In which Harry's in a daze


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“All right, Harry?” Hermione asked, concerned. He seemed a bit dazed.

Harry blinked at her, leaning into the front counter, Celia – miraculously found curled pressed up against Germaine the tortoise’s terrarium just that morning - wrapped around his wrist, just inside the cuff of his shirt. “What?”

Hannah cocked her head at him, settling on the stool by the register. “You’ve gotten laid, haven’t you?”

“Hannah!” Hermione chastened, but Harry was sporting that bewildered expression he often got towards the beginning of his relationships. The one that was minor parts fear and wonder, as if he couldn’t believe his luck and wasn’t quite sure he wanted to.

Terry strode up from the back, hands in his pockets, on the edge of whistling. “What’s Han done now?” he ribbed lightly.

“Merely pointed out the obvious,” she said, grinning.

Harry gathered his wits enough to say, “I was out with Pansy last night,” and Terry heaved an exaggerated, “Ohhhh,” and Hannah giggled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sipped at her styrofoam cup of coffee. “That’s nice, Harry.”

“I.” Harry grimaced. Pansy had liked the painting. Really liked the painting, apparently, and she’d gone disturbingly soft-eyed and held his fingers as if they were the most delicate things in the world. And then she’d said, “You’ll have to dress up to meet Mother, of course,” and, “I’m in no rush, mind you, but Papa will expect a call before anything’s ever finalized,” and, “I’m actually not very fond of anything big and flashy, so long as it sparkles,” and Harry was pretty sure he was suddenly stuck in a long-term relationship with the girl. He hadn’t decided yet if he minded.

Terry slapped him on the back. “No words, mate. There are no words.”

The bell above the door jangled, and Bill stepped inside the shop, a giant, unwieldy box in his arms. “S’alright. I got it,” he huffed, and Hermione rushed over to help hold the door open.

“What on earth...?” She trailed off, peeking over the brim of the cardboard. It was a puppy. A shaggy black and white button-eared bit of a thing with wide blue eyes and huge paws. “Bill,” she started, her stern have-you-lost-your-mind? look in full effect.

The puppy yipped, and Terry’s brows rose. “We haven’t joined the dog-trade, have we?”

Bill grinned. “She’s for Fleur.”

“Fleur,” Hermione echoed, incredulous.

“Figure it might bring out her more motherly instincts.”

“You’re joking. This is Fleur,” Hannah stressed, coming ‘round to get an eyeful of fuzzy puppy herself. “I’m fairly certain Fleur eats babies.”

“And what’re you doing, anyhow, worrying about Fleur’s motherly instincts?” Harry asked. He reached out and scrubbed a hand over the pup’s head. She was busy licking Han’s face, tail wagging furiously.

“Nothing, really,” he grinned wickedly. “Might throw her off her game, though.”

Terry jabbed a finger at him. “This is for the giant protesting dolphin, isn’t it?”

Bill gave a noncommittal shrug, but his eyes gleamed. He palmed the puppy’s muzzle and shook her playfully. “Who couldn’t love this face?”

“Fleur,” Hannah and Harry chorused.

Hermione was pretty sure the pup would end up back with them, chasing Crookshanks around the store, because Remus had a soft heart and Fleur was as close to the devil as one person could possibly be.

“You’ll just make it worse,” she warned.

“Allow me my small joys, Hermione,” Bill pleaded lightly. “Plus, some bastard just left her in the park across the street. Found her crying her heart out.”

“Poor little mutt,” Hannah cooed, hefting her into her arms.

“Who knows,” Terry said, leaning into Han and scratching behind the puppy’s ears. “Fleur might soften up. Halloween’s in a few weeks, and you know Seamus.”

They knew Seamus. The DFE would take the brunt of his juvenile mischief. Toilet paper would most likely feature prominently.

Hermione sighed. “Leave me out of the madness.”

“Oh,” Han said, shaking her head, “you know that’s totally impossible.”

She knew it, yeah. She probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

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