DRARRY - Wonderful Wheezes

Chapter Six

Harry's big breakthrough came the next Tuesday when he was finally able to remove enough orange rubbish off the floor to reach one of the desks. Sans help from a Malfoy-inspired outburst, of course.

He didn't bother checking whose desk it was because it would take ages to uncover the little plaque sitting on the front and there was a good chance it just said Mr Weasley. It didn't matter either way. Once he got the surface back to normal, there was a product design right in front of him.

It was drawn on a Magi-board— one of their inventions which allowed two people to write on separate boards while seeing what the other person was doodling—with lots of little labels and, of course, the bloody awful orange stuff.

It was purposeful, then. At least, a bit. The point hadn't been to turn an entire room into an unnavigable nightmare, but they had wanted orange stuff. In some form or fashion. Which was still unclear.

For no real reason, Harry was utterly compelled to make this idea work. It felt like the most important thing in the world. Maybe that was because Hermione was right and he just needed something to do, or maybe he was simply inspired.

So he went back to Grimmauld Place and he worked at it. He worked, and he worked, and he worked until it was Friday and he was getting owls from Malfoy and Verity asking him if he'd fallen off the face of the earth somehow, and one from Neville saying they were all getting together for a drink that night and would Harry consider 'dragging Ron out of the house to come since it might be good for him.'

Which was a great point. In fact, Harry had been so distracted with all of the business with the shop that he couldn't recall if he'd seen much of Ron the past couple of days. It was morning anyway, so he'd best wake him.

When Harry walked in, Ron was lying in bed with a pillow over his face, the drapes drawn and the smell of booze thick in the air. From the room next door Harry could hear Balanced on a Broomstick blasting at top volume.

"Time to face the day, mate!" he said, pulling the window's drawstring and letting light flood into the room.

Ron groaned and turned over onto his stomach.

"Ah, none of that." Harry took the pillow Ron was using to shield himself from the light and tossed it on the ground.

"I'll kill you," Ron mumbled. "You-know-who might not have been able to finish the job, but I'm smarter."

Harry grabbed him by the feet and began pulling. He was used to this, and he knew by now that gentle coaxing, threats, and even the promise of bacon would fail. It was brute force or nothing.

"You're next, Gin!" he shouted. She usually preferred a few minutes to compose herself so she could pretend like she hadn't been sobbing this time, after all.

Ron struggled against Harry as he hit the floor, blanket still wrapped around him like a plaid cocoon.

"There we go. Easy does it."

Harry guided him into a sitting position. Ron's eyes were still squinted shut against the bright light, but he didn't need to be actively glaring for Harry to feel the intent.

"Brought you some water," he said, holding the glass out.

When no response came besides a grunt, he set it down and reached into his pocket. "And some hangover potion."

That, Ron snatched out of his hand and uncorked, chugging the contents down. Within a minute he was through with the side effects and looking much more agreeable.

"Eggy bread and fresh coffee in the kitchen. I promise Kreacher didn't make it this time."

"You need to get her to eat something too," Ron mumbled. "She was holed up in her room all day yesterday. Don't think she left once."