Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

And Baby Makes Four (Dennis Creevey)

Hello my wonderful fawns, 

It's been a very long time and this is very late, but here it is. This is extra long (13k+) to make up for the wait. 

This was requested by fiffyshadow who had a pretty fluffy request. I changed it up a little (not a lot, just a little to make the story flow better) so hopefully it's alright. 

As usual, this hasn't been edited or proofread in any shape way or form. It's a bad habit that I'm trying to change, but it's hard

____________________

Moving, no matter how many times I'd done it, was always stressful. Even though I'd spent the last three years moving into and out of accommodation at the beginning and end of each academic year, I had not been prepared for the stress of moving into my first apartment post leaving university. Of course, this would all be a lot less stressful if I wasn't so annoyed at my own ineptitude. It seemed like every time I struggled to carry a box into the flat, Dennis was somehow putting down the second box he'd carried in the time it took me to handle one. His ease at lifting these boxes was only making me feel bad.

But, after I'd finally set the last of the boxes down in the living room, I searched out a pair of scissors and cut open the tape I'd closed it with. Opening it, I was surprised to find that it contained my kitchen things even though the label on the side of the cardboard box had read 'toiletries'. Frowning and chewing on my lower lip, I wondered if my toiletries had somehow found their way into the box where all my kitchen things were supposed to be?

"I've moved the last of your bedroom stuff into your room," Dennis said loudly from the hallway as he made his way into the living room. My best friend, who was now my roommate, considered me as I stood, looking the picture of confusion. He didn't know that I was confused about how I'd made such a mistake when I'd triple-checked that everything was in the right box. Instead, he misunderstood and just gestured down the hallway to where my bedroom was, "You know, the boxes that have 'bedroom' written on them."

"Thanks," I said with a reassuring smile, not wanting to tell him that I was second-guessing the contents of those very boxes. What were the chances that the things for my bedroom had been placed into a different box? "Wait - wait, don't sit down, help me. Please."

Rolling his eyes, Dennis perched on the arm of the sofa and watched me as I sorted through the things that were going to go into the kitchen. I considered the mugs I'd collected whilst at university, wondering if we had space for all of them. Knowing Dennis, he hadn't moved his things in properly yet - he'd have just sorted out his room and waited until I arrived to sort out the rest so we could agree about what went where.

"You're doing it again," he started warning, absentmindedly scratching Shadow's - my black cat's - back when he jumped onto Dennis's lap.

"I'm not doing anything."

The lazy cat stretched on his lap, preparing to take a nap to luxuriate in Dennis's attention. When he was lifted from his perch, he made a sound of discontent but curled up onto the sofa cushion anyway. I looked away from them both, considering my mugs again when Dennis cleared his throat pointedly. I should have known better - he knew me too well. No matter how much I tried to hide the way I was fidgeting on my feet, he caught it. He always did.

Ignoring Dennis's knowing and piercing gaze, I started to fish out all the things from the box and set them on the table one by one. Piling the plates together and grouping everything, I folded the empty box in half and kicked it aside, tucking it under the table for now and keeping it out of the way. Picking up the pile of plates, I prepared to walk into the kitchen and to start with sorting out at least one room in this place. Once Dennis brought his kitchen things as well, we could begin deciding what went where and we'd get it done. After a room was done, the others were likely to soon fall into place. If we didn't sort the boxes out, then we'd be forced to rifle through them each time we wanted something. And well, we had to start somewhere - we couldn't exactly live in a half tidied place.