A Whole Lot Of Capitals - AKA The Potter Problem Project - Drarry

In Which Ron is an Arse

"How many responses?"

"Four hundred and thirty."

"It's been an hour."

Harry gave Ron a 'duh' look and didn't bother responding.

"Did any of them send photos?"

Quite a few, actually, but Harry hadn't taken the time to look through any yet since he figured finding people who answered correctly was more important.

"Well bring em out."

"Do you really think I have them all with me?"

They were out to lunch but Ron wasn't buying his innocent act. He gestured for Harry to show him what he had. Harry grabbed the box he'd been keeping hidden in his pocket and unshrunk it, allowing the contents to nearly spill off the table.

Ron picked a bit of the pile up and flipped through some before turning one picture to face Harry.

"What about her, huh? Looks nice, attractive, big smile."

Harry threw the photo of the waving woman back into the box and Ron protested.

"What was wrong with her?"

"Her favourite Quidditch team is Puddlemere U and she's interested in analysing auras. Plus she wants a kneazle or a cat."

"So?"

"Barkley would eat it."

Ron laughed and flipped through a few more.
"Eh yeah well, she's a no brainer, then. What about her?" He held up a picture of a woman with bright purple hair and freckles.

Harry flipped over the picture and looked at her form. "Interested in astrology and divination. Only drinks on special occasions."

Ron made a face. "Have you found any that are good yet?"

"Not a one."

"Are you sure the bar isn't set too high?"

"Ron, half the women that applied are Potter-Crazy, a third of them are already married but promise they're willing to leave their husband for me if I'm insistent on non-monogamy, and the rest all fail in one way or another I just can't ignore."

"Sometimes you have to compromise."

"You didn't! You have a smart and beautiful wife who supports your job, and knows Quidditch, and isn't only into you for your fame."

"She does find it a bit of a turn on, though."

Harry gagged exaggeratedly and then joined in with Ron's laughter.

"All right, mate. Give me the questionnaires and I'll go through them."

Harry shook his head. "None of them are who I'm looking for. They're all missing something. I don't think you'll find anyone in here."

"Treat it as practice, then. You've never had a steady relationship since Gin."

He had a point. Harry couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with any of the women he'd taken on dates so far, but he'd rarely made it past the second or third time out.

He stacked the photos and forms, reshrunk the box, and handed it to Ron.

"No Potter-Crazies."

"Okay," Ron said, "but you have to go out with the ones I send to you. Without looking at their profiles first."

Without looking at their profiles? Ron was setting him up for failure.

"And," Ron continued, "You have to do that speed dating thing Mione's been talking about. Maybe the questionnaire will help you get rid of people more quickly. That was always your problem, right, judging people in such a short amount of time?"