A Cup of Tea, Please

12 | Serious-ly Dead

It was a lie if Harry said that the 'small' celebration didn't wear him out. Luckily enough though, he wasn't called to work the next morning so he was free to spend the whole day flopping around in his bed, clutching his midsection as he was consistently harassed by his growling stomach, which was likely upset from the ungodly amount of sugar he'd consumed the night prior. If this was how they celebrated a pregnancy, Harry didn't want to imagine what it would be like when Bill and Fleur's child was born.

Well, maybe he didn't spend the whole day in bed. More like . . . the whole week. OK, maybe Harry did get up to do basic human things like go to the toilet and shower and admire himself in the mirror, but other than that, he was basically bedridden from the celebration. Or that's what his excuse was to not have to go outside (aside from his short Auror duties).

It wasn't a surprise to Harry that next Friday had already arrived as he pulled himself out of bed. He stumbled a bit as he wandered off to the bathroom, making him wonder whether he'd forgotten how to walk from lying down so much or if it was just because he was drowsy.

In terms of the clothes he wore, Harry ended up opting for a loosely-fitting top which was a dark shade of green with a small Holyhead Harpies emblem on the left side of his chest, enchanted to beat to the rhythm of his heart. It was perhaps a bit morbid now that Harry thought about it, but at least it would be obvious if he were to die (which was possible according to Malfoy). He paired with that a pair of black joggers, not allowing himself enough time to properly think through his (probably atrocious) outfit choice.

Before he knew it, Harry was weaving through smartly-dressed businesspeople hurriedly heading to their workplaces. How did Muggles have this much energy so early without using any charms or potions? Whilst having magic at his fingertips was more efficient, it was probably less impressive than having your life sorted out without the help of supernatural means.

It was now that regret struck him like an Unforgivable Curse as Harry realised how hideous his outfit looked, if he could even call it an outfit. Despite the fact that Malfoy was wearing his typical completely black suit, something about it made him stand out like some sort of supermodel, whereas in comparison, Harry looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.

He could tell that Malfoy thought the same about his outfit as he slowly eyed Harry from top to bottom as he approached, with a grimace that he tried to hide, albeit badly.

"Nice outfit," the blonde forced out, as if it hurt him to say it.

"Don't lie."

"Thank Merlin," Malfoy released a breath that appeared to have been held for some time. "Your outfit is egregious. Absolutely sickening."

"Alright Malfoy, I didn't ask you to berate me on my style choices," Harry said, taking a step back with raised eyebrows in an attempt to escape Malfoy's criticism.

"What style choices?" Malfoy shrieked, drawing the eyes of passersby. He lowered his voice, "Who even let you buy this thing? It's horrible! Whoever told you to get this undoubtedly hates you."

"I bought it to watch a Holyhead Harpies game with Ginny," Harry said dryly, crossing his arms.

"Oh . . . sorry," Malfoy replied quietly, covering his mouth with his hands.

"Maybe we could go clothes shopping today?" smirked Harry. "Since you claim to know so much about fashion, and my wardrobe is most likely 'egregious' in your words. . . ."

"That's not part of the deal. You said we're only going to The Leaky Cauldron."

"But if that goes well . . . ?"