From Bad to Worse

Disclaimer: They aren’t mine. I’d love it if they were, because the money would be fabulous.
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Harry dragged himself up off the floor about half an hour after Hermione left. He would never admit it to her, but he was entirely too sore and tired to even think about having sex again. In fact, he wondered if she hadn’t actually broken him this time.

His cock ached, as did his back and neck, and he felt every one of his joints pop as he stood up and stretched. He’d been to both doctors and healers about the constant pain and fatigue. The first Muggle doctor had said it seemed to be some sort of degenerative disease, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. He ordered tests that would take months to complete and a series of medications to stop the pain, but in the end, Harry had given it all up. The drugs made him even more tired, and that was actually the least of their side effects. The sleepiness he could have lived with, but they had also made him impotent, and that was something he wouldn’t put up with.

The Healers had given him an ointment to help with the stiff joints and told him that he was simply beaten up and needed a holiday and some rest. This was, most likely, closer to the truth. While the Muggle doctors knew what he had been through in his life (the Statute of Secrecy had been, necessarily, removed while Voldemort was still alive), they couldn’t completely understand what magical curses could do to a body. After all, when Harry had tried to describe to a neurologist just what the Cruciatus felt like, the man had shaken his head. "Okay, help me out here. On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life, where would this Cruciatus rate?"

"150," Harry had said softly.

"Right." And another pain medication had been dispensed.

Harry went to the utility room, still starkers, and threw his clothes in the dryer. Then, he went back into the bedroom, dug something out of his coat pocket and flopped down on the bed. He settled the joint in his mouth and lit the tip of it, taking in and holding a deep breath.

This was his pain medicine now. A Muggle doctor had recommended it to him, confidentially of course. "It’s been known to work," the doctor said, giving him a wink.

He blew the smoke out and laid back on the pillow, waiting for the fog to kick in. It still made him sleepy, but it also relaxed him, and the high wasn’t a bad thing either. Fred had promised him this was the best weed in England and he had to agree.

He took another drag and set the joint in the ashtray beside the bed. Hermione was, needless to say, not thrilled with the idea of him smoking anything, especially not this, but she usually let it pass with just a sigh and a pointed glance.

Had he told her that it was as much for the pain as the high, she probably wouldn’t have bitched at him at all about it. Of course, he couldn’t tell her that, because she didn’t know about the pain. She didn’t know about the doctors, she didn’t know about the nightmares. She simply accepted it as a "bad habit" he’d picked up.

He took one last hit, then brushed the burning end off into the ashtray and put the joint back into his coat pocket. His head was fuzzy as hell and he rubbed his eyes, yawning heavily. He needed a shower; Hermione was right about that.

He didn’t actually feel like taking one at the moment, since that would kill his buzz too damned quickly, but he knew better than to push his luck and lay around here naked when Molly might be popping in at any time.

He sighed and climbed off the bed, and plodded into the bathroom. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and climbed in, letting the water stream over him for a few minutes before washing up. He wished he had thought to bring his own soap and shampoo, because Hermione’s choices were are fruity or flowery (Apple? She actually wanted to smell like apples?), but as he didn’t have a choice, he used it. He’d also forgotten his toothbrush, and he desperately needed one, but at least he had a razor here. He slid the shower door open and poked his hand out, summoning his razor from its spot on her sink. It flew easily into his hand and he set about shaving as best he could without a mirror. He finished washing and shut the water off.

He thought longingly of taking a nap as he dried off, but the thought of Molly coming in and finding him, naked and sleeping, in Hermione’s bed was enough to push that thought out of his head. He padded down the hall to the utility room and pulled his clothes out of the drier.

He dressed right there, rather than going all the way back across the apartment and it was probably a good thing he had. About the time he was fastening up his jeans, he heard Molly’s voice.

"Hermione? Are you home, dear?"

He tugged his shirt quickly over his head and went out to greet her. "Hi, Molly. Hermione’s not home yet. She should be back soon."

"Harry!" Molly beamed, coming over and pulling him into a tight hug. "How are you, dear? Why’s your hair wet?"

"Oh, I uh—I just got out of the shower."

She was eyeing him suspiciously. "You came over here to take a shower?"

