A Walk in the Park, a harry potter fanfic

Warnings: frottage, and homophobia (by some)

A/N: the single dash shifts POV from Piers and Harry; the double dash signifies third omniscient.

The air was hot and dry, the grass was pale yellow, and the park was empty, save for a fifteen-year-old kid. He had shaggy black hair that always seemed to stick up in the back; round glasses with a thin black-wire frame; and a weird sort of scar on his forehead just above and slightly to the left of his right eyebrow, supposedly the result of a nasty car crash that killed his parents and left the barely-over-a-year-old infant an orphan. He was wearing baggy clothing that belonged to his massive cousin; today, it was an elephant-grey shirt and worn, holed denim pants, no doubt held secure by a strip of straw-rope, since his aunt and uncle refused to properly take care of the boy – even to the extent that they neglected him a respectable belt for the huge hand-me-downs. At least they fed him and gave him a bed in which he could sleep, even if they didn't buy him clothes that fit him.

But underneath the swamp of material, the boy was thin and well-muscled. He was light on his feet and had fast reflexes; he was also something of a smart-aleck, proof that the beatings never really got to him, that his fire still burned, that the wings of his spirit hadn't been crushed by the fist of his relatives. The boy was sitting on the swing set, his feet pushing him slightly back and forth, never leaving the ground.

As Piers stood watching the boy – almost a man, now – he couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt that he had had a hand in the numerous beatings. Sure, he had never hit the kid himself, just merely prevented him from fleeing, or stood back and did nothing, even when the small kid could barely draw breath without coughing and wheezing. He was tired of being somebody's lackey; it was time to put away those childish games of bully versus defenceless kid; it was time to grow up and play the game of tolerance, acceptance, and kindness. The knowledge of how much the boy needed tender, loving support wasn't just privy to God; the whole of Surrey knew it. Nothing was said, however, because either the kids were too afraid to stand up to Dudley or they were part of Dudley's gang. He was both – no longer. The adults just minded their business, knowing the boy wasn't in grave danger because the Dursley's were too worried about outer appearances for rumours and speculation to mar their façade of normality, not to mention that the paperwork and coverage required to properly document the case was time-consuming and exhausting; there wasn't even a guarantee that anything would be done. There were bigger problems to be solved than the rather outlandish child favouritism.

The park now occupied two as the blond-haired youth stepped up on the kerb separating the road from the recreational area. He was behind the boy and managed to casually walk up to the second swing, mirroring the other boy's actions, and toeing around the dirt and gravel underneath him for subtle movement. The boy never once turned to look at him; he hadn't given any sign that he acknowledged Piers at all. Oh well, he thought. He wouldn't have been surprised if the boy left the park without a word being said between the two of them, considering their shaky acquaintance.

'I take it the rest of you aren't far behind,' the boy spoke. Piers felt the harsh tone of "you" slice through him, and he hated himself for the reason that the boy had referred to him as being representative of Dudley's gang of thugs. But he had been a part of it – no longer. He looked up, unable to keep remorse for his past actions out of his expression. The boy turned to look to him and Piers was startled by the mesmerising colour of the boy's eyes; they were a piercing, verdant green. He had never noticed them before – he was holding the boy from behind while Dudley punched him or the boy's eyes were shut tight while he braced himself for blow after blow of his cousin's meaty fists.

'It's just me.'

The boy gave an indifferent sigh, contrary to the tensed voicing of his question. 'I'm surprised any of you have the courage to face me alone, considering I go to St. Brutus'; that I'm a freak.' He spat out that last word with such hatred, he almost seemed like a different person altogether – like an "incurably criminal boy".

'You're not a freak.' The sentence was simple and to the point; Piers wanted to show the boy exactly how much he wanted to change his ways. 'And you don't go to St. Brutus'.' Surprise replaced the anger in the boy's eyes; his eyebrows shot up, and the scar took refuge under the wildness of his raven hair.

'What do you mean? Of course I do!' Piers could hear the nervousness in the boy's voice and knew he had been right in his accusations.

'You and I both know that's a lie. Your aunt and uncle know it's a lie, and I wouldn't be surprised if Dudley knew the truth, as well.' Before the boy could make any further protestations, Piers cut him off. 'Why were all my letters returned unopened?' He could see the boy's eyes widen considerably and pressed on. 'Yes, Harry, I wrote you, every week. And the week next, the letters were right back in Smeltings' mail, with "return to sender" stamped across them. Finally, the Head wrote to me and told me there was no Harry Potter at the Centre, so don't you sit there, trying to get me to believe that lie of your family's. What is it about you they're so secretive of? Why did Dudley pick on his own family more than he did anybody else? And don't you dare tell me that it's because you're a freak, because you're not!"

