Balancing in inquietude
Balancing in inquietude
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Disclaimer
making no profit from this story
Rating
Summary
towards life, so he looks for excitement but runs out of stimuli.
they lack is equilibrium. Post DH.
Warnings
worry, you will be warned.
Pairings
Ron/Hermione
A/N
fanfiction ever, but please don’t be discouraged by
this fact and give it a try. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed
writing. You might find my characters a bit introspective, and be warned – I’ll
take my time creating and developing them. Please review if you liked this
story, and if you didn’t – criticism is most welcome. Flames will be confronted
with my argumentative nature. :)
Chapter 1
Harry hesitantly looked at the keys to his new flat. He rented it from a
middle-aged Muggle lady without seeing it or even
bothering to ask about the surroundings. He had been reassured it was
well-conditioned, had three quite spacious rooms, and the rent, which was the
main factor in the decision-making process, was amazingly low. Of course, he
treated the “well-conditioned” part quite doubtfully – every time he heard that
one, reality had stubbornly demonstrated against it.
Continuing to examine the keys, Harry spotted there was a key ring
attached. He snorted. Why did all those Muggle ladies
he rented flats and houses from have a weird taste when it came down to key
rings? This one was exceptionally ridiculous to him, though probably not very
peculiar for Muggles – an old hag in a shabby pointy
hat, black dress with a few patches on, several papillae were decorating her
crooked nose and extraordinarily lengthened, sharp chin. Miraculously, they
managed to put all those details together on a tiny key ring like this.
portrait a witch, alas more than several witches would feel offended, if the
A giggling outburst coming from two teenage girls brought him back to
reality, they didn’t even bother to hide they were laughing at him. It must
have looked really stupid to stand inside an elevator without even pushing any
buttons, riding up and down and staring absent-mindedly at seemingly nothing in
particular. He was back at the ground floor now, walked confidently out of it
in a desperate attempt to maintain at least some dignity, choosing to use the
staircase instead. Maybe it was a better choice anyway,
he no longer comprehended the way
for instance.
Finally reaching the seventh floor, he dropped the big Adidas bag he was
carrying and rubbed his sore shoulder. The damn thing was heavy – though he
sadly noted it wasn’t nowhere near heavy enough. Harry wished that all of his
belongings weighed more than 15 kilos at most. But he never owned much, despite
inheriting quite a large sum of money; at first it came with being
lifestyle. It felt as if he was weighing the insignificance of his life when
reached out to pick up the bag again.
Now you’re being
ridiculous, mate. Defeating the Dark Lord doesn’t ring any bells?
Yes, it does. On the other hand, putting stop to Voldemort’s
actions will always be considered the biggest achievement of his life. And he
was seventeen back then, for God’s sake! It left him with nothing to look
forward to, apart from settling down, marrying Ginny and spending the rest of
his existence reproducing, then trying to make
civilized people out of his offspring. That was something he always thought he
wanted, or at least other people assumed so.
certainly the biggest mistake he ever made, but it gave him the feeling of
staying put, being away from all action and uncertainty.
And defeating Voldemort only took weigh
in. Peace wasn’t new, just uncommon back then.
*
When Harry woke up, it was already dark outside. Now he was
staring at lights coming from the street moving around the ceiling. He must
have been too lost in his thoughts earlier, it was
hard to recall opening the door, taking off his jacket and boots and laying
down in bed. It happened again. Some people started to call him the daydreaming
type lately, but this wasn’t the issue – he basically just performed simple
actions without concentrating on them and drifted off somewhere else, then usually
found himself back with short lapses in memory afterwards. But it wasn’t
daydreaming, just regular thinking. Reality was rich enough for him, but it became
richer if you contemplated everything it provided. Such attitude could be
described in words varying from ‘obsessive’ to ‘gay’ for majority of people.
Harry never considered himself a thinker, even now, and funnily it presented
yet another thing to worry over. There was something very ambivalent about this
constant pondering – he always enjoyed himself, but subsequently felt angry,
irritated and out of place. Somewhat richer and impoverished.
What bothered him the most was that he used to know how to fully
concentrate on life, take in every moment, but couldn’t make use of this
knowledge anymore. It wasn’t as if he had to actually
Being contemplative was unimaginably strange to him then. Being analytic wasn’t
given a chance to happen. Now it kept him restless.
*
When he finally got up, it was already 9 p.m. Looking
curiously around the flat, it surprised him the place was in fact
well-conditioned. Walls seemed to have been repainted quite recently, not a
tiniest spot dirtied them. Furnishings varied from early 60’s dresser and
kitchen units, to quite modern, but nevertheless cheap-looking, dining table
and sofa. Bathroom was no surprise – blue and suspiciously reminded Harry of
plastic. The room he had slept in earlier had venetian
blinds over the window, one single plywood wardrobe standing in the corner, a
sight that caused the feeling of insignificance wash over Harry again. To his disappointment,
there were no blankets or pillows over the bed. He already felt tired at the thought
of buying new ones.
The second room was very small and practically unfurnished, if you
didn’t count an old-fashioned carpet and a chair. Harry only peeked inside for
a moment and decided against using it at all – what was he supposed to do,
meditate on the floor? A reasonable man would probably turn it into a
more than a half of this place was a waste of space to him,
he’d do better with a condo. Why condos were more expensive was hard to
comprehend.
