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Beneath his hand-knitted sweater, Harry’s stomach churned.
“It won’t be weird. Mum’s crazy about you.”
Harry fidgeted with his cuffs as Ron opened the door.
There was a blur of reddish-gold curls and holiday apron.
“Harry, dear! Oh, it’s been ages! I was just telling Ron you don’t come round often enough.” Molly’s hug wrapped him in warmth and the smell of Christmas baking.
Harry blinked, keeping tears at bay.
“Let me have a look at you.”
He always had to readjust to being taller than Mrs. Weasley. Something about going home with Ron made him feel like he was eleven years old again.
She held his chin, turning his head this way and that.
“Not eating enough, as usual. Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
She kissed his cheek and pulled him into the kitchen.
“Oh, Ronald. I thought you were going to cut your hair.”
“Nice to see you too, Mum.”
Ron’s hair was getting long, curling over his ears and the back of his collar. The longer bits had grown golden in the sun—like the tips of his eyelashes.
“And where’s your Christmas jumper, dear?”
“Think I left it in my room. I’ll put it on before pictures.” Ron’s favorite thing about having a pro athlete sister—other than bragging rights—was the free swag Ginny sent him.
Molly tutted as she ushered them inside. “Did you bring your wand with you? Just a bit off the ends, such an easy spell. I know your father will—”
“Only way Dad would care about my hair is if I cut it at a muggle barbershop—”
Molly sighed. She handed the boys platters and shooed them out of the kitchen.
In the sitting room, Arthur was on all fours, rigging up a muggle train set to run in a circle around the Christmas tree. He was completely absorbed, trying to work out how to fix it without magic.
Fred and George were just coming up from the cellar, carrying a case of butterbeer.
Fred ruffled Harry’s hair and traded Ron a bottle for a pig in a blanket.
He passed one to Harry as well. “All right Harry?”
“Yeah.”
George clapped his shoulder. “Glad you’re here, mate.”
“Bill and Charlie back home yet?”
“Ah, no. Bill’s doing the hols with the in-laws this year. He and the missus will pop in for New Year’s, I think.”
“And Charlie’s staying in Romania.”
“Oh.” Harry cast a worried look towards the kitchen. “Is your mum still—”
“She’s coming round, actually.”
“Yeah. All Mum ever wanted was for Charlie to settle down with a nice girl, and—”
George pulled a picture out of his wallet.
Charlie had the same freckles. The red hair was longer, pulled back in a messy braid. Same stout, square build that was so essential for wrangling dragons, but with an impressive bosom that marked her unmistakably as Molly Weasley’s daughter.
She was holding hands with a healthy-looking girl—dark hair braided into a crown, nose like Viktor Krum. They knelt together in front of a dragon egg. As Harry watched the picture move, little cracks in the shell appeared. The women went from gazing in adoring wonder at each other, to the hatching egg, and back again.
“They met at work.”
“She’s a magical creatures veterinarian.”
Harry was saved the embarrassment of the twins witnessing his happy tears when the front door opened again.
The sound of Ginny’s laughter activated the nagging little voice that told him he didn’t belong here.
Harry winced and drank more butterbeer.
Ron shoved an entire mince pie in his mouth before going to greet his younger sister.
Harry hung back, rubbing his glasses with the end of his shirttail.
He’d just wanted something to fiddle with, but realized his glasses were smudged and dirty. He tapped them with his wand.
For a moment he thought he did the spell wrong.
He was seeing double.
Ginny and Ron burst out laughing, pointing at each other.
“Your hair’s so long!”
“Your hair’s so short!”
“Oi, Mum. Why didn’t you tell us we weren’t the only twins?”
Molly emitted a despairing wail. “Ginny, your beautiful hair!”
Ginny simply beamed. “Oh, thanks Mum! I’ve gotten loads of compliments.”
She patted her stylish pixie cut, flipping back the angled bangs.
Ron mirrored her.
