Chapter 1: Hide It
To Jared, who I think I will always love.
HPCD
I was in the library that day. I skipped Transfigurations in favor of a Potions essay that I should've done last night, but didn't under the pretext that I felt sick. I didn't, of course, but with everything going on about the Ministry, Dumbledore and Umbridge, and Hermione and Ron feeling on edge about everything related to them and me, it took little effort to convince them.
I think I've found that balance in faking a sickness without making it look fake. I just make it look like I'm trying to hide it, and that it's not bothering me, and reverse psychology would take my friends' perceptions immediately.
But anyway, I was in the library. It was the Bubotuber section-Merlin knows why a whole shelf of books is reserved for them-and I took one of the books precariously perched on a shelf. It was a mistake I would regret later.
Books cascaded down, like the shelf was vomiting and emptying them on me. Of course, it wasn't at all icky like puke. They were rather painful on impact, though, and quite dusty. I was in between a groan of pain and a healthy sneeze when a hand grabbed my arm to fish me out of the pile.
"You alright, Potter?" he said.
It was Cedric Diggory. I've only ever heard of him in terms of Quidditch—I don't know much about Hufflepuffs, only those in my year. Justin, Ernest, and Susie, I think. And Henesy, or some other similar name. I don't care much for remembering names. But somehow his name didn't escape me.
"Diggory. Thanks," I said, as another sneeze catches up to me. He laughed.
"You're all dirtied up," he said, smiling. I stood on my own two feet and dusted myself. I could already feel the eyes of the other students on us. Cedric towered over me, and I couldn't help feeling dwarfed.
"Yes, well, for Potions, which I never thought I'd make much of an effort for," I said.
"I could say the same thing," he said, taking one of the books. It happened to be the one I was reaching for. "Read this one. If it's for Professor Snape's Potions essay, I remember writing the exact same thing two years ago and getting full marks with this book."
I wanted to say, 'Yes, I was actually reaching for that,' but I didn't want to make him sound like a know-it-all, even if in my head, he was kind of Hermione-ish in that aspect.
"Uhh, thanks," is all I said.
And then, as usual, whenever I was in the most unsettling of predicaments, Malfoy shows up, with a diatribe of carefully selected barbs for words.
"What's this, Potter? Seducing your next conquest?" he said, sneering in that way that I'm sure he thinks is devilishly attractive, but only manages to make him look like a monkey.
"I rather think that for the Boy-Who-Shits-Rainbows, you'd have much more … taste."
"What's it to you, Malfoy?" I smartly retort. Which, if you didn't notice, was me being lame and sarcastic about it.
"Oh, what's it to me, Potty?" he said, in a tone that I would rather not describe. (annoying, Holier-Than-Thou, whiny-shit sounding)
"Maybe the fact that you're parading your poufter self in public. It's simply disgusting."
First, like I would care what Malfoy thinks. Second, I was actually disappointed at how low Malfoy was going, without any intimidation and setting of grounds. He didn't start slow and prolonged anything this time, just went straight to the point. Shame.
"That's all you got, then? Trust an arrogant git like you to think that pointing something out is an insult."
I hear a brush of murmurs, and it gives me chills. True, I've never confirmed my sexuality to anyone, despite the many rumors which went around about my apparent homo-ness. I didn't give a flying fuck then, and I didn't give one at that moment.
"So you ARE a flaming fairy!" Malfoy said, cackling to himself. That earned him a few sympathetic laughs, and also a few glares that told of how insensitive he was.
I grabbed the book from Cedric, who by the way showed no sign to interrupt, but instead chose to observe our little altercation.
"Malfoy," I said as calmly and cheerfully as possible. "if there's one thing I know about being gay, it's that it takes one to know one."
And with that, I walked out of the library feeling smug.
HPCD
News spread. By dinner time, Hermione and Ron were hot on my heels.
"So, it's true then?" Ron said, spreading a shower of crumbs down his robes.
"Oh Ron—" Hermione reprimanded, both for spreading turkey bits on his robes because he talked while his mouth was full, and forgetting his tact and asking me a personal question.
"Yes," I said, eating a turkey leg.
Hermione looked at me, flabbergasted. "Yes?"
I nod, not wanting to be scolded myself for my lack of table manners.
