Harry's already striding across the room and shouting for Ron, floo powder littering his shoulders and mussed hair when he sees his friend splayed across the couch, arm tossed carelessly over his eyes. He comes to a halt at the end of the couch, "Are you drunk?"
Ron winces at his loud tone, "It's 8:30, I have a hangover, and you're annoying me."
Mouth falling open and closed for a few beats, Harry's perplexed enough to press the increasingly short-tempered Ron, "Wait who got you drunk?"
Ron quirks brow toward the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes bag in the corner, then glances back at Harry dully, blinking slowly to emphasize his critique of Harry's deductive skills.
Biting back a smirk, Harry pats his friend's shoulder, "Well I'll keep my voice down."
After another louder and more dramatic groan, Ron flops over pulls one of the fluffy pillows over his face and snuggles into the couch. "Good."
There's a plate of biscuits on the table and Harry snatches one, sniffing it contemplatively before taking a cautious nibble. "It's about Ginny."
"What are you doing in my house?" Ron sighs.
Harry munches down the last few bites of his biscuit as he plops into the tufted armchair, one leg draping casually over the arm as he chooses a second biscuit and points it accusingly at Ron. "Because you are excellent with boundaries."
"I stopped showing up unannounced when I saw my sister half naked," Ron grumbles, rubbing at his arse cheek as if the phantom pain of Ginny's stinging hex still lingered, "Thanks for the reminder though, mate. Now I have a hangover and I want to throw up for a completely unrelated reason."
"No alcohol related nausea – that's an improvement, yeah?" Harry asks, snickering as he pat's Ron's knee.
The only response he gets is a murmured 'stuff it' into the squished cushion.
Head dropping back against the chair in frustration, Harry nudges Ron with the tip of his mud spattered boot, "Where's Hermione? You're officially pointless."
"Shut up, I am a delight!" Ron shouts, grabbing his head immediately in regret
Fiddling with a dangling string on his jumper, Harry chews his lip thoughtfully. "Well then advise me."
With one last muttered string of expletives, Ron manages to work himself into a sitting position and flicks his wand toward the fireplace, the cozy glow illuminating the room, glinting off the family photos that line the mantle. "Is this about Ginny?"
"I think I made a mistake."
"Like a 'forgot to pick up dinner' or 'Ron's going to flay me alive' type?" Ron asks lightly, grabbing a biscuit for himself.
Absentmindedly, Harry brushes his clammy palms along his worn trousers. "She has this gala."
Before he an answer, Hermione comes in the front door, slipping her pumps off one, and then the other. "Did we have plans?"
"If we did our son crashed them, again," Ron says, grinning as he kisses Hermione lightly. She frowns at the smell of stale lager but lets it go for the moment, gesturing for Harry to continue.
"Well she said it's going to be so boring – the gala thing – and I didn't need to come," Harry almost whines as Hermione and Ron snuggle into each other.
Slouching further into the couch, Ron strokes his stubbly chin thoughtfully as he eyes a hemming and hawing Harry, "So, what exactly, is your dilemma?"
"I said 'alright,'" Harry nearly shouts, throwing his hands skyward in defeat.
Ron tries to camoflauge his wince at Harry's tone as Hermione murmurs a disappointed, 'Oh Harry,' but is unsuccessful, considering the glare his wife levels at him, "Did you really think I wouldn't notice your hangover, Ron Weasley?"
Wincing, Ron shrugs helplessly while Hermione mutters to herself, loosening the top button on her heavily starched shirt. "I leave you alone for two days and this is what I come home to. My husband the drunkard."
If Ron was hoping for an ally in Harry, he's sorely disappointed. Harry's green eyes tear up with his belly rumbling laughter, Hermione even cracking a smile despite her overall motive of scaring the boys. Sighing, Ron kicks Harry none too gently with a socked foot. "Where the hell were you last night, you're supposed to talk me out of this shite."
"Apparently I was busy ruining my marriage," Harry drawls dejectedly.
Hermione snatches the last biscuit and scoffs in Harry's direction, "Don't be so bloody dramatic."
Ron's brows shoot up at the salty language, sharing an uncomfortably long, heated glance with Hermione before he tears his eyes away, cutting off Hermione's apology. "Get out Harry. Pretend you're sick – really get sick."
Harry's still feeling a little nauseated after the meaningful eye contact he'd just been forced to witness but he laughs anyway, "Thanks, Ron."
"No really get out," Ron nearly growls, pulling Hermione close enough that she's nearly in his lap, "A man and his wife need – "
Shoving him half heartedly, Hermione scolds, "Don't be rude. Besides, you still smell like a drunk. Harry, just apologize."
Before a beat passes, Ginny's appeared in a swirl of green ash, "Is Harry here – oh."
Apparently, the Granger-Weasleys silently agreed to stay out of things, which Harry doesn't appreciate if the stony glare he levels at them is anything to go by. Nonetheless, he turns to Ginny, who's much less flushed and angry since the last time he saw her. "Hermione says to apologize and Ron advocated germ warfare."
Ginny sighs, tugging Harry up from his seat and toward the fireplace, "Mum says I need to be more direct."
"Well we'll either get sprattergoit together or endure the gala together," Harry laughs lightly, hand on her lower back as they make their exit.
Grunting, Ginny tosses a handful of floo powder into the flames and smirks at Harry, "I think the sprattergoit would be more enjoyable."