing his face.
"That's just nasty!" she scolded. "It's hardly his fault his mother tried to burn it down!"
"She didn't try, she mostly succeeded," Harry remarked wryly.
"Best thing that could happen to it, if you ask me," Ron retorted. "You can bet Chang's grateful she doesn't have to move into that death-trap."
"Draco told me there were a lot of very valuable and irreplaceable antiques - "
"Soul-stealing mirrors? Poisoned bell-pulls? A chiming clock that puts you into an irreversible sleep? Yeah, no house should be without those," Ron said sarcastically.
"Well, if Draco can't persuade the Ministry to give him access to his father's assets, I don't see how they'll be able to afford to rebuild," Hermione said.
"He won't persuade them," Harry told her, feeling very tired indeed. "He was incredibly lucky that they agreed to give him the Manor - "
"Mostly because you guilted them into it," Ron chipped in.
"They won't hand over the money of a proven murderer and Death
Eater, even if his son was instrumental in bringing him to justice," Harry continued. "Be reasonable, Hermione. It's a shame that Draco loses so much because his father was a Death Eater, but in case you've forgotten he was a Death Eater himself initially. He's alive, he's not in Azkaban, he has a pretty good job at the Ministry and no one's pointing fingers at him, and on top of that, the Ministry agreed to give him his home back. He's been pretty bloody lucky, and it's no one's fault but the dipstick who took his eye off Narcissa Malfoy that she got loose and set fire to the place."
"That doesn't help him and Cho to find somewhere to live," Hermione pointed out, at which Ron lost his temper.
"So what? They're not the only people in the world who have to scrimp and save to buy or rent a place!"
"Besides, he still has the land the house stood on," Harry added. "If he can't afford to rebuild the Manor - and why the devil he'd want to I can't imagine - he can sell the land and use the money to buy a house."
"With no money to maintain it, I think that's what he's been planning to do with the Manor all along," Hermione noted, and she smiled sweetly at Ron's indignant expression. "Now who's easy to wind up?"
"If he wants us to throw an engagement party, he can ask us himself," Harry said, hastily dragging them both back to the original question. "But I don't mind having a housewarming party, now everything's fixed up properly."
"We should have had it while we were still decorating, then we could have got everyone to help us paint," Ron remarked.
"Everyone would have got drunk and you'd have had to hire a team of decorators to repair the damage," Hermione pointed out.
"Would have been a laugh though."
"That's
debatable," she said primly. "At least you seem happy with your house, though. Ginny and I visited Percy and Penelope yesterday, and Penny's already moaning about having to change all the curtains. I might have sympathised, but it's not as though there's anything wrong with the curtains they've got and Ginny says they were new a few months ago."
Harry and Ron exchanged perplexed looks.
"Why does she want to change them then?" Harry asked warily.
"She says," and Hermione looked exasperated, "that they don't match the furniture as well as she thought they would, and appearances are important."
"To who?"
"To whoever they're entertaining to try and push Percy's career as a politician forward, presumably."
"She's got too much time on her hands," Ron said irritably. "What does it matter? They've got to live in the house, not the idiots at the
Ministry! I'm happy to have somewhere like this, where I can come home and relax. Although sometimes," he added as an afterthought, and there was a spark of mischief in his voice, "I go looking for something and find something else in its place."
"Eh?" Harry said blankly. "What do you mean?"
Ron grinned and pushed his chair back, and swung one foot up onto the table, ignoring Hermione's protests. He pulled his trouser leg up. "This ring any bells?"
His sock was purple with sparkling silver stars all over it.
"Oh. That." Harry coloured up, but grinned at Hermione. "Can you believe it? He had fairisle socks in his drawer! Tatty old fairisle socks with holes in them. So I got him some new ones."
"I can't imagine you wearing fairisle socks," Hermione told Ron. "Didn't your mum always buy you lilac-coloured ones?"
"Those fairisle ones were a birthday present from Percy and Penny last year," Ron said, putting his foot back on the floor.
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
"So now I've got a drawer full of socks in a million different colours," he continued. "But that's not the best bit."
"What's the best bit, Auror Weasley?" Hermione asked, looking amused.
"Ron!" Harry warned,
dismayed.
Too late. Ron stood up, unbuckling his belt. "I've got about a million pairs of these to match them!"
And he lowered his jeans. Underneath he wore a pair of soft cotton jersey boxer-briefs, also purple with little
sparkling silver stars all over them.
Harry couldn't help noticing - with satisfaction - that they fitted him extremely well.
Hermione's eyes were nearly popping out.
"Do you like 'em?" Ron asked, grinning. "I'll tell you what, they're dead comfy!"
"V-very nice!" she managed after a minute or two, and she covered her eyes.
Harry pushed his plate aside and shook his head. "You would wear that particular pair today, wouldn't you?" he said.