"No! No. I uh—I stopped by this morning and she said she had to go out. So while I was waiting I just—I needed one anyway."

"Ah. Right." He knew she wasn’t buying it, but she let it go. "So, how’s work? Arthur said you’re there entirely too much these days."

Harry shrugged. "He’s exaggerating. I put in maybe an hour more a day than he does."

"And he works too much," Molly insisted, making her way into the kitchen. "You should take it easy, dear. You’re too young to be spending so much time at work."

"We’re still short-handed," Harry said, trying to keep his temper down. "I can’t take it easy when we’re four Aurors short."

She pursed her lips, setting two mugs on the counter. "Now, I know you don’t want to hear my opinion, Heaven knows Ron never does, but—you can’t be expected to make up for four other people, Harry. I know, I know. You’re doing it because it needs to be done, but—," she turned to look at him, concern evident on her face, "let someone else do it. Just this once, Harry."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I have to help, don’t I? I can’t leave it all up to someone else."

She stepped toward him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "You have to let it go, sweetheart. You’ve carried the world on these shoulders for entirely too long. You’ve done your duty. Let it go."

He swallowed hard, looking away from her. She was the closest thing he’d ever known to a mother. She’d been there for him any time he needed her, since he was eleven. Even when things turned sour between himself and Ginny, she’d not turned her back on him. "You’re right," he muttered, letting her pull him into another hug.

She sniffed against his shirt. "There’s a good fellow," she laughed, stepping back and wiping her eyes. "Now, how is that dear—er, Kristen?"

"Kaitlyn. She’s fine."

"So you’re still seeing her then?"

Harry laughed softly. "Sort of. She’s coming to the wedding with me, but we’re not—we’ve kind of--."

"Oh don’t tell me you’ve broken it off with her, too! Harry, dear, you have got to settle down one of these days. You’re going to run out of girls to date if you don’t."

"We haven’t broken up, Molly, we’ve just—backed off a bit."

"Well, now, I’ll tell you. I personally liked the blonde you were with a few months ago. Hillary?"

"Hope?"

"That’s her. She was very sweet. Of course, so was Parvati, but that didn’t work either, did it?"

Harry blushed, leaning against the counter. The truth of that one was that it hadn’t just been Parvati, but Padma also and the girls didn’t share well. Of course, Molly didn’t want to know that, or he didn’t want to tell her. "Hermione said Bill and Fleur are expecting."

She smirked at him. "Yes, that’s right, and don’t think I didn’t notice the change of subject, dear. I’m very excited. My first grandchild! Fleur wants a girl, of course, but I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed. You know how the Weasleys are about having boys. Speaking of which, is Sam coming to the wedding with you?"

Harry shook his head, accepting the cup of tea she handed him. "No, he’s with his mum that weekend."

"Aw, now that’s a shame. I was so hoping to see him again. You never bring him over when he’s visiting."

"I know. I’m sorry about that. He’s just—a bit of a handful and I hate to force that on other people. He broke my stereo last time he was here."

Molly laughed. "Well, that’s what kids are for, dear. If you value something, they’re sure to ruin it. Teaches us to value people more than things. And he can’t help but be a handful, can he? I imagine you were something of a pistol when you were little too. He’s just like his daddy and, from what I‘ve heard, his granddad as well."

Harry grinned. "Poor kid. If he turns out like me, I feel sorry for him."

"Oh, nonsense. You’re still the most dashing young man I ever laid eyes on, and he looks just like you. Must run in the family, eh, since you’re the spitting image of your father." She wrinkled her nose and quirked an eyebrow. "How’s Lauren doing, anyway?"

Harry laughed. Molly couldn’t stand Sam’s mother, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Of course, Harry couldn’t say that he cared much for her either. She’d been nothing but a pain in his arse since the day he’d met her. "She’s fine. Still trying to get the child support case pushed through in Muggle court. They keep throwing it back out."

"Well, now, if she would have just let you have custody of him in the first place, she wouldn’t have to worry about it, would she? Oh, Harry, dear, I know you’re sick to death of hearing this, but—of all the girls you could have gotten pregnant, you got the absolute worst of them."

He sighed, nodding. "You’re telling me. She’s quite a--."