The butterbeer churned in Harry’s stomach.
They really did have the same haircut.
Molly gripped her own hair. “First putting on all that muscle to play professionally, and now chopping off your ponytail! How are people supposed to tell you and Ron apart?”
George smoothed his Christmas sweater. “Same way everybody tells us apart.”
“Yeah.” His twin pointed a thumb. “Gred and Forge. Simple as.”
“Aw, d’you really think we look alike?” Ron flexed. “I have been putting in time down at the muggle gym—”
Ginny mirrored his pose. “Nice. I’ll have to show you the routine our trainers put us through—”
“Go—change into your Christmas jumpers at once! And Ginny, can’t you do something about that hair?”
“Mum! I’m not spelling it long!”
“A bow, a headband! Take a ribbon off one of the presents if you must—”
Ginny rolled her eyes and stomped up the stairs.
Ron followed, giggling.
Tension hung in the air after their footsteps faded. But before Molly could turn her ire on the still-guffawing twins, there was another knock.
A handsome young man stood at the door, wearing a black sweater patterned with snowflakes. A giant green frog in a Christmas hat was splashed across the front, but far more attention-getting was the way the sweater clung to his broad shoulders.
Neville’s confident smile lit up the room.
Harry got a tingly feeling in his pants.
He could certainly see why Ginny had chosen him.
That had been the basis of her schoolgirl crush on Harry, after all. The Chosen One.
Harry supposed he should have found it disappointing, that the famous prophecy didn’t apply to him alone. But he had been relieved to learn the fate of wizardkind didn’t rest solely on his shoulders.
If Neville wanted to use his broad and capable shoulders to take on the mantle of Chosen One, that was fine by him.
It didn’t seem to weigh him down as it had Harry. Neville was confident and carefree in a way he’d never been before he’d emerged as the hero of the Battle of Hogwarts. Or before puberty had finally hit him like a ton of bricks.
Sexy, sexy bricks.
Harry drained his butterbeer and pulled two more from the case.
“Did your Gram make that sweater? Is that Trevor on the front?”
“My mum knitted it, actually. She’s been doing a bit better. Showing up at the arts and crafts table in the group home.”
“Oh, brilliant. Cheers.”
Neville clinked bottles with him.
“And yeah, Trevor’s all right. Brought him with me to the dorms.”
“How are you liking Cambridge?”
“Their magical annex is pretty great. Should be a shoo-in to teach at Hogwarts, after I get my First in Herbology.”
“Better you than me. I’m enjoying my gap year very much. Might have a second one, as a matter of fact.”
Neville laughed. “Is Hermione still getting degrees at two different schools?”
“Yeah. Pre-law in magical and muggle uni. Dual-enrolled. Plans to sit the bar for both in a few years.”
“Blimey. Well if anybody can do it, it’s her. I can’t believe the Three Musketeers are split up, though. You and Ron used to make her pull her nose out of the books and have fun.”
Harry laughed. “Doing our homework was her idea of fun. But no, she’s not all work and no play. Found herself a boyfriend at muggle uni. Brought him home for the holidays to meet the parents, actually.”
His eyebrow raised. “Must be serious. That’s a big deal.”
“Yeah it is.” Harry elbowed him. “Welcome to the family, by the way.”
Neville flushed. “Hey, thanks. Hope there’s no hard feelings—”
“No! Come on, it was puppy love with me and Ginny. We were so young. She’s like a sister to me now.” His eyebrow twitched. “Or—or a best friend.” He took a long pull of butterbeer.
Neville looked at his feet. “I was worried you’d hate me. I was always the outsider in Gryffindor, and then I went and made off with your ex—”
“Don’t be silly. I’m, you know, happy for you both. You’re a lucky guy. She’s, she’s—”
Harry looked up the stairs and lost his train of thought.
Light from the living room illuminated only the bottom of the stairs, slowly revealing chunky Mary Janes, smooth athletic legs, and a pleated skirt. A Weasley sweater came into view, with the letter G straining across the bosom.
