If at any point in the past ten years someone had told Reid that he would willingly be finding himself living under the same roof as Harry freakin' Potter (in a house charmed into practical nonexistence that had been inherited from some accused murderer and came furnished with a lunatic house elf, of all places), he would have likely laughed
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He nodded at Reid before reaching to fill up.
He'd grown mostly over his feelings toward Reid, mostly because he'd had far too much on his mind lately to remember he didn't like him ( ... )
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Reid busied himself with pulling the kettle off the stove, pouring a carefully measured, perfected over years of habit, amount into the awaiting bowl of dry noodles, and idly poking at the softening soupy jumble with his fork. He focused instead on his coffee as he impatiently waited (which he usually didn't, all too often digging into semi-crunchy noodles and still nearly-boiling broth despite his better judgement) for the whole thing to settle into its edible state.
"I, uh- I heard you got to meet the Fawcetts," he chipped in, casually throwing a quick glance up to catch Harry's reaction.
As much as he adored Skylar...well, her family was a bit of a different issue-
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"Ah, yeah-" he said, his shoulders shaking as he tried to prevent his laughter. "And it was a right disaster-"
He had always been skeptical of Skylar's relationship with her parents, how she always lamented ever having to return to Ottery St. Catchpole. He hadn't understood how that was possible, thinking Skylar was lucky to have parents at all. But then, he met her mother.
"I don't think that's happening again for a long while."
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Oh, to have been a fly on the wall at that particular family dinner-
"If I'd've known it was happening, I might've actually been tempted to warn you-"
He and Skylar had known each for nearly fifteen years. And for nearly fifteen years, Skylar's mother had continued to greet him a barely-concealed level of disdain and annoyance.
And he hadn't ever been sleeping with her. He could only imagine the hoops Harry had been made to jump through-
"So- Mrs Fawcett- what a bitch, right?"
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Harry shook his head, his eyes briefly focusing on the spot of ramen waiting for Reid on the counter. He knew the bloke liked that stuff a lot but for breakfast? His nose wrinkled briefly before he moved to the table in the center, sinking down into the seat nearest to him.
"Apparently Skylar is a mindless love-sick disappointment and I am the devil-"
He shrugged.
"I mean, I guess I see the second part but the first?"
He sighed.
"Yeah, Skylar pulled us out of there before we even started eating."
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Reid let out another huff of laughter, then jumped up to take a seat on the counter next to his resting bowl, poking his fork at it to test the quickcooking progress. The look Harry aimed at the cooling noodles wasn't lost on him, but it was one he'd gotten too used to receiving over the years to be bothered by it - let them judge all they wanted, he'd kept himself from starving for barely a pound a day for a solid five years. Cheap and easy. Whatever.
"I imagine they both had an earful to hand out about this-" he pointed up to vaguely indicate the house around them, "-whole thing."
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He ruffled his hand through his hair as he laughed. He didn't blame them exactly for the way they reacted to it all. Not many parents wanted their kids shacking up before any sort of commitment- well, commitment that came with a shiny ring.
But he didn't see the rush in that with Skylar.
"Her mum was really unpleased with all this-" he told him, gesturing again to the house before taking a sip from his mug. "Her dad seemed alright, though."
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On his own, Skylar's father really was perfectly pleasant, had been since Skylar had first taken him around to hers the summer after their first year (and had been even more so once he had realized just how not interested he was in having anything less-than-pure to do with Skylar). Her mother, however, had apparently never gotten over whatever speculative dislike she had somehow managed to garner for the skittish 11-year-old who had attached himself to her daughter, every year greeting him with a 'still here, are you?' sort of look. He had stopped caring right around the same time he shot up nearly a foot over the course of a summer and developed a sharp sense of sarcasm-
"I'm sure you're not asking for it, but here's a tip- if you accept the fact that Mrs Fawcett is always going to be displeased with everything, you'll be a lot better off. It's not actually personal."
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Mrs. Fawcett somewhat reminded him of his aunt and uncle, that permanent look of dislike splayed across her face almost heart-warming in a sense. If there was anything Harry had become used to in his lifetime, it was unpleasant adults in his life, sneering at him for one reason or another.
He connected it to his severe dislike of authority.
And snobbery.
But it was Skylar's mother and he was going to be as respectful as he could possibly be.
"Aye, yeah, I figured," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I take it she's not exactly hugs and kisses to you, either?"
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"Think of how she treated you, then subtract the whole 'Boy Who Lived' fame, and the bottomless Gringotts account, and the probability of giving her grandchildren to fawn over, and you might be getting close to picturing the sort of attitude I've been getting from her since i was twelve," he shrugged, rambling that whole thing out with that sort of semi-sarcastic tone that was mostly reserved for topics he forcefully made a point of not caring about-
"Like I said- not personal. Not really sure why she dragged you in there to bother with it, to be honest-"
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"Erm- that might have been my fault, I guess," Harry admitted, shrugging his shoulders as he titled his head. "Her mum just kept Owling and I figured we might as well get it over with-"
If only he knew.
"If only I knew."
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