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( the breakfast )
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━━ The morning after the party, nearly every sixth and seventh year groaned as they rose out of bed. Mila hadn't done any drinking, but she was certainly tired after staying up nearly the whole night; that was enough to elicit a groan out of her.
She spent the weekend with Harry. They didn't do anything in particular, but it was exactly what both of them needed. They hung out in the common room, discussing what had happened to each of them in their time apart.
"How was Sirius? I didn't really get to see him."
Harry chuckled, "He wasn't happy about that. First thing he asked me every morning was if we made up and when you were coming over."
"Man, I'm glad I had Remus then. I did not want a constant reminder."
"You were lucky," Harry agreed, "I didn't believe that veela lie for a second. As soon as Sirius got back from your house, he told me off for being such an idiot."
"Well, clearly you didn't listen," Mila teased.
He nodded half-heartedly, but his mind was elsewhere, "He kept saying that it's important you had people you loved around you."
"Huh? Why?"
"He just said you would need it."
Mila's forehead creased, "You know, Harry? I think your godfather's getting kooky in his old age."
"He's thirty eight, Mila."
"Still."
"I'll tell him you said that," Harry said.
"You're such a tattletale, Potter."
"Anyway, what did you and Lupin do?"
Mila thought back to her very uneventful holiday, "We finished painting his house. That was pretty fun."
"Wow, I didn't realise you had become such a nun without me."
"Shut up. It was nice. He had so many things that needed doing. We put shelves up, we scrubbed every square surface of the house. Oh my gosh, Harry! I forgot to tell you. I even have my own room. Not bad for an orphan, huh?"
