Matched

Swipe Right

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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:Ill 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."