@drarrymicrofic | prompt: bound | wc: 176
Ron had meant well, taking Harry out to the pub. A pint and some deep-fried food would surely lift his mood after he’d been axed from the Aurors a few days ago.
“I don’t know what to do with my life. I thought that was it.”
“Mate,” Ron began, putting a supportive hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “What’s the thing you can’t stop thinking about? ’Cause that’s what you should do with your life. Bit like fate.”
Ron gave his shoulder a squeeze and waited for him to lift his gaze from his beer and say, Quidditch.
Harry did lift his head, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open.
This is it, Ron thought. He’s having an epiphany!
“Malfoy,” Harry said.
“What?”
“You think I’m bound to be Malfoy’s husband?”
Ron gaped, unsure where exactly he’d gone wrong in this conversation.
Harry downed the rest of his drink—and he’d already had a few before Ron arrived—then stood and rolled his shoulders as though preparing for a fistfight.
“I’ll go ask him if the position’s vacant.”
Harry: I've got nothing left to lose. He probably needs a good wanking anyway.
Ron: Stop. Drinking. Now.