"Well, it's not like you hid them under the others or anything," Ron said reasonably. "They were just there, all purple and sparkly .... Besides, I could have worn the stripy orange pair."
"They'd go with your hair!" Hermione managed in a shaky voice.
"Cheek!"
"Cheeks," Harry couldn't resist pointing out.
"Plural."
Ron winked at Hermione. "He's getting a bit saucy these days, have you noticed?"
"You must be rubbing off on him!" she said unwisely, and Ron leered.
"I've been trying hard enough!"
"Ugh! Stop it and get dressed, before I lose my appetite!"
"I'll have you know some people's mouths water at the sight
of me in my underwear!" But Ron pulled his jeans up, grinning.
"Oh yeah? Who else are you dropping your jeans for?" Harry demanded.
"When I strip off in the locker room at work, everyone's eyes are on me." Harry glowered and Ron
sniggered. "Figure of speech, that's all!"
Hermione rapped Harry's knuckles with the back of a spoon. "Stop pandering to his ego!"
"Hm," Harry said, but inwardly he was pleased with the results of his day's shopping.
xXx
Harry stretched out across their bed later that evening and watched as Ron went slowly through his night-time routine, undressing, folding and hanging up clothes, and putting things like his wand and keys on the dresser. Tonight it seemed to be taking him an extra long time as he paraded around in his gaudy purple socks and briefs, but if he was
doing it deliberately Harry wasn't complaining.
"You like them, then?" he asked at length, amused.
Ron grinned over his shoulder. "Are you kidding? I love them! I didn't even know you could buy stuff like
this."
"Neither did I, but Sirius knows every clothes shop in the Alley like he owns shares in them." He dressed like it too; Sirius was a man with a big personality.
"I notice he didn't talk you into any lime green skivvies, though," Ron said, raising a brow at his partner.
"I bought some new ones!" Harry had liked the soft jersey briefs, but hadn't felt quite the same urge to be experimental in colours and patterns with his own that he had with Ron's.
"Are they all black?" Ron asked, raising his brows.
"Not all of them." Harry saw his mocking expression and hastily said, "I've got to wear mine under the team strip, remember? Black's regulation for a game - "
"You wait!" Ron threatened, grinning. "I'll wait till you're out one day and replace all yours with
neon yellow!" He jumped onto the bed and slapped Harry's rear. "Still got your jeans on. How am I supposed to bite your bum through a layer of denim?"
"You'll manage!"
"Yeah, but do you want 'em left in one piece after?" Ron lay back and folded his hands behind his head. "What do you reckon to that housewarming party Hermione kept going on about?"
"I don't know." Harry looked at him. "I don't mind, but I don't know that I'm all that good at being a host. How do we get things moving at a party without getting everyone pissed first?"
"Mum gives people plenty to eat and hopes for a scandal somewhere," Ron said. "That way there's something for everyone to talk about. Ginny says she's decided it's a lot easier now Sirius runs the Prophet, 'cause she can just Floo-call him and ask if there's anything really good about to hit the news."
Harry snorted. "We've got to do better than
that. Do you reckon the twins'll let us borrow that amplified gramophone of theirs?"
"I'll ask them." Ron looked at him. "We could make it themed, you know?"
Harry gave him a wary look.
"Themed?"
"Yeah. Get people dressed up - it's good for laughs and breaks the ice."
Harry had a sudden flashback to something he hadn't thought of in years - the time one of his aunt and uncle's neighbours in Privet Drive had decided to throw a vicars'n'tarts party.
He could still remember his aunt's seething indignation and the gossip that had raged for weeks afterwards. The couple in question had moved away a few months later, probably forced out by the collective disapproval of the other residents.
"What did you have in mind?"
Ron shrugged. "Pyjama party?"
"Do we even own any pyjamas anymore?" Harry asked him pointedly.
Ron grinned. "True. Besides, Seamus'll take it as an invitation to turn up naked or something. I'll think about it and let you
know if I come up with anything good. Until then - " He grabbed Harry's chin and kissed him hard. "Get the jeans off, yeah?"
"If you put it like that ...." Harry rolled onto his back to unbutton his fly, lifted his hips up and shoved his jeans down to his thighs. Then he rolled back onto his stomach and propped his chin on one hand, waiting.
Ron stared for a moment, then reached out and gently tweaked one miniscule piece of fabric-covered elastic stretched over Harry's hip. It was practically all that was visible of the thong at that angle.
"It is black," he acknowledged, the corner of his mouth twitching irrepressibly.
xXx
Two weeks later, Harry had the pleasure of replying to an indignant owl from Draco which had arrived in response to the invitations sent out for the housewarming party.
Don't be such a bore about it, Draco! We just thought a "Skivvies Party" would be something a bit different. Everyone else has said they'll come, including Cho. Besides, I didn't specify what kind of skivvies they have to be. You can wear a pair of lambswool longjohns or a red silk basque as far as I'm concerned, it's entirely up to you ....
- The End -
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