Interestingly enough, the first visitor to his humble abode was Ginny. They’d had a bit of a falling out after the war: an overall disagreement on the direction their relationship was taking, and had broken up promptly.
He was pretty unclear on whether there were any bad feelings though (Or if he was capable of having any feelings at all).
Anyways, she came over for lunch. The atmosphere was pretty tense, but not the worst that he’d been in, and it got a lot better after the initial few minutes. Ginny was doing well for herself - she’d been scouted for a Quidditch Youth League and was in a pretty serious relationship with Dean Thomas.
Harry expected some kind of reaction from his side when she spoke about the last bit, but to his surprise, there was nothing but genuine happiness for her.
Still, that was another closed chapter in his life.
They wined and dined, and they talked for hours on end. She told him about how the Weasley’s were doing, and how they missed him immensely. Nothing had been the same since Fred’s passing, she lamented, but they were pulling through.
The day passed with the blink of an eye, and before he knew it she was getting up to leave. With her departure came false promises to keep in touch, and an empty request for him to visit The Burrow sometime soon.
She left and closed the door.
Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind it all that much.
With a resigned glance, she groaned. “Fuck, you’re right. God I can’t believe my best friend is such an asshole to me!“
The wheelchair and sat right next to the couch where they both looked at each other and absolutely busted their guts laughing.
Wiping a tear from his eyes, Harry asked her, “Have you eaten?”
Fleur look to him incredulously, “Do I look like a woman who can eat when I’m planning my Best friend’s wedding?”
Harry put his hand to his chin thinking. “Nope, I’ll cook you up something nice, if you want, within reason, of course.”
“That would be lovely.” Fleur immediately grabbed the controller to turn on the TV and kick her feet up on the coffee table.
“So, how was work?” Harry asked from the kitchen.
“Great, for the most part, but I have this one particular customer that just won’t stop calling me and telling me how she wants things done, it’s really irritating.”
“Like what?“ Harry asked her, completely enthralled.
Fleur took a deep breath, and started speaking about her day, “I had to deal with her changing the color palette of the wedding seven times today, seven fucking times! She insisted that red and silver was to be the color scheme, and then black-and-white, and then gold and red, all I could do was beg God to kill me at that point, I was sick of that shit.”
She heard Harry’s wheelchair turn on one more time as he had placed her meal on his table before making his way to her.
“Yikes,” he responded, “Can you tell me her name? Maybe I can convince her to go easy on you, I may hate my fame but the least I can do is help you out of this situation.”
“Maybe, but it’s not her and worried about, it’s her fiancé. If he gets mad at me I don’t know what happens to my career.”
“Maybe even our friendship…” She whispered to her self.