A/N: Hey, y'all! Okay, this is the first chapter of a few... but I've already finished the story except for maybe two parts (I will finish this one, dangit! lol) The next chapter is going to be up in a few days or so—I haven't figured out the schedule yet.
Anyway, here it is. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All characters and elements belong to J.K. Rowling. Plot is mine.
I love winter. I love wool coats and knitted scarves. I love hot cocoa and the sound of the radiator whirring. I love the smell of Christmas trees and the taste of gingerbread. I love the way that the frost climbs up the window pane and the way smoke rises from chimneys, twisting and curling across a lonely grey sky.
My friends all call me crazy. But then again, they're always dwelling on the negative. The flu, wet socks, and walks to be shoveled. If they could only see it the way I do. The glitter of newly fallen snow. The song of a fire crackling in the hearth.
I lifted the whistling kettle off the stove and pour water over a tea bag. Peppermint tea. One heaping spoonful of sugar. Four quick stirs. Lick the spoon. Always the same.
I carried my mug into the living room, sat down in a chair, and picked up a worn paperback novel with a broken spine and dog-eared pages. I was reading Pride and Prejudice for about the thousandth time—I truly didn't know why I kept going back to that book. I mean, yes, it was one of the greatest novels of all time, and, yes, it was a truly beautiful love story, and, yes, I'd been having love troubles of my…
Oh, there's no use in lying. I knew.
But, I mean, honestly—I can't possibly be the only girl on the face of the Earth who wants a Mr. Darcy to come and sweep her off her feet.
The locks on the door clicked open.
I tucked my thumb into the book and took a quick sip from the mug. I winced as the hot liquid splashed up against my lips.
"Bugger! It's bloody freezing outside!"
He pulled off his boots and dropped them on the mat with two loud thunks.
I called out to him. "Hey, Ron."
He popped his head in while he was still struggling with his coat. "Hey." He disappeared for another moment, hung up his coat and scarf, and came back into the living room. His nose was flushed pink from the cold. "Harry in yet?"
"He came and left about half an hour ago."
"Yeah? He go down to the pub?"
"No, he's going out with Ginny tonight."
"Huh." He stood in front of the fireplace and rubbed his hands together. "When's he going to be back?"
"He didn't say… I'd expect them to be in around one."
"Oh."
I took another sip of my tea. "The water's hot if you want to make something."
"Nah. Thanks, though." He plunked down in a chair and leafed through the morning's Daily Prophet that was sitting on the coffee table, quickly losing interest. "So what do you want to do for dinner? Order in?"
"Sure."
There are benefits of sharing a house with your two best friends. Especially when both of them are men. Especially when the tension between you and one of them is thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Chinese good with you?" he yelled from the kitchen.
"Sounds great.'
Harry has served as a bit of a buffer since we bought this place. Well, since he bought this place. I thought that we'd all end up living at Grimmauld Place since the war was over but, no, we live in an old house in London. Harry wanted to keep Sirius's house empty as a sort of memorial to him, and I've learned over time to not question Harry's intentions concerning his family. Anyway, he lets Ron and me pay for our share of the utilities because of Ron's oh-so-delicate pride. We all have steady jobs and are more than capable of paying for our own homes, but since we're all unmarried and we've basically been sharing the same living space since we were eleven, it just made sense. We'd all get awfully lonely.
And it isn't just us at the house. Ginny pops in from time to time, often unannounced, but it's alright. She's Harry's girlfriend, Ron's little sister, and my best female friend. She would be living here anyway if it weren't for her mother's overprotective tendencies. It was "improper" to live with one's boyfriend. "Only married couples live together!" she'd said. And Ron has been surprisingly calm throughout the entire Harry/Ginny saga. He doesn't seem to mind when he finds his baby sister and his best friend snogging on the couch or when we hear the loose floorboard on the stairs creak as Ginny creeps down the stairs to floo home at four in the morning. It's nothing short of astonishing if you ask me.
I heard Ron switch on the wireless in the kitchen. I sighed. He couldn't even bare to be alone in the same room with me for more than ten minutes.
I don't know what happened, honestly. I mean, the war ended nearly four years ago. I thought I'd made myself quite clear as to how I felt about one Ronald Bilius Weasley. And I thought my feelings were reciprocated.
But no. After the hype of the end of the war had died down, we went back to the way we'd been before, if not worse. At least when we were in school Ron talked to me, never mind that it was mostly bickering. I assumed that things would just fall into place. I assumed that there was nothing left to be discussed.
And, really, what else needed to be said? I up and snogged the bloke while curses were flying through the air and our lives were at stake. Many, many people would agree that all subtlety had been shot to hell at that point.
The doorbell rang just as the clock in the hall chimed nine o'clock. Ron went bounding down the hall to the front door. "Got it!"
I got up out of the chair and unwrapped myself from the blanket. I heard Ron say thank you to the delivery man and handle the bags of food into the kitchen. He was opening a white paper carton as I was walking in.
"I got you some Kung Pao chicken. That alright?"
I nodded and went to get a fork from the drawer. I picked up the carton and started to eat.
About halfway through this silent meal that was all too commonplace in our house, Ron looked at me like he was going to say something, but then closed his mouth and continued to eat.
After he stuffed the last forkful of food into his mouth, he took a swig of water from a Christmas mug, and carried his empty carton to the bin. "I think I'm going to go down to the Leaky Cauldron and say hello to Neville."
"Okay, see you later," I said, leaning up against the edge of the counter.
He darted out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, came flying down the stairs about a millisecond later, and was coated, gloved, scarved, and out the door in record time.
I poked at the chicken in the white paper box before setting it down and beginning to put the leftovers into the refrigerator, muttering to myself about how Jane Austen was a dirty liar.
A/N: What'd you think? Read and review, please!