"Bitch," Molly said, then gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. "Oh, you didn’t hear me say that."

Harry laughed, nearly spitting his tea across the table. "Of course not," he managed as he wiped at the front of his shirt. "I heard nothing."

"Well, what’s done is done. Just so you’re—being careful now."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I am."

"Good. That’s good." She sighed, glancing out the window. "I still can’t believe how you’ve all grown up. Seems just yesterday you were only starting school. And now—you’re a father, Ginny’s getting married, Ron’s—well, Ron is Ron, isn’t he?" She laughed softly. "Still nuts about Hermione."
Harry stiffened, but said nothing.

"I know it’s not—it’s not right for me to ask you to get involved, Harry, but—I just don’t know what’s going on in her head. I love her like she was my own, but she’s been stringing him along for such a long time. Do you—Well, she hasn’t—mentioned it to you, has she?"

Harry shrugged. "She talks about it sometimes, but she still just says that she’s not ready to commit to anything. She cares about him, Molly, you know that."

"I know. I just—there’s someone else, too, isn’t there?"

Harry felt his nerves start to kick in. "I don’t—not that I know of."

"Well, there has to be," Molly said, sniffing. "I can just tell that there is. I’ve never seen anyone else, of course. If she’s not with Ron, she’s with you. I just—something isn’t right in that whole situation and I just can’t--."

"I’m home," Hermione called, coming in the front door, and Molly motioned for Harry not to tell her what they’d been talking about. "Molly! Sorry I’m late!"

Molly hugged Hermione tightly, smiling at her. "Hello, dear. We were just having tea. Here, sit. I’ll get you a cup."

"Thank you," Hermione said, sitting down next to Harry. "I’ll tell you, the traffic out there is simply mad today! I thought I’d never get back across town."

"How’s your mother, then? All right?"

"Oh, she’s fine. She says hello, by the way. She and Daddy are planning a trip to Switzerland in a few---What?"

This last part had been snapped at Harry who had been tugging furiously on her sleeve. He wanted to warn her that Molly had been talking about her, but as Molly had turned to face him when Hermione did, he simply ran his hand through his hair and laughed. "Nothing."

"Ugh," Hermione huffed. "Anyway, they’re going to Switzerland in a few months, so she’s all excited about that. She loves to ski, you know. So did you bring the things for the wedding, then?"

"Yes, I did. It’s all on the couch. I do so appreciate your help, Hermione." She started to say something else but was interrupted by a voice from the living room.

"Hermione? Are you there?"

"Arthur?" Molly called, frowning and going into the living room. Hermione followed her and Harry heard her greeting Mr. Weasley.

"Oh, there you are. I was wondering if you’d seen Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "I’ve been popping into his apartment on and off since late last night and he wasn’t home."

"He’s here," Hermione interrupted quickly. "He’s—here. Harry!"

Harry came around the corner and peered down into the fire, where Mr. Weasley’s head was bobbing in the flames. "Oh, thank goodness. I was beginning to get a bit worried."

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked, kneeling down on the rug.

"No! No, not really. I sent an owl after you yesterday, but it came back with the letter still attached. Of course, it’s not the most reliable of owls either, but—Anyway, no, nothing’s really wrong. I just—I was concerned. Dawlish said you hadn’t signed off on that Lestrange report before you left work last night, and I wondered if it was finished."

Harry sighed. "I knew I’d forgotten something. Yeah, it’s done. If you need me to come in and sign it, I can."

"No, no. It’s the weekend. Take it easy for a few days. I’m sorry to seem so—well, nervous about this. I reckon I’m still just a bit skittish when it comes to you kids." Arthur laughed softly. "Well, you go have some fun and I’ll see you Monday, all right?"

Harry nodded, standing. "Thanks, Arthur."

Molly was looking from Harry to Hermione and back, and there was a shrewd look on her face. Harry, knowing how close she already was to figuring out what was really going on between the two of them, excused himself for a minute and hurried back into the bedroom to pick up his clothes and straighten the bed. He used a quick scouring charm on the bed sheets, stuffed his wand back in his pocket and glanced around quickly.

When he was certain there were no signs, subtle or obvious, of what had happened in there over the last day, he went back to join the ladies in the oh-so-exciting wedding plans.