Well, there’s no way her mum can complain about her not looking feminine now.
As this vision of femininity reached the final steps, their face was revealed.
Ron’s face.
Harry’s butterbeer clattered to the floor.
The twins broke into peals of laughter.
“Neville!” A high-pitched voice cooed.
A grin cracked across his handsome face. “Babe, you look smashing.”
Neville hugged her and spun her out in a little circle.
‘Ginny’ giggled as her pleated skirt fanned out around her. A sequined purple bow sparkled in the Christmas lights.
It clashed horribly with her hair. His hair.
Someone else clumped down the stairs, wearing jeans and a Weasley sweater with the letter R.
‘Ron’ sniffed as he ran a thumb across his nose. “Bro, get your hands off my sister!”
Neville laughed. “Hey, Ron. Long time no see.”
‘Ron’ chest-bumped him. Neville reached out his hand and pulled him in for a hug, patting him on the back aggressively.
Molly bustled past with a platter of stuffing.
“Oh, thank you Ginny, that’s much nicer, you see—”
‘Ginny’ fluttered her eyelashes.
‘Ron’ belched and adjusted his package.
Molly shrieked like a tea kettle.
The stuffing went flying.
She bellowed to her husband for reinforcements, but when Arthur saw the two youngest Weasleys he just chuckled.
Rather than adding to the chaos, the twins (Fred and George, that is) swooped to the rescue, casting the Five Second Rule on the spilled food and sending it to the table.
Then they conjured a swag of mistletoe and charmed it to float near the Christmas tree. As the train set chuffed in circles, Arthur consoled a hiccuping Molly.
“Wh-what if they all start transing their genders?”
Arthur kissed the top of her head. “They’d still be ours, Mollywobbles. And we’d still love them very much.”
She sniffled.
Arthur squeezed her shoulders and spoke coaxingly.
“It wouldn’t be so very different. Frederica and Georgina would still have their shop.”
Molly wasn’t amused. “W-what if it breaks up Bill’s marriage?”
“I don’t know, love. If Fleur can handle her husband transforming into a werewolf, I reckon she wouldn’t bat an eye at being married to a transgender werewolf.”
Molly picked at a stray thread on her apron. “She does seem to love him for who he really is. Not just the banking job and the flash jackets and the good looks.”
“Speaking of—” Arthur glanced across the room. “Ron doesn’t look half-bad as a girl. And that’s before taking any potions.”
Molly blew her nose. “I always wanted to have daughters.”
“There, you see? You gained a daughter when Bill got married, and then again when Charlie transitioned. And—you know, I think Ginny’s happy as she is. She and Ron are just having a laugh. But if it came to that, she’d be able to keep her dream job. It’s a co-ed team.”
“Wouldn’t even have to get a haircut,” Molly muttered darkly.
Arthur wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Next time Charlie comes to visit, why don’t you take her out shopping? Do some of the girly things that Ginny doesn’t have much interest in.”
Molly sniffled. “Well. But Charlie’s out in the wilds of Romania so much of the time.”
“She has time off work. Wouldn’t it be nice if she had at least one dress for special occasions? Maybe a nice evening out with her girlfriend?”
“Y-yes. Every woman should have at least one nice dress in her wardrobe. And—” Molly’s eyes shone. “Hosiery!”
She clasped her husband’s hands. “Oh, Arthur! I do have a daughter, even if Ginny is lost to me!”
They gathered round for the family Christmas photo, Neville and Harry included. Arthur showed off, setting the timer without magic and rushing to join the group before the flash went off.
He wasn’t the only one showing off.
In every take, Ginny and Ron were hamming it up.
Ron was acting more feminine and downright coquettish than Ginny ever had in her life.
(He was making cow eyes up at Neville. Harry wanted to smash something.)