Harry had barely moved throughout the entire confession; his eyes had returned to somewhat their normal size, his breathing was slightly more laboured, and his hands were clenching the metal loops of the swing's chains – the differences in the before and after were subtle, but present. Piers' own breathing became short and deep as he waited in agonising patience for Harry to respond. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, turned his head away, got off the swing, and walked back toward his home instead.

This time it was Piers who opened his mouth, not to speak, but to stare dumbstruck at Harry's back. How could the boy just dismiss this so nonchalantly, as if the matter would be dropped if he just ignored it? Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy, to be sure. He wasn't a freak; he just wasn't normal. There was something strange about him, and Piers was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if he had to stay in Dudley's circle – a little longer.

Harry was confused. Why would Piers suddenly be coming up to him and saying these things? And why had he been trying to contact him at all during the school years? He had to write Dumbledore and tell him the story – he didn't want to do anything risky that would expose the Wizarding World, but he just didn't know what to do. When he finally got to the house, he went straight upstairs and took out some parchment, his ink and quill already on the desk.

Headmaster,

I was recently subjected to an interrogation by a concerned neighbourhood kid about my whereabouts during the school year. My aunt and uncle had told a few that I went to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys and, when the word had spread, the kid apparently had been trying to contact me there. The school contacted back and told him that I had never been a patient of theirs. I'm not sure what I should or shouldn't say to the kid. I just walked immediately home and wrote this to you. Any advice on how to deal with this problem would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He folded the letter in half, rolled it gently, secured it with a bit of string, and tied the scroll to Hedwig's outstretched leg. 'This letter goes straight to Professor Dumbledore, girl, alright?' The snowy owl hooted softly in acknowledgement before ruffling her feathers, spreading her wings, and catching as many updrafts as possible for height and secrecy purposes. Harry was lying prone on his bed, his arms folded over his head, breathing slowly in and out, wondering why Piers Polkiss was interested in him so suddenly. He flipped over, his head now cradled by his entwined hands, and exhaled a single deep intake of air.

The heat of the day was unbearable and he was soon asleep, beads of sweat sliding backward into his hair, a few landing on his pillow as they crept down his neck. A few beads of sweat trickled from the bridge of his nose and snuck their way into the corners of his eyes. He woke up, rubbing the irritation out and blinking several times to clear away the salty perspiration. The sun was setting, but inside the house, it was still sweltering.

Piers noticed the white snowy owl fly out of Dudley's old bedroom, the one where he usually hid some of his toys on which he had sat, or thrown, or torn apart during his many tantrums as a child. As a kid, Piers had befriended the massive boy in order to keep away from being one of the bully's targets, but now that he was grown, he could safely detach himself -- once he found out Harry's secret. Piers stared up at the window as Harry collapsed, on his bed most likely. Dudley showed up from around the corner, panting from the heat; he greeted Piers with a lift of his hand and Piers nodded in turn.

'Your cousin's strange,' Piers told him when he got close enough. He turned up to look at the window again, and then looked back at Dudley, who was shrugging in response. 'Oh, come on, the kid keeps a pet owl; seriously, the guy's strange.' He actually thought being able to tame an owl was sort of interesting, but he was willing to try any approach to get Dudley to open up about his younger cousin.

Dudley had sat down in the grass and lit a cigarette, taking a puff here and there; Piers couldn't help but thinking that, considering Dudley's condition, smoking probably wasn't the best thing at the moment. But he nevertheless sat down beside the self-proclaimed leader, denying the offer when Dudley held the fag out to him. 'Yeah, he's strange alright,' Dudley said, inhaling the nicotine again. 'The guy creeps me out.'

Piers nodded in understanding. Even though he wanted to get to know the enigmatic individual, he had to admit that talking to snakes and jumping onto school roofs wasn't exactly normal activity for a small boy. 'Yeah, remember the zoo?' When Dudley nodded, Piers continued. 'That was weird, huh? Wonder what happened. Harry seemed really quiet after that incident. I think he was talking to it.' Again, Dudley only nodded, albeit half-heartedly this time; he seemed to be more interested in smoking the fag than holding a conversation about his cousin. 'I've been thinking a lot about that, and . . .' he paused to lean in closer, as if he was afraid to mention it at a stronger volume, 'I think Harry caused that accident.' Apparently, Piers had said the right thing, because Dudley stood up and squished the butt end of the cigarette against the dry grass, making sure no sparks caught the lawn on fire.

'Come here,' he said. Piers followed Dudley away from the house and stopped when Dudley turned to him abruptly. 'Look,' he said in a whisper, 'the boy's a freak! He makes things happen, he's not normal, my parents send him far away during the school year because they're afraid of what he'll do to them if he's closer to home. They send him to a place where there are more freaks like him.'

'Do to them? Why would he hurt his family?' Piers was a little frightened at how Dudley explained his cousin's abnormality.