"Wait, Harry—"Hermione said, looking at me quizzically, "you are answering the question which you think we're thinking, right? If you're thinking what we're thinking, then you confirm that yes, you are indeed, gay?"
I grin. "Indeed."
Hermione huffed, and thrust a hand into the pocket of her robes, fishing out a few coins, and giving them to a satisfied Ron. It took the cogs in my brain a few seconds to keep up.
"You were betting…?"
They both nodded guiltily.
"On me being gay?"
They said nothing, and went back to their food. Their faces didn't mask their anxiety at being scolded.
"And what made you lose, Hermione?"
She glanced at me, then smoothly let a spoon shovel some Risotto into her mouth.
"I honestly thought you were having one of your darker months, Harry. You know, You-Know-Who, your favorite class being overtaken by a pretentious, evil amphibian, lack of contact with Sirius …"
She looked apologetic, and I can't blame her. It would be rather logical, I mused, for her to assume that I've been dismal. I can't blame her. I've been feeling down lately. Like, a bit gloomier than the usual gloom. I don't know why either, but I guess it's gotten to a point where people notice.
"I'm sorry," I said, "it must be troubling you guys."
"You don't have to apologize, Harry," Ron mouthed around his food, table manners aside once again. "Just remember that we're here for ya. And hey, you can always write to Snuffles. Isn't he writing back tonight?"
"Yeah …" I said, smiling suddenly. I've been having loads of fun writing back and forth with my godfather Sirius. He's about the only father figure I have around (I consider Dumbledore as grandfatherly) and the fact that he's gayer than even I was only made things more interesting.
Dinner after that was rather uneventful, except for one last question that came to mind.
"Hey Ron, what made you think Hermione was wrong with her bet?" I asked.
"Well, you kinda forgot to put your Silencing Charms one night Harry, and, err, I kinda heard you being pretty vocal about having Krum bugger you until your nuts explode—"
"Ronald!"
"Ron!"
After much embarrassment from Ron's comment, fueled by the Gryffindor's non-offensive laughter, we left the Great Hall for our dorms. Near the grand staircase, I saw Cedric catch my eye and I let Ron and Hermione go on without me, under the pretext that I left some notes back at dinner.
"Potter," he said, his one hand in his pocket, while his other clutched at the strap of his messenger bag.
"What's up?" I said. He looked at me confusedly, which makes me realize he must not be used to Muggle slang. "I mean, what is it?"
"Oh, err," he said, "thanks. Back there in the library. For defending my honor, or whatever that was."
"Um," I said. "I'm not really sure what you're thanking me for."
Cedric smiled. If the sun was high and it was morning, it could've been megawatt. Could've. I try to smother any ambitious thought that the straightest Quidditch player in the school was interested in me.
"Well, thanks for … hmm. Let me put it this way. You're the Boy-Who-Lived-"
"I am?" I said back, as a form of joke. He once again didn't catch it as one.
"Um, yes?" he said, in a confused tone that sounded somehow endearing. He shook his head back and forth. "And male or female, it's flattering that you didn't deny any form of attraction that you might have towards me, in front of Malfoy, of all people."
Err, what?
"Err, what?" I said, voicing my thoughts exactly. Don't tell me he's an egotistic bastard like Malfoy is.
He looks at me with a straight face for a second before bursting out in laughter.
"It's a joke, Potter. Learn to know when one's on you," he said, still chuckling at what I'm assuming was my comical, what-the-bloody-hell face.
"I could say the same thing," I retort. He really could take his own advice.
"What?"
"Nothing," I said sweetly. "Soo, where is this going, really?"
Cedric grinned again, and I find myself melting inside. He's quite handsome.
"I meant what I said when I thanked you for defending me," he said, running a hand through his hair in one smooth, habitual motion.
Well, alright, he's bloody good-looking.
"It's," I took a gulp of saliva, cause goodness knows it's about to pool out of my mouth as drool, "cool. Honestly. Malfoy's the biggest douche in this planet."
"I second that," he said, and he thrust his hand back in his pocket. "Well, see you around."
And he's off to wherever the badgers live. I stood there in the middle of the Great Hall, thinking, since when did Cedric Diggory turn out to be quite the catch?
HPCD