Ginny, meanwhile, was acting more macho than Ron ever had, slouching with a distinctly masculine posture and flexing obnoxiously.
The both of them were cracking up Neville, which only encouraged their antics.
Harry had always thought Fred and George were the clowns of the family. He’d never known Ron or Ginny to have such dramatic flair. With this showmanship, they could liven things up down at the pub with their brother-sister drag act.
In every photo, Harry stood as far away from them as possible.
The girl version of my best friend and the boy version of my ex-girlfriend.
Harry wanted to Obviate himself.
At dinner, he was sat between Arthur and Neville.
Ordinarily, Harry would be thrilled to be elbow-to-elbow with Neville.
But not with ‘Ginny’ at his other side.
Harry turned his head and talked to Arthur about muggle bits and bobs for a good quarter hour. His gift for Arthur this year, a set of ordinary electric hair clippers, was bound to be a hit.
His stomach fluttered when a strong arm draped across his shoulders.
He was less thrilled when he realized Neville had an arm round ‘Ginny’ as well.
“This is really nice. Having dinner with two of my best mates—”
He nodded across the table to ‘Ron,’ who belched thunderously.
“And my girl, and there’s no hard feelings.”
‘Ginny’ lifted her glass and tittered.
Harry flushed as he clicked glasses with ‘Ron’ and ‘Ginny’.
He’d never considered Neville’s point of view. Not so long ago, Harry had agonized about his schoolboy crush on Ginny and its potential to destroy his relationship with his best mate.
Of course it would be nerve-wracking, coming down to Christmas with your girlfriend’s family when two of your old mates from school were her ex and her older brother.
Harry should plaster a smile on his face and revisit his existential crisis later tonight.
When he’d be sleeping in Ron’s room.
Shit.
Molly had enjoyed a few mugs of mulled wine with dinner, and was in a much better frame of mind as they adjourned to the sitting room for charades.
Arthur left cookies and a butterbeer on the hearth for Father Christmas, and then joined Molly to make a team.
Fred and George were an obvious pair.
Under normal circumstances, Ginny and Neville and Ron and Harry would make the remaining two teams.
But as it was, Harry got paired with ‘Ron’, while Neville and ‘Ginny’ were still joined at the hip.
Weird as it was to be next to a crossdressed Ginny, she didn’t provoke the same levels of indignant bafflement and frustration. She and Ron were so competitive anyhow that as the game went on, they forgot to put on their opposite-gender voices and mannerisms. Rather than mimicking each other, they impersonated famous witches and wizards. They acted out commonplace scenarios and pretended to be animals, inanimate objects, or magical creatures.
Harry and Ginny made a good team. It almost felt like hanging round with the regular Ginny and Ron, in slightly odd outfits.
The mistletoe Fred and George had charmed was drifting around the room.
It distracted Molly and Arthur as the twins good-naturedly talked shit with Neville and Ron. Arthur and Molly kissed under it until they were pink in the face and Fred started heckling them.
“Oh, come on now, there’s children present!”
Molly glared. “How do you think any of you got here?”
Arthur pantomimed a yawn. “Well I’m awfully tired. I think I’d better turn in.”
“Yes, I’m feeling quite sleepy myself—”
Their giggles drifted down the stairs.
George shook his head and tutted in mock-disapproval.
Neville took a seat on one of the couches, and Ron cozied up next to him.
Harry felt a flash of jealousy, and once again questioned his sanity.
He poured himself an eggnog and sat on the other couch.
Ginny threw herself in the seat next to him, manspreading so aggressively that her leg knocked against Harry’s.
“Can you—not.”
Ginny rolled her eyes.
“Y’know, growing up, people really did think we were twins. Same bowl haircut that Mum did herself. Same hand-me-downs from our older brothers.”
“Would’ve appreciated if you’d told me that before we started dating.”
“What, d’you mean you didn’t date me because you wanted Ron with tits?”