'I don't know; he just harbours a grudge against the world, always cynical of everything.' Dudley was speaking lower than when he had started. 'Look, what I'm about to tell you may sound . . . a little out there . . . but you have to believe me.' Dudley leaned in really close and spoke with such a whisper that Piers could hardly hear him. 'Harry did set that snake on us; he can talk to them; he worships some sort of pagans or heathens . . . I'm talking about real black magic.'

'He talks to snakes?' Piers was really confused, so he just nodded politely to Dudley and drifted slowly to his house, thinking about what Dudley had said. That couldn't be true, could it? If Harry could actually talk to snakes, wouldn't he have been able to ask them for help during the many beatings? Yeah, so that must have been another cover story. But wait . . . Dudley had stopped punching him after the zoo incident . . . maybe that was when Harry had discovered his ability. Piers had decided to wait until tomorrow to confront Harry about these musings when a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned around and saw it was Dudley pulling him backward.

'You want proof? I'll show you.' Piers was intrigued and, despite his wanting Harry to trust him as a friend, he wanted Harry to have no choice but to trust him. Piers nodded.

'I'm in,' he said.

Dudley led the way back to his house and Piers followed him up the stairs to the old bedroom. Harry was sleeping on the bed. Piers could tell the boy was uncomfortably hot, but at least he wasn't aware of it at the moment. Dudley bent down to check out what was most likely Harry's school trunk. He opened it carefully and silently, and Piers looked at the contents. There were books dealing with a variety of subjects no ordinary man could understand. Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Divination . . . Harry may not be normal, but Piers didn't think he was dark if he was learning how to defend himself against it. He saw a small wooden stick lying on top of Harry's desk and picked it up, noticing that instead of pen and pencils, the boy used quill and ink -- how odd. He turned toward Dudley, showing him the oblong object.

Dudley seemed scared by the ornately-carved twig and Piers gestured the stick toward Harry, quietly asking if it belonged to the sleeping boy.

When Harry opened his eyes, it was to find his wand pointed at him, Piers holding it, and Dudley bent over his trunk. He swallowed; it was so quiet, he could actually hear the gulping sound. He looked directly into Dudley's eyes with such horror and disappointment that the larger man looked worried that Harry might be the aggressor this time. 'Dudley,' Harry said, 'what have you done?'

His cousin shifted his gaze downward and shut the trunk. He briefly glanced up to look at Harry, but couldn't seem to keep eye contact. 'Look, he already suspected it; I just confirmed it.'

'Dudley, do you realise what you've done? You've exposed us! Look, I have to talk to Piers, just go downstairs; and I wouldn't tell your parents about this if I were you unless you want them making a rather nasty scene.' Dudley hurried out of the room without so much as a care for the friend he'd led up here.

Piers was rooted to the spot. Oh, he had heard every word the boy spoke, but his body just wouldn't react, and he watched as Dudley flew out of the room on Harry's command. After the door had shut, and he heard the click of the chambers as they set into their respective niches, he turned his head and looked at Harry. 'I'm so sorry,' he said. Now he believed that Dudley was telling the truth, but he didn't quite think that performing magic made someone a freak. He handed the stick of wood to Harry, hoping that the boy would take this as an offering of some sort of peace between them. Harry took it cautiously, as if he thought that Piers was trying to trick him. 'I'm really sorry; I just wanted to know the truth.' He dared a step closer, but Harry circled around him and Piers shifted towards the bed and sat down, feeling like a child who was about to get punished for trespassing. 'What are you going to do me?' Piers just couldn't seem to keep the quaver out of his voice.

'I'm not going to do anything to you.' As if he had been there, standing invisible, the entire time, a tall, strangely-dressed, man with a long white beard suddenly appeared at Harry's bedside. Piers leaned backward as far away as he could, so far that he hit his head on the wall. He instinctively muttered a curse and rubbed his palm over the throbbing bump.

'Harry, did you happen to hear what the young boy was saying; I seemed to have had another bout of deafness; I dare say my age is catching up to me.' With a muttered word, the man flicked his stick toward Piers; Piers found that the bump on his head no longer hurt and he stopped rubbing the back of it.

Harry smiled impishly at the new stranger. 'No, sir, I didn't hear a thing,' he said innocently. Leaning closer towards Piers, he whispered, 'He tends to do that a lot.'

'What? Show up at random or go purposely deaf?'

Harry gave a chuckle. 'Both,' he said.

The wizened man looked like he was trying to swat some sort of pesky flying insect away from his ears. 'Is there a bee in here, Harry? There seems to be an awful lot of buzzing going on.'

Harry shook his head, smiling, while Piers looked at the man oddly. Was the entire population going temporarily crazy, or was it just this man? 'Look, sir, if I may?' Piers was hesitant to speak up but found the courage when it seemed like he wasn't facing any grave punishment. At the man's nod, he continued. 'I'm really sorry for what I did, but I'm fine with it, I really am. What's going to happen to me?'

