Running On Air

Chapter 8

Hermione and Ron are aghast.

"You cannot break up with Ginny two days before Christmas," Hermione says angrily, putting a mug in front of Harry and sloshing tea over the coffee table.

"What were you thinking?" Ron adds. "Mum's going to completely lose it! She's already knitted matching Christmas jumpers!"

"And she told me she's expecting you to announce the wedding date!" Hermione snaps.

"Oh, come on," Harry protests. "We've been engaged for three years now, and dating for seven!"

"That's the whole point, Molly said what better time than your seven year anniversary? Seven is considered a very lucky number among wizards and witches, Harry. Molly has her heart set on another wedding, she's already designing invitations — "

"Oh, no," Ron says with horror. "Mum's at the stage where she's designing invitations?"

"It gets worse," Hermione says ominously. "I caught her making a list of possible grandchild names."

Ron slowly sinks into an overstuffed armchair, clutching his glass of firewhiskey. "Harry," he says, "we shared many adventures and while our friendship was tested at times, I treasure the time we spent together. You were a terrific bloke and will be sadly missed by many."

"It's not that bad," Harry says. "I mean, Ginny's not devastated or anything, it was really quite mutual —"

"Doesn't matter. Mum's got visions of weddings and grandchildren." Ron takes a swig of his firewhiskey. "I know a bloke up Norfolk way, does fake passports quite cheap. I'll give you his details."

Harry looks at Hermione. "Would you listen to him? Merlin, can you tell him it's not that bad?"

Hermione sips her butterbeer and says nothing.

Harry sits in Ron's old bedroom, poking miserably at a Christmas pudding. The pudding giggles and runs away; he sighs and looks up as Ron and Hermione come through the doorway.

"Is it over?"

"Not yet. Mum's on her fifth sherry now."

"The good news is," Hermione says anxiously, "she's stopped shouting."

"Yeah, now she's crying into the mince pies. Can't make out much, but apparently 'Celeste' was always on her top girls' names list."

Harry's indignant. "Get out, I wouldn't call a kid Celeste anyway."

"Yeah, Percy said it was a terrible name too. Then they all started arguing and George turned Percy's ears into turnips and Bill couldn't stop laughing, so Percy called him a long-haired pillock and..." Ron winces as there's a thump from downstairs followed by laughter and, moments later, an outraged squeal.

"Well, every family has little arguments at Christmas," Hermione says with determination, upending a small bag of sweets and pastry treats. "No reason why we can't enjoy the festivities still."

Harry reaches for a gingerbread newt and bites a foot off. The newt looks displeased.

"Still got the contact details of that Norfolk bloke," Ron says.

Despite it all, Harry can't help but smile.

It's a reprieve, at least, and he's always grateful for Hermione and Ron granting him these moments; fleeting scenes of amusement and light smiles, a chance to surface for air.

Because all day, he's still thinking of the look of agony on Draco's face as he disappeared again. As if a Crucio had just been cast on him. And he doesn't feel like he should be here, celebrating with friends and family, unwrapping gifts and eating sweets while, somewhere in the world, Draco is drifting alone and, in all probability, seriously hurt or exhausted. Hermione catches him deep in thought a few times and frowns at him, and Ron takes him aside.