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The Gift by HannahHeart
Chapter 1 : Blame The Floo Powder!
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 2

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“Harry! Harry!” Harry could hear a voice urgently whispering his name, penetrating the thick fog of sleep. He flapped a hand aimlessly, trying to get rid of the noise. However, it still carried on persistently whispering his name. Had Harry been awake enough, he would have made a mental note to remind himself that flapping a hand in mid-air really does very little. However, he was still half asleep, so instead he replied, somewhat blearily, “Whazamatta?”

“Harry! Wake up!”

This time, Harry sat up, pushed his hair back from his face and groped blindly for his glasses, which he seemed to remember having left on his bedside table. As soon as he had stuck them (albeit wonkily) on his nose, he looked toward the door, that being the logical place for people to enter a room. There was no-one there.

Confused, Harry swivelled his gaze to the window. There was no-one there, either. Luckily, the voice decided to help him out by whispering, “Oi, over here! In the fire!”. In the middle of the dying embers was Ron's head.

Harry, whose sleep-addled mind was running a bit slower than usual, was a little bit freaked out by the sight of Ron's head- his first thought was that Ron had been kidnapped by Slodges (creatures which liked to place people in odd places- at least, that's what Luna had said). However, he eventually remembered Floo powder- which confused him even more, seeing as Ron's bedroom was right across the passage from his, and it was the middle of the night.

“Ron? What the-” Harry half-fell out of bed, and shuffled over to kneel by the fireplace. Ron seemed to have noticed how confused Harry was, and hastily started to explain.

“You know how creaky the passage is, and Mum's got ears like a bat, so it was either Floo or Apparition, but I remembered you didn't like that time George Apparated in on you...”

Harry grimaced. He could remember George's Apparition all too well... Both had remained mentally scarred, and George still blamed Harry, though no-one knew quite why- after all, Harry had said he was going up to change...

“Anyway,” said Harry, trying to brush the memories away. “What's so urgent you need to wake me up in the middle of the night for? It must be four at the latest?”

Ron decided not to tell Harry that it was, in actual fact, quite a lot earlier than that, and instead took a deep breath, ready to launch into his story.

“Well...” He paused, obviously considering something. “Can I come across? It's a bit cold and uncomfortable here.”

Harry, still wondering what was so important it warranted waking him up in the middle of the night (despite it being a rather well-known fact that he loved his sleep) nodded.

Ron clambered through the fireplace and stood up, shivering. Grimmauld Place, which had become the base for a lot of the Order Of The Phoenix members, could be quite cold at the best of times, but Harry and Ron (who had Regulus and Sirius's rooms at the top of the house) always felt as if they had the worst deal.

“Erm- d'you mind if I use your duvet?” Ron asked, sounding a little sheepish. Harry nodded. He was cold, but at least he had thick pyjamas- Ron was wearing very thin pyjamas because they were the only ones Mrs Weasley could find in maroon.

Ron pulled the duvet around his shoulders and sat on the bed. Harry lit a lamp, and put it on the floor before sitting down next to it. He looked up at Ron, who was now admiring one of the posters on the wall (they had never been able to undo Sirius's sticking charm, much to the annoyance of Mrs Weasley, Hermione and Ginny), and seemed to have forgotten the purpose of the visit.


“Wha- oh, yeah.” Ron took another deep breath. “Well... I was asleep then I realised it's Hermione's birthday in a few days Mum's organising a party because it's her twenty-first but I don't have anything so please please help me Harry!” Ron gabbled, before throwing Harry an anguished look and taking a few more deep breaths.

“Yeah- er- 'course, mate. We can try and find something tomorrow.” Harry replied in what he hoped was a calm and reassuring voice, trying not to show that he didn't really think this was urgent enough to be woken up for.

“Thanks mate. Always knew I could rely on you,” Ron grinned, before turning to look at the posters again.

“Any time. Erm- you going back to your own room now?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I should go and make the most of George being at the flat- he's not around to snore.”

George stayed in Ron's room when he was at Grimmauld Place; however, recently, he had been spending more and more time in the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where he and Ron both worked.

Ron's final sentence cause Harry to smirk a little- he had heard George's comments on the bonuses of not having Ron snoring when he was at the flat.

Ron stood up to go, still with the duvet around his shoulders. Harry coughed, and looked away innocently.

“Huh? Oh. Duvet. Right.” Ron placed the duvet back on the bed, then went over the the fireplace, where a small plant pot was hanging. He took a handful of a sort of pink sand out of the pot (Floo Powder had been recoloured after the battle, as green light brought back too many painful memories for most families) and threw it into the fireplace, where pink flames shot up.

“Night!” He called cheerily to Harry, before taking a final look at the poster, saying “My bedroom!” and vanishing into the flames.

Harry could hear his bed calling to him quite loudly. He blew out the lamp and got back into bed, inwardly wondering what the next day's shopping trip would be like.

Next Chapter

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