Unfortunately none of these characters belong to me; I borrow them only for my creative purposes (thanks, JK). I didn't really want to add an HP fic to this already-extensive list of fics, but this one just kept writing itself.

~*~
"Harry, I have some rather disturbing news," Ron told his best friend at a pub in London one drizzly Saturday afternoon. Harry smirked and took a swig of his butterbeer.

     "That so? You look ill--what's up, did Percy put in a bid for Minister of Magic?"

      "Bloody hell, I hope not! Don't even say it aloud, the idea might get back to him," Ron leaned across the table and said the latter quietly, as though Percy had spies sitting at nearby tables. His Weasley red hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away hastily. He hadn't changed much since school. If anything, he'd gotten even taller, and thinner.

      "No, Harry, this is much more drastic--well, almost, anyway. I'm getting married." Harry's mug, which had previously been halfway to his lips, lowered slowly.

     "I'm sorry, what was that?" Harry asked in disbelief. Ron sat back in his chair with a fallen expression.

     "Married, chum. I finally popped the question," Ron answered, a slight tone of defeat entering his voice.

     "I'm sorry--I thought you were seeing Hermione," Harry said with a touch of confusion. His attention was suddenly diverted as he heard a loud belch from across the pub. A squat, greasy man with three chins was patting his chest appreciatively. Disgusted, Harry turned back to Ron.

     "I am, you dolt!"

     "You asked Hermione to marry you?" Harry couldn't stop the questions that kept flying from his mouth.

     "Well, I know her better than our waitress!"

     "And she said yes?"

     "Don't sound so surprised!" Ron said in anger. "Look, I thought it was bad enough, taking myself out of the game--"

     "Ron, let's face it. You never played especially well." Harry took a sip of his drink and set it down again, looking at it with disbelief. "You and Hermione."

     "I wasn't sure exactly how to tell you. I think Hermione really wanted to be the one to tell you, but I know that this reaction probably wouldn't have gone well with her," Ron said with a hint of bitterness. He had expected Harry to be shocked, but had hoped that the shock would quickly be replaced with well wishes.

     "I'm sorry, mate. You're right. Congratulations. It's about time," Harry said, a genuine grin breaking across his face. "Let me cover the drinks in celebration," he continued, motioning their waitress over to the table.
~*~

     When the drinks had been bought and the chums went their separate ways- -after Harry finally wholeheartedly convinced Ron that he was truly happy for them--Harry went home to think. His flat on the fifth floor didn't seem like quite a hike tonight, and Harry realized the climb goes much quicker when something occupies your mind.

     "Big news, Neville," Harry said, tossing his jacket on the couch when he entered the flat.

     "What's that?" his roommate answered, coming out of the bathroom. Neville's chin and neck were covered in a thick lather.

     "Ron popped the question to Hermione." Harry flipped on the telly absentmindedly and surfed through the channels. Neville grunted and then retreated into the bathroom. The two had been roommates since they went through Auror training. Not surprisingly, Neville failed his first go- through, but took a year off and tried again. He was back in his first year of training and doing considerably better, with Harry's occasional tutelage.

     "Not surprised. Bound to happen." The answer echoed off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

     "Yeah. I suppose," said Harry thoughtfully.

     "Oh, you got another owl from Dumbledore today."

     "Oh yeah?" Harry's ears perked up at the sound of his former headmaster's name. It had been five years since he and his classmates had graduated from Hogwarts, but not a day went by that Harry didn't think about his mentor and friend Albus Dumbledore.

     "Still wants you for the Dark Arts position, I bet." Neville came out of the bathroom, patting his face with a royal blue towel. Neville had matured considerably since graduation, his childishly pudgy face too had thinned and he'd gained some vertical inches. Though, his increase in confidence had probably made the biggest difference in his appearance. An appearance that had not gone unnoticed by the ladies. Due to Neville's high surplus of dates, Harry often found himself in the apartment alone when he wasn't working.

     "Yeah." Harry turned off the set and stretched on the couch. Neville turned off the light in the bathroom and disappeared into his room. Harry glanced toward the window, where Hedwig was preening herself on the ledge outside. He made his way into the kitchen, where the letter from Dumbledore waited.
Harry Potter
Flat 5A
13 Hardaman Road
London, England

      The handwriting was unmistakably Dumbledore's, Harry thought, opening the letter. Neville was right. Dumbledore was asking Harry to grace the school with his presence and his extensive knowledge and experience in the defense against dark arts. Few people said no to Dumbledore, and Harry feared it was only a matter of time before he left those few. He enjoyed being an Auror too much; he felt special being part of the Order. He felt connected to his parents and especially Sirius, all of whom had died doing their noble duty that they believed in so strongly. Harry carefully folded the note and placed it in his back pocket. He was sorting through the bills, when the window resounded with a loud THUNK!

     "You say something?" Neville asked, coming out of his bedroom.

     "No, just an owl," Harry answered, opening the door for the barn owl that had tried to avoid Hedwig on the ledge but was unsuccessful. Both of the owls knocked against the window, and Hedwig puffed her feathers angrily and snapped her beak in warning to the visitor. The other owl hooted ashamedly and backed away from her wrath. Seeing Harry, the owl held his leg out gracefully, and with an apologetic look toward Hedwig, sailed away again.

Harry Potter
State of Shock
Flat 5A
13 Hardaman Road
London, England

     Harry opened the letter with a smile.

     "Who's this one from?" Neville asked, coming into the kitchen. He opened the cooler and pulled out a jug of milk. He took a swig and replaced it in the fridge.

     "Hermione."

     "Hm--couldn't wait to get her two cents in, I suppose," said Neville. He stood behind Harry and glanced at the parchment, trying to read the letter. He needn't have bothered, as Harry read it aloud.

     "Exactly. Listen, 'As I could not be present for Ron's unexpected announcement, I wanted to send you a brief letter. I know this may seem a shock to you, Harry, but it really shouldn't. Fred and George remind me nearly every day that Ron and I fought like a married couple before we were fifteen. I couldn't marry anyone else, and I don't know that I'd want to.'"

     "Bloody crazy," Neville muttered, buttoning up his shirt. "Look, Harry, I've got a date with Josie tonight. If Natalina stops by, tell her I'm working late."

     "Sure." Harry looked up from his note. "Uh, don't forget--" Harry made a motion of brushing off his own face and then pointed to Neville's. Neville looked confused and then brushed his jaw.

     "Oh yeah," he said with a grin, and pulled off the piece of toilet paper that had been a supplementary bandage for a razor cut. Harry smiled and shook his head. Neville may look a lot different, but he was still essentially the same.

     "By the way, you really ought to break it off with one of those girls," Harry said lightly, half-envious of his friend's womanizing abilities.

     "I know," Neville said with a mischievous grin. "But I don't want to hurt their feelings." Harry rolled his eyes and said goodnight to his exiting roommate.

     Now alone in the house, Harry sat down at the kitchen table, Hermione's letter still clutched in his left hand. As he scanned it over once more, his hand involuntarily moved to his unruly black hair and subconsciously began to smooth it--or at least attempt to.

     "It took me awhile to get used to the fact they were dating," Harry said aloud to Hedwig. His snowy owl hopped inside the window, deciding she was safer in the comforts of the kitchen. Hedwig tilted her head to the side and cooed gently, listening to Harry.

     "It's not that I don't like it. I don't mind at all. Once I got used to it, it felt perfectly natural. And even now, I know it's right that they'll marry. But it doesn't mean it's easy to get used to." His thoughts carried him back two years, to a birthday celebration for Ron. He and Hermione were to take Ron out for a few drinks and mini-celebration. But Harry had an unexpected training session and had to back out at the last minute. Talking to Ron the next day, he later found out that Ron and Hermione had a pleasant evening alone--and they had decided to have another one on Saturday. These casual dates gradually became more serious and they were dating exclusively within the year. Mrs. Weasley had been overjoyed when she found out, and Harry knew it was a difficult task for her not to push the relationship.

     Two years seemed a long time to seriously date someone, Harry thought as he leaned back in his chair. The chair gave an ominous squeak as he lifted the front legs off the ground and balanced precariously on the back two. But then, two years would seem long to anyone who hasn't had a date within the past 8 months.

     "It's too damn quiet around here," Harry said hotly, and slammed the chair back onto the floor. He pushed away from the table and closed the window with a slam. Hedwig ruffled her feathers and flew into her cage to sulk. Harry returned to the living room and turned on the football game. It wasn't as nearly interesting as Quiddich, but it kept Harry's mind off of Ron and Hermione's impending marriage and his contrarily lacking personal life.