Work Text:
It was early in the morning, on a very lazy Wednesday. The grey clouds hung low in the sky above showering the world outside with cold rain. Ron watched as the drops slid down the transparent glass, turning the world outside into a mosaic haze of dark clothed figures with umbrellas walking hurriedly past the quaint dinner. He closed his eyes at the soft patter the drops made against the glass. Harry didn’t get much business in this area of London, apart from a few magic folks. Only muggles seemed to live here. This always confounded Ron, Harry could be making a bleeding fortune if he had set up shop in their neck of the woods, but whenever he brought it up, Harry would always wave it off, saying he liked how quiet it was—"Besides.” He was frying some eggs for him that time. “I think of this place as a light house for the muggle born. Somewhere they can be safe.” There was the ghost of a smile on his face as he said it, his eyes deep in thought.
It was barmy is what it was, the muggle-born had nothing to be afraid of anymore. The only cause for their terror was dead in the ground somewhere in the forbidden forest. But Harry wouldn’t hear it. Lighthouses were meant to keep ships away or so Hermione told him. But maybe that was the point, maybe he was trying his hardest to be left alone in peace. Though Ron guessed his sister had contributed to that as well. Their divorce was short of national news, and he felt bad for his nieces and nephews who had to live through that.
Thinking about divorce, Ron’s face scrunched into a frown as he remembered that his ex-wife also lived somewhere in this area. It had been two years, but he still felt a stab of pain when he remembered how she slid the divorce papers towards him across their kitchen table, their children sleeping upstairs not knowing that was their last night as a family.
Ron sniffed before scratching absently at his face, his gaze turned towards Harry who loomed over the griddle behind the counter were Ron sat, whistling an unfamiliar tune as he flipped some pancakes. He wore a black apron that hugged his still surprisingly athletic body, a stained white shirt that Ron thought was a size too small, and a rugged shadow of stubble that covered his jaw.
How has Harry managed to stay so handsome all these years?
There were barely the hints of graying in his raven hair, that was now cropped short in a style he saw more and more these days, but it was still messy and untamed the way the girlies had always liked it to be. In comparison, his own red hair had started to thin on the sides, and no matter how many potions he would douse his hair with, it only kept getting thinner. The many years of partying and slight alcohol abuse had started to catch up with Ron as well. He looked older than he felt, his skin was pale and on somedays he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. There was extra weight around his torso as well, were there was once lean muscle, that used to thrill the women around him. Now was replaced by a sagging belly brought on by one too many pints at the pitch. He looked more and more like his Da’ with each passing day.
“You think Wilkingson will be drafted to the Cannons this season?” Asked Harry as he placed a plate of toast in front of him. Silverware clattering somewhere unseen before he placed some next to the plate. He gestured to the jam or butter in question.
Ron took the jam, a smile on his lips. “I bloody hope so, they need a good defensive start if they’re going to be making it through this season. I think they’ve managed so far without Braithwhite, but it's clear they won’t make it to the playoffs if—” He took a bite out of the jam lathered toast. “If they don’t find a way to set up a defensive play. “He said through a muffled mouth.
Harry nodded approvingly before sliding another plate on to the bar top besides the toast. The bacon and eggs were still sizzling much to Rons excitement. He had to hand it to the Dursleys, if they taught Harry one thing through his terrible childhood. It was how to cook.
“Remember how they crumpled against Kenmare last year?”
Rons face grimaced as he remembered the embarrassment against the Kestrels. They Cannons had lost 100-520, with a game ending snitch to boot.
“Don’t remind me, I still owe Seamus five galleons for that game. Stupid Darragh. He got lucky is what he did!” Harry shook his head with a chuckle, crossing both his arms before leaning against the bar.
“Betting on the Cannons had never been a smart move, Ron.” He could hear the smugness in Harry’s voice, the git.
“Oi.” He spat out gesturing to his food wildly. “Aren’t you forgetting my coffee?”
Harry rolled his eyes before raising his hands up apologetically. “Quite right.” He turned around for a second before he placed a white coffee down. Ron watched as Harry walked towards the coffee machine, a giant ugly machine that was bolted to the wall.
“I don’t know how you get any business with things like that laying about.” He scoffed shoving some more eggs and bacon in his mouth.
“Believe it or not this actually pretty small compared to most greasy spoons.”
“Right, Right muggles like their shmience and what not. Could you hurry it up?” He said impatiently.