'My dear boy, a simple Obliviation will fix this problem,' the old man calmly stated.

'Obliviation! I don't want to die! I promise to not tell anyone, please!'

The elder held his hand up, waving the boy's fear away. 'No one is going to die, young man. It's a spell that will simply erase your memory of the strange events you connect with young Mister Potter here.'

'No!' Piers said adamantly. 'I don't want you doing that.' He leapt off the bed and stood behind Harry, planting his left hand on Harry's left shoulder and his right hand on the boy's waist. 'Please, Harry, I'm sorry I didn't have your permission, but don't let him erase my memory of this. I'm glad I found out, I really am!' Harry had his head turned and craned backward so that he could look Piers in the eyes. He looked stunned that Piers would be so opposed to such a simple spell.

Harry turned around so that he could face the trembling boy. He set his wand on the desk and removed the boy's hands from their positions but kept them in his hands for support. 'Look, it will all be over in a few seconds, and then no harm done. Just stand still and let him get the procedure over with.' Harry nodded to the boy, asking if he understood that it was all going to be okay. Piers just seemed more frightened than calmed by this, and he shook his head violently.

'No!' Piers went to the corner of the room farthest away from Dumbledore and Harry rushed to the boy, afraid that he might be going into a panic attack. He cupped both hands on Piers cheek and looked him straight in the eyes.

'Look at me.' When Piers refused to open his eyes, preferring to instead shake his head, as if it would all fade away into a dream, Harry pressed on. 'Look at me!' Harry surprised himself with the sharp tone of his voice, but it caused Piers' gaze to directly level with his.

Harry was prepared for Piers to start apologising again, he was even prepared for him to get angry and perhaps violent; but he wasn't prepared for him to start pleading. 'Please, Harry, don't let him take away my memories of you -- they're the ones I love the most. I remember a lot about you. At break time, when we were in primary school, you would always sit by the steps and read books -- you always seemed so alone. And then there were the small garden snakes that would sleep in the sun, curled up beside you, and you never seemed to mind them. Please, Harry, I don't think it's strange.' Piers placed the palm of his right hand against Harry's left cheek. 'It just makes you special. Don't let him take you away from me.'

Harry didn't know what to say. He had never thought that anybody had paid attention to him during primary school, much less someone who was one of his cousin's cronies. Maybe Piers had just been afraid of Dudley, like so many of the others. 'Hey,' he whispered to the boy, 'everything's going to be alright, you'll see.' Harry started to turn toward Dumbledore. 'Professor, now wou . . .' Harry found himself unable to say anything else, because at that particular moment his mouth was covered.

Piers knew Harry was going to tell that old man to spell his memory away, and used his right hand to pull Harry's face back towards his, kissing him. Piers let all the love he had for the boy pour through him and into Harry, wanting him to know just how much Harry could trust him. Kissing Harry felt so right, so perfect, that he couldn't help but want to continue their connection until Judgement Day.

Harry pulled away from Piers and stared at him for a few seconds. When Piers leaned forward to instigate a second kiss, Harry hastily stood and backed away towards Dumbledore. He turned his head to converse with his Headmaster, only to see him inspecting the shoulders of his robes carefully and picking at non-existent hairs. The man feigned to take notice of almost everything -- very selective, he was.

'Professor, can I talk to you privately for a moment?' Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded and flicked his wand. 'Now, Harry, what is it you want to discuss with me?'

'I know the Wizarding Law prevents Muggles from knowing about us, but there has to be some sort of loophole regarding those in relationships, right?'

'Are you implying considering such a relationship with this boy? Harry, listen to me,' the old man advised. 'When dealing with adults in a long-term commitment, such as two engaged or married, then, it is acceptable to disclose to the Muggle their partners' abilities. Being over-age is important since, if the person doesn't take the news well, the wizard or witch can always erase the memory of the conversation. It is different when dealing with minors, as they are not allowed to do magic outside of school -- not to mention their hearts can be somewhat fickle. It's better to keep your magical ability private from Muggles at this age. There's less of a chance for word to spread by accident.'

'You mean the Ministry doesn't trust minors as well as they do adults?' The idea disgusted Harry, as he knew that there were more duplicitous adults than children -- and it just so happened that the majority of said adults seemed to work in the Ministry -- or for Voldemort -- or both.

'Yes, Harry, I'm afraid so,'

'But what about wizards and witches who grow up in a Muggle family? Take Dudley, for example -- he's the one who brought Piers up to my room. What's to stop any of the children from letting it slip that their older or younger brother or sister does magic at a special school? Shouldn't the Ministry take that into consideration, as well? They can't rely solely on the parents to stop their kids from telling stories about their siblings when they're not around them all the time. I don't think the Ministry thought this out thoroughly.'

'Harry, