DRARRY - Wonderful Wheezes

Chapter Thirteen

Harry stood outside the Burrow, bouncing from foot to foot to stay warm.

He took a deep breath and knocked.

Moments later, Mr Weasley opened it and pulled him in, patting him on the shoulder.

"There you are, Harry. Molly's been... well, you'll see."

Mrs Weasley was standing in the kitchen, staring rather blankly at the wall. When he walked in, though, she turned and took him in her arms.

"Oh, Harry," she said, and he felt himself crumble.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was trying so hard to save it, but I— it's all my fault."

"We don't blame you, dear. It's those horrible folks at the Prophet. Arthur was telling me all about the—what was it, dear?"

"The camera-shop."

"Yes, that's it."

Mrs Weasley pushed him away a bit to look at his face, giving Harry a pat on the cheek. He felt like a child again, confused and anxious.

"I didn't know that wizards had learned how to use it," Mr Weasley said. "It's really a remarkable thing."

"Er... sorry. What are we talking about?"

"The picture that started this mess!"  said Mrs Weasley. "The Prophet taking something the Muggles invented and, and—"

"You... wait—you think that was photoshop?"

"Ah, photoshop, yes! We're not as foolish as those witches and wizards at the Prophet," Mr Weasley promised. "It's really an unfortunate thing. The photos were hardly even incriminating. But the poor Malfoy boy. I found it hard to ever summon up any sympathy for what they've put his father through but, well. Draco might never work in his field again."

At least he wasn't insulting him. Harry chose to take that as a good sign. He steeled his nerves. "Mr Weasley, it wasn't photoshop."

"Come again?"

"I thought we'd have skipped this step, with the picture and eyewitness interviews and all, but... listen, I don't know what either of you think about homosexuality, or Draco Malfoy, or me being... careless enough to let my feelings get in the way of reopening the shop, but the photo was real. The article, not so much, but er... yeah."

"I thought you and Ginny—" Mr Weasley started.

"We broke it off nearly a year ago, now."

"But you're living together," protested Mrs Weasley.

"Er... with Ron."

They stared at him.

"Right, well. I thought that was what you wanted to talk about, so I've already said everything I planned to say. Except that I'm not done trying with the shop, I just don't know if I'll be able to... how I'll be able to save it."

There was a creak near the doorway, and they all turned.

George stood there, eyes lined with dark shadows, hair grown past his shoulders, clothes so worn they looked like they'd been passed through all the Weasley household members and back again.

For the briefest moment, Harry thought George would solve all his problems. He hadn't seen him since Fred's funeral. He knew that a couple of months before, he hadn't been leaving his room at all. And he thought, maybe...

George brushed past him and took a bowl Mrs Weasley had left on the counter. As he was already partway out of the room again, he turned back.

"Just forget about the shop, Harry. I have."