Harrys eyes narrowed as he angled the coffee pot over Rons cup. “It's not Shmience, it's Science.” Harry declared as he began to pour,
“You sound like my ex-wife.” Harry scoffed as he continued to pour but he fills it only halfway and before Ron could even argue, Harry is looking out the window at somebody coming in.
“It is always nice to see you,” said Harry as he smiled a smile that Ron had never seen. He was gazing at the woman who had suddenly come in. She was shaking her umbrella and Ron realized as he stared at the messy mane of brown locks that it was Hermione. She looked up towards them, but he could tell that she had stared past him, her eyes beaming as a toothy grin split from her mouth.
“It is always nice to see you.” She returned with grin that reached her eyes. It sounded like joke he could never be apart of and Ron suddenly felt his throat go dry as she approached them at the counter her eyes never losing that spark as she wrapped her arms around Harry who had taken off his apron before returning her embrace with the same amount of vigor.
He couldn’t help but feel knots and twists as she kissed his cheek hello and saw his best friend flush at the friendly gesture. But it didn’t feel so friendly to Ron, and he could swear her lips had lingered longer than they needed to, Ron pretended not to see them, but it didn’t last long.
“I'm sorry I didn’t come yesterday.” She began, placing a hand against Harry’s arm, but before she could continue Harry had cut her off.
“It's alright Hermione.” His voice was soft and accompanied with a lopsided smile, but it was the way he said her name that gave Ron pause. Harry turned to grab a thermos that was hidden under the counter. “Your coffee is ready to go.” As she went to grab it, their fingers touched, but she didn’t recoil, instead he saw her cheeks turn pink as she looked at him.
“Work has been a quite difficult lately.” She murmured as she tucked a curl behind her ear.
“You’ll think of something, you always do,” he assured her. There was that tone again. The one Harry used when it was just Hermione who could hear him.
Ron cleared his throat, and it's like he slapped them back to reality. Gravity settling over their lighthearted and pleasant feel that had stretched between them. Her eyes met his and he saw the familiar lip bite she did when she was embarrassed or had been caught doing something wrong, it stabbed his gut.
“R—Ron!” She began taking a step back from Harry. “I didn’t see you there, why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice was a squeak.
“It seemed like you two were having a moment.” He began to pour the milk into his coffee. “It didn’t feel right to interrupt you and all that.”
“We weren’t having a moment.” Harry snapped as he slipped his apron back on. But Ron didn’t want to meet his gaze. He could hear the guilt in his voice just fine from where he was sitting.
“Right then.” He muttered as he flipped to some muggle newspaper that was discarded next to him, trying his best to read the headline about Arsenal vs Manchester. Ridiculous names if you asked him. But he wasn’t dumb, he could tell the mood had changed in this little diner. An awkward silence had remained, and he wanted to just walk out into the rain and see where the sidewalk took him. Maybe to a pub in some distant dark alley, it's not like he felt like eating anymore.
He heard Hermione shift uncomfortably from one foot to the next. “Well, it was good seeing you, Ron.” He grunted a response not looking at her but out of the corner of his eye he saw her squeeze Harry’s hand before turning to leave. Distantly he heard the door open, the sounds of the outside world intruding into the quiet of the diner before it died down again. Leaving him and Harry in a deafening silence.
It stretched on between them for eternity.
“How long?” Ron asked dryly.
“How long what?” Harry responded quickly, his hands occupied in the sink washing something or other the way muggles do.
“How long have you been seeing my ex-wife?” Harry stilled, his head snapping up towards him, but Ron kept looking at the newspaper, he took another sip of his coffee. He had poured too much milk.
“We aren’t seeing each other.”
Ron nodded. “She's still like your sister, yeah?”
“Yeah, we’re just friends.”
Ron wanted to laugh in his face. He wanted to grab the plates and throw them out the window. He wanted to jump on the countertop and scream from the top of his lungs and punch Harry's face and run into traffic for the world to just take him. Instead, he downed what was left of his sodding coffee in one gulp, before he took out his wallet and placed some muggle money, (he didn’t know how much) next to the paper.
“Your money is no good here Ron.” But Ron ignored him as he shrugged his coat back on.
“Funny isn’t it Harry?”
“What is?”
“You’ve don’t have a sister.” Ron didn’t wait for a response as he turned tail and walked out. Feeling numb as the cold water began to drench him. His vision blurred, but he was sure that was just the monsoon. The paper said it would rain all afternoon. He began to walk, drifting through the sea of umbrellas.
She never smiled at me like that.