#tyrantwrites

The portrait of Luciana the Lustrous banged against the doorway to the Eighth Year Common Room, a temporary space set up to provide something resembling an open, neutral area for convalescence after the taxing classes, apprenticeships, and other responsibilities of the few students who had returned to Hogwarts to finish their education following the end of the last Dark War.

It had taken almost a full year for the school to be repaired sufficiently for the safety of its incoming students, even with the Ministry’s backing. The Ministry had, with some cajoling, pushed forward a system to allow students to stay caught up, so when they did return, there was no confusion on where exactly they sat in the year ranking. 

Except the Eighth Years, of course, most of whom were now nineteen and slowly picking their way through what a post-war world, a post-war life, looked like. 

Nonetheless. The Portrait of Luciana the Lustrous banged against the doorway into the Eighth Year Common Room, and from plush seats by one of the rounded windows, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger looked up. Ron sat forward in his seat, chess board forgotten, with a grin. “Mate, there you are! Isn’t it pushing curfew a bit, stumbling in now?” 

Harry Potter scowled at his best friends as he tripped on the edge of the doorway, making his way to their chairs and plopping down on the arm of Hermione’s. 

“Well?” Hermione looked up with her own teasing smile, one eyebrow raised at the petulant look on Harry’s face. “How did it go?”

“He’s a menace.” Harry groaned, slumping against the back of the chair and thumping his head against it. “He’s going to bloody kill me. That’s his grand plan. He’s gonna embarrass me in public to death, and then use me for potion ingredients or something, the git.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, Hermione much better at hiding her smile than Ron, who looked crossed between laughing at his best mate and obligatory disgust at his partner.

“Well, what’d he do?” Hermione asked, turning to look up at Harry. 

Harry just grumbled more under his breath, slumping where he sat on the arm of the chair and crossing his arms. 

“Mate, it can’t’ve been that bad, can it?” Ron snorted. “You’re in one piece!” 

“He’s–” Harry scowled. “I don’t know how he did it. But he did.” 

“Did what, Harry, for God’s sake!” Hermione whacked her paperback on his leg sharply, ignoring the automatic yelp. 

“....He found out about it.” Harry muttered, sinking further and looking around surreptitiously, as if someone were listening in. Years of being in the public eye had made Harry more or less accept that he’d always be watched, but this… This wasn’t something he wanted to get out. Thank Merlin the Eighth Years were separated from the Seventh Years, or Ginny’d have locked onto him immediately.

“It?” Hermione looked at Ron, frowning. Ron just shrugged, brow furrowed as he eyed his friend. There was a tension that caught Ron’s attention – whatever it was, Harry didn’t want anyone to know about it. But they knew everything about each other. What on Earth… 

“Y’know.” Harry grouched. Ron’s brow furrowed further. So it was something they should know, then. A look from Hermione had him shaking his head a bit, and they both eyed Harry, Hermione confused and Ron befuddled. Harry groaned at both of them, rubbing his face. “The… The thing. The thing Gin used to do.”

“Mate, I don’t want to know what you and my sister–” Ron cut off, blinking, and felt his ears burn in second-hand embarrassment. Oh. “... Oh.” 

“Oh?” Hermione frowned. “Oh what? What’d Ginny do?”

Ron sucked in a breath, trying not to grin at how put out Harry looked at having to explain himself. “The names, ‘Mione.”

“The– Oh. Ohhh…” Hermione looked up at Harry again, mouth dropped open, a bit in awe. “He called you– What did he call you?” She grinned slowly at the blush that slowly burned on Harry’s face, and whacked him again with the edge of her book. “Come on! What’d he say?”

Harry reached out to snatch the book from Hermione, scowling, and tossed it onto the table. Ron sat back, entertained, because it didn’t really matter to him what the git said. What mattered was that he did, and this was going to be just as fun to watch as when Ginny had figured it out. 

“... He called me darling.” Harry grumbled finally, face burning as Hermione broke into peals of laughter, hugging onto Harry to keep him toppling off the chair. “It’s not funny!”