“Maybe there’s more single, subconsciously agoraphobic men out there than
I thought”, he muttered under his breath.
*
someone yelled above Harry’s head. He defensively turned around and covered his
ears, wishing he could instantly fall back asleep.
“Geeenay, lemme
be...” he mumbled.
“It’s just me mate, wake up,” the person said, tugging his arm lightly,
though forcefully enough to fully awaken him. Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily
and looked up to find a freckled, ginger-haired head hovering over the bed.
“Ron?” Harry’s voice was hoarse and barely
audible, so he coughed and repeated, “Ron? What are you doing here?
“Well, if 2 p.m. fits into your definition of morning, I’m sorry. Came to check up on you, thought you might be
ill or still busy with moving in since you didn’t show up at work.”
Ron’s voice rang weirdly in his ears. Harry wanted to sit up, but the
act seemed to require more effort than ever. His head felt heavy, limbs appeared
to be limp, as if they weren’t much of attached to his
body. He tried to decide whether “I’m okay”, “Fuck off” or “Put the damned
blinds down” suited the situation better, nonetheless his stomach spared him
the trouble, urged to get up quickly and run towards bathroom.
Next thing, he was staring at his vomit splashed all over the basin. The
smell made him even more dizzy. Somehow managing not
to fall down on the floor, Harry spat, splashed cold water over his face, took
a few gulps of it and cleaned up the mess a little. When he emerged out of
bathroom, Ron was spread comfortably on the sofa, undoubtedly testing it. Harry
wondered if excusing
himself with stomach flu was even worth a try.
“Er... sorry you’ve been worried, mate. Had a
little housewarming party over here last night, y’know?
“Guess I wasn’t invited?” Ron laughed out and
hit him on the shoulder.
Probably thinks I’ve
been with some girl.
“But I’ve figured out that much,”
he continued to grin madly, gesturing over empty beer bottles under the table.
night, knowing his imagination.
But as long as his best friend was under an impression he’d had company,
it was alright. Harry didn’t want Ron to know he had been drinking all by himself.
Not that he made a habit out of it, but it surely would be an embarrassing fact
to admit. And hard to explain.
“Okay, I’m going back to work then. Unlike you, I prefer finishing my
job before midnight,” Ron got up and moved towards the
door. “See you there, mate.”
Harry smiled and watched his friend leave.
*
When he got out of work, it was nearly
laugh, but Harry really appreciated he could show up at any time he wished as
long as the job was done, for a change. After they both finished the
downrightly unpleasant. Everybody appeared very surprised when him and Ron didn’t
expect to be moved into the higher ranks instantly and preferred to gain both
field and office experience the way it was for everybody else. But as soon as
people caught on, they started exploiting it, hampering their way up and labeled
them as not ambitious enough – an office euphemism for “lazy”. None of these
actions were open, but they always led to more or less minor disagreements; as
a result, it took no longer than a year for Harry and Ron to be considered
outcasts. Ron always laughed it off and blamed Harry’s temper, but it was
getting equally under his skin. They decided to quit and set up their own
business.
As far as making decisions goes, this one was the easiest. Agreeing on
what to do next was another thing. Harry had to listen to all Ron’s bizarre and
sometimes revolting ideas, whereas his own were always laughed or waved off. They
would probably be still arguing by now, if it weren’t for Hermione’s help.
Basically, she didn’t do nothing, just planted an idea in their heads, knowing
they both would like it. She merely suggested they should do what they were
best at while working together – solving mysteries of all kinds. Apparently, what
Ministry lacked the most were real experts, many Auror
and Department of Mysteries cases and projects were
abandoned because there weren’t enough capable witches and wizards to handle
them. Harry thought it wasn’t really surprising, the way Ministry often shun
skilled employees.
Within days, they made up their minds. A month later, they were ready
for action. It didn’t take a lot of preparation – just settling a few legal
matters (a job generously left for Hermione), finding a place suitable for an
office (though Mrs. Weasley thought the junction of
hardly suitable) and a bit of advertising (capitalizing Harry’s name did that).
Of course there had been the matter of naming their establishment, which oddly
enough turned out to be hardest. After a prolonged debate they agreed on
decided to take up on cases both from the Ministry and private customers, and
in general opinion only Ministry of Magic workers were experts. They wanted to
show there were other professionals.
Smiling a bit at his sentimentality, Harry Apparated
to a spot close home he sought out for this purpose in advance, without
stopping to reminisce. Being their own bosses was hard at first and demanded a
lot of self-discipline, but neither of them was lacking in this department. In
no time it stopped being problematic, though Harry sometimes felt like giving
up, and probably would if it weren’t for Ron’s enthusiasm. People considered
them too young and too inexperienced to be successful, but soon started to
recall their past achievements and spread the word around. The business began
to pay off, which was all it took to make Ron feel content with his work. Even
Harry wasn’t complaining much.
Not that I ever dared
inside the elevator, remembering to push the right button this time.
affair, and he wouldn’t take it well if I –
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elevator in