Harry let out an undignified squawk. “I—I never—”
Ginny laughed. “Oh, relax, I don’t mean it. Just something I heard a lot at school. People talking behind my back, but loud enough that I could hear, y’know?”
“What, was it something the Slytherins used to say?”
“Them, Dean, Seamus…”
This squawk was even higher pitched.
Ginny leaned in close. “But hey. If you were interested. He’s single now, eh?” She elbowed him.
Harry sputtered a mouthful of eggnog.
“Y’know what Hermione used to say? That she didn’t worry about Ron cheating on her with other girls. Just you.”
“Was this a running joke behind my back?”
Ginny killed her glass of eggnog and belched.
Harry didn’t even think it was part of her masculine drag performance at this point—she was just being a gross jock.
She’d never really acted that way around him before. When they were together, he wondered if she’d felt obligated to perform traditional gender roles.
He wondered if he had, too.
“They made fun because it’s obvious that you love each other.”
Harry went beet-red. “Wh—me and Ron—”
“There’s lots of ways to love someone. You love Hermione even though you never wanted to date her, right?”
“S’a lot easier to love her when she isn’t here to nag me about finding a job or starting school—”
“That’s all they mean. They tease like that because they know you care about each other.”
She slung an arm around him. “And hey. Just because you and me didn’t work out long-term, doesn’t mean you’re not part of the family. We never would’ve needed to like, get married to make that happen. Ron already brought you in, back when I was too shy to even talk to you.”
Harry flushed.
She ruffled his hair. “You might not be a redhead, but you’re a Weasley, too.”
Harry had a little cry into her shoulder.
Her sweater smelled like Ron.
A high-pitched voice interuppted his reprieve.
“Oh, not in front of my family, I’m soo embarrassed~!”
Harry’s head snapped up.
The charm on the mistletoe was fading. It drooped far below the ceiling, brushing against ‘Ginny’s’ head. Neville was grinning and leaning forward purposefully, while ‘Ginny’ clutched the sides of her face and shrank away.
Harry settled his head back on the real Ginny’s shoulder. “I feel like if you didn’t wanna kiss a guy, you’d punch him in the gut.”
“Mm. I’ll have to give him notes for next time.”
“For the love of Merlin, let’s not have a bloody next time—”
Harry stopped talking when Neville placed a hand on Ron’s knee.
He sat bolt upright, fight or fight response fully activated.
He was furiously envious of—of—
Well, he wasn’t quite sure.
Was he envious because Neville was play-acting that it was Ginny he was about to kiss? Something that Harry had done countless times?
(Well, not countless times. There was a war on. He’d been busy.)
Was he envious because Neville was play-acting like he was going to kiss Ron?
Like Dean and Seamus and Hermione had all assumed Harry wanted to?
Or was he angry that he wasn’t in Ron’s place, with Neville’s massive hand on his bare knee? The other hand cupping his jaw and angling his face like he was Carey Grant or something, doing a kiss-lean with the female lead—
And then Harry couldn’t think anymore.
Because Neville was kissing Ron.
Fine cracks sprouted up the sides of Harry’s glass.
Neville. Ron. Kissing.
Neville’s hand was sliding up Ron’s thigh, past the hem of his skirt—Ginny’s skirt—
“Oi, mate! Stop mackin on my sister. You’re embarrassing me.”
Ron’s voice was still a hoarse falsetto. “Oh, shut it, Ron! I’ll date who I want! You’re just jealous cause I’m popular!”
‘Ron’ pointed a finger at Neville. “You’ll treat my sister like a lady, or we’ve got a problem.”
Neville sneered. “Well, I don’t hear your sister complaining.”
‘Ron’ tackled him.
They rolled from the couch to the ground, play-fighting aggressively enough to knock over a side table.
Harry was just glad Molly wasn’t here to witness the destruction to her furniture.
(They could spell it back good as new. Probably.)
Harry felt like he was watching a fight on Pay-Per-View.
