Random Fact of the Week #49
Eight months, two days, three hours, and five minutes.
He'd kept track. He'd always kept track.
It was nothing more than eight months, two days, three hours, five minutes.
"Six minutes," Harry corrected quietly, his eyes on the clock.
The sound of the fireplace igniting downstairs filled the suffocating silence of Harry's bedroom.
"Harry!"
He closed his eyes and pulled the covers closer to his face.
"Harry!"
The voice sounded closer, and Harry groaned as his bedroom door opened without so much as a knock.
"Deaf now, Potter?"
"Fuck off," Harry said, not bothering to turn over.
Ron pulled the covers down from his body with more force than necessary.
"No, I don't think I will, thanks," Ron said. "Get up. Get dressed. Throw in a shower while you're at it. You smell like shit. Where are the kids?"
"Andromeda," Harry said.
Ron stared at him for a moment before shoving a flask in his hand.
Harry accepted it without comment, and took a long pull, wincing at the burn it left in his throat.
"Get yourself together," Ron said, his voice a little less harsh. "Just for today. For Mum."
"But it's my birthday, I can cry if I want to," Harry said.
"Shut the fuck up," Ron said, gesturing for him to take another drink.
Harry sat up on the side of the bed and leaned over his knees, head in his hands. "I can't do this," he said quietly. "I just want to be alone, not have everyone's eyes on me."
"You can, and you will," Ron said. "Fake it till you make it, right?"
Harry wondered if there'd ever come a day he could stop faking it.
As he stood up on weak legs, Ron brought him in for a rough hug, holding him for a second. "Happy 27th, mate," he said.
