But It's Better If You Do

-3-

"Who the fuck throws a joint bachelor party?" With a frustrated sigh Harry sets aside the parchment and wonders if he's annoyed that his friends seemingly don't understand what a bachelor party should be or if it's because yet more people he grew up with are moving on to their happily ever after while he rots in an office.

An office he hates more and more every day. 

How had being needed, to being a crucial piece in locking away the last of the Death Eaters and other baddies, turned into endless paperwork and enough coffee to fill the River Thames? Harry spent more time at his desk than he thought fair to his Auror robes and he spent more time in his Auror robes than any other clothing he owned.

Speaking logically sharing your party probably was much cheaper, and who honestly used it as a last hurrah to actually cheat on their partners before getting married to them for the rest of their lives? That would be horrid. No, one big extravagant night out, especially if you shared nearly the exact same friend group definitely made the most sense. Harry just needed something to hate about it to mask his jealousy, even if he himself knew it was paper thin. 

He knew he couldn't use a Teddy Weekend as an excuse, not if Ron was invited too. Hermione would take Ted for a few hours. Forcefully even. Hoping for a new, big, time consuming case to inconvenience him from the exact date of the party was going too far, even for work addicted Harry Potter. Even if he did think about it. He wasn't hoping. He bit the inside of his lip, he'd just have to suck it up. Dammit.

"Wringing your hands with indecision?"

Harry showed no signs of surprise although the voice had startled him. He turns his narrow green gaze from the offensive  parchment to the tall figure in his doorway.

A soft laugh, not shared. "C'mon mate. You can bitch about it over curry."

"You're early." Harry states, checking that the clock on his wrist and the one on the wall say the same thing. George only offers him a shrug.

Years ago, Harry had begun to have weekly lunches with George. Back when Harry still felt like he changed anything. He had seen George drowning, barely breaking the surface and he had thrown himself in to help pull the other back up. Lately it felt like they were switching roles. 

Another sigh and Harry swallows down the last lukewarm dregs of coffee in his mug. George tosses him his robe from where it hangs near the door and Harry mutters a 'Nox' as he makes his way out of the small room. 

"Curry again?" Harry asks, peering up at George as they ride the lift down to the lobby, the latter trying to hide a smirk with a careless raise of his shoulder. "You're trying to ask that waitress out?"

Now George does grin. "I'm allowed." Harry grins too as they make their way out of the building and on to the street.

George had had a disaster romance with Angelina Johnson, and romance was just the polite term they had used for Molly. It was toxic grief fucking and it was miserable. It finally came to a head shortly after Harry had gently reminded George that 'twin' didn't mean 'interchangeable' and he was more than a mirror of Fred, he wasn't Fred at all, that he was George and George didn't even like Firewhiskey let alone the disgusting amounts it took him to fuck Angelina, that he had a voice of his own and he didn't have to always use it gently.  

Yes, he was very much allowed. 

"You're invited too then?" Harry asks after they've placed their orders, the waitress left blushing and smiling shyly over at their table from where she stood near the kitchen.

George doesn't break his shameless eye flirting with her. "Wouldn't be a party without me." He states with a cheeky wink.

Harry groans pushing himself back and away from his friend in the tiny, plastic booth. George only laughs softly again. "You don't think it's stupid their doing it together?"

"Don't be a prude. You could be doing it with lots of people if you got out of your office more.  I've not used that term ages. We've all done a little premarital sex. Sure Dean could pull far more fit, but he is marrying the bloke so it must not matter to him. Love and all that." While George waves his hand Harry watches him straight-faced and unimpressed. "No. I don't think it's stupid. They'll probably save loads by having it together and would you honestly go twice?" George saves him the trouble  of coming up with an answer. "No, you wouldn't. You'd beat yourself up over trying to chose one and end up not going to either to be 'fair' yeah?"

Harry decides to be mature and ignore him. He searches his brain for anything to change the subject to but that's the problem with having weekly lunches with the same guy you eat every Sunday roast with, gossip is sparse. If you don't want to discuss the new semi exciting thing happening you better have something damned good to replace it with.

"One night won't kill you Harry. They're actually doing you a bit of a solid mate."

Harry turns his full attention to George, he looks good. His red hair is a bit shaggy which Harry knows is to hide his ear, or lack of, but it adds a layer of mischievous boy back that was stolen away from him. His chest and arms were filling out nicely, their lunches had gotten rid of his gauntness, the painful skinniness that came with unbelievable loss, and his youngest sibling had stepped in with gym dates to help tone it all up.  Ginny going pro was honestly the perfect guise for her to piggyback off Harry's idea and help in her own way. His brown eyes had begun to twinkle again too and Harry thinks that that is the best part of his healing. That missing twinkle replaced with haunted sadness was nearly as horrible as lowering Fred into the ground and he was glad to know it hadn't been lost in that coffin too. Harry was proud of him and getting to know Just George was really a wonderful thing. 

"Oh I'm well aware it would take much more than a shitty loud night full of alcohol, old friends and male strippers to kill Harry Potter. I'm not afraid of death being on the table."

George snorts, letting his gaze dance around Harry's weary, tired face. "Then what is it you're afraid of Oh Chosen One?"