Was Ginny’s team doing jujitsu as cross-training?
What about Neville? Was that how he stayed so fit?
After jostling the wrapped presents around, ‘Ron’ finally pinned Neville under the tree.
As ‘Ron’ caught his breath, Neville lifted his head up, closing the distance.
‘Ron’ pulled away.
“Hey. Don’t be weird, man. We’re mates.”
Neville grinned. “Sorry. Guess I got confused. It’s just, you really remind me of my girlfriend.”
They giggled.
Two simple words could end Harry’s misery.
He set his wand by the hearth and ladled himself a mug of mulled wine. It had been sitting on the hob for so long it had gone syrupy.
Just in case some of the alcohol had evaporated, he picked up a rum cake as well.
As Harry crammed down the rum cake and his feelings, Ginny and Neville made a break for the stairs, giggling worse than Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had.
There was a whisper of fabric.
Ron’s burgundy sweater lay abandoned on the stairs.
Well.
That was the end of that.
The twins circled the room doing damage control.
“You.”
Harry downed the sticky-sweet spiced wine and winced.
Ron blinked, wide-eyed. “What did I do?” he asked, in a tremulous falsetto.
Harry charged him.
Ron shrieked and fled up the stairs.
Harry tripped on the sweater as he chased him.
Apparently Ron couldn’t run in heels.
Harry passed discarded Mary Janes as he ran up the flights of stairs.
Ron slammed the bedroom door behind him.
Harry burst through seconds later and finally got his hands on him.
Ron giggled as Harry wrestled him to the floor.
“Take off that fucking skirt—”
“Harry, you pervert! My boyfriend’s going to be so angry with you—”
Harry clamped a hand over his mouth.
Ron thrust his tongue out.
“Gah!”
Harry snatched his hand away.
Ron pressed his advantage and flipped him over.
Fine. Harry didn’t care about winning. He lay flat on his back and grabbed the hem of the sweater.
“Oh, Harry! You beast!”
Harry got his feet under him and flipped Ron around as he finally wrenched the too-tight sweater over the other boy’s head.
He stared in horror at what lay beneath.
An ancient foundation garment of dingy beige fabric nearly covered Ron’s entire ribcage. Its cups were nearly as big as his head, and stuffed full of cotton wool.
Harry ran his hands frantically across Ron’s back, searching for a fastener.
“Ooh, Harry, you naughty thing,” Ron cooed.
“Shut it!”
There were hooks at the back. Rows and rows of them.
As Harry struggled to unfasten every tiny hook, Ron struggled to pull the sweater off his head. It still covered him from the chin up, trapping his arms.
“Little help here?” Ron asked in his normal voice.
Instead of answering, Harry unzipped Ron’s skirt.
He shrieked and kicked his legs.
He got Harry right in the chest, knocking him away, but with Ron’s head and arms still trapped by the sweater, Harry quickly got the upper hand again.
He pressed a knee against Ron’s belly as he tugged off the skirt.
Underneath Ron was wearing his own navy briefs.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
“Ooh, it’s like a blindfold. I see what you’re about, Harry, you cheeky thing.”
Harry cursed as he went back to the foundation garment. Did it have whalebone in the sides?
The last hook finally popped free.
Harry threw the whole thing across the room.
He took a steadying breath as he stared at Ron’s chest.
Even with his head covered by the sweater, it was unmistakably Ron. (Not Ginny. Not Molly either, Christ.)
He could see his abdominal muscles heaving as he caught his breath.
Hm. Hadn’t been joking about putting in time at the muggle gym.
Despite living together, Harry supposed he hadn’t seen Ron shirtless since The Interminable Camping Trip. And back at school they’d had a communal sleeping chamber and shared a team locker room.
Harry was horrified to feel a pang of nostalgia.
Ron arched his back.
“Ooh, I’m completely powerless. What will you do with me, Harry Potter?”
Harry gripped the sweater with both hands and pulled.
There he was again. Just Ron.
With Ron’s face and his broader shoulders and the orangey-red hair at his armpits.
Harry pressed Ron’s chest to the floor.
Their faces were inches apart.
Ron flushed.
“H-harry? What’re you—OW!”
Harry threw the sequined bow into the far corner of the room.
Ron rubbed his head and pouted.
He must be wearing some kind of gloss or balm on his lips. Harry had never seen them shine like that before.
He leaned down and kissed him.
Ron laughed at him.
“Did the twins slip one of their potions into your food?”
“No.”
Harry kissed him again.
Ron shook his head. “Mate, how much did you have to drink?”
“Not much.”
Another kiss.
“Well, you taste like spiced wine.”
“Mm.”
He kissed him again.
“I don’t know—how I never noticed—your lips before tonight—” Harry said between kisses.
“Uhh—are you confused? I’m not Ginny—”
“I know exactly who you are.”
Harry laced their fingers together.
“You’re Roonil Wazlib.”
He kissed him again.
How could he have been so thick, all those years at school?
Only ever dating sporty Quidditch players.
He’d thought he’d had a type.
He’d never considered that—maybe every girl he’d dated was a substitute for his best mate.
“Okay, hahaha. You got me back for dressing up like Ginny. Now can we call it a night and go to bed?”
Harry slipped his fingertips into the waistband of Ron’s briefs.
“Woah!”
Harry blinked.
“Oh. When you said go to bed, I thought you meant—”
Ron flushed. “Look, Harry.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “We’ve both had a bit to drink tonight. And this is pretty major. So let’s just, sleep on it, yeah? See if you still feel the same tomorrow.”
Harry hung his head.
“This is serious, all right? I’m not gonna—play silly buggers with you and then pretend tomorrow like nothing’s happened.”
Harry shook his head. It made the floor pitch.
“I don’t want—to pretend—”
Ron put an arm around him and tucked him into bed.
Harry blinked sleepily, watching Ron put on his pajamas.
“You—you don’t wanna split the bed back into bunk beds?”
“Nah, s’cold.”
Harry felt pathetically grateful as Ron climbed into bed next to him.
Harry woke the next morning with giddy anticipation. It took him a moment to realize it was for more than just Christmas morning.
Ron looked a bit sheepish, and ready to pretend he hadn’t remembered a thing, but Harry took a deep breath and launched into a bumbling, meandering explanation of the epiphanies he had last night.
Ron listened attentively, and seemed to believe him, but still asked, “You sure you wouldn’t rather try to steal Neville away from Ginny?”
“Wh—I don’t have a crush on Neville!”
“Oh yeah, sure. And in fourth year, I just thought Victor Krum was cool.”
Harry gripped the sheets. “Would you rather be with Victor Krum?”
“What? No!” Ron shook his head. “It was just hero worship, really. I mean, I wouldn’t say no to an autograph or free tickets to watch him play. But that’s nothing to build a relationship on.”
“Yeah. I think with Neville, I feel like, I was always supposed to be the Chosen One? But I was crap at it? And then he like, was the Chosen One.”
“Didn’t hurt that he turned hot as hell while we were off camping.”
Harry choked on his own spit.
“What? Am I not supposed to notice just cause he’s dating my sister? I dunno if you’ve noticed, but that Ginny, she’s got quite an eye for the fellahs.” He elbowed him. “Brings home some really good-looking blokes.”
Harry blushed. “Yeah, well. You brought me home first.”
“Are you saying I’ve had dibs all this time?”
Harry grinned. “Yeah.”
Ron grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Uhh.”
Harry and Ron scrambled to opposite sides of the bed.
George cleared his throat. “Dad’s got the coffee on. Presents in five.”
“Yes, thank you,” Ron snapped.
Harry grinned sheepishly. “We’ll be right down.”
George rapped his knuckles against the door frame.
“Fred owes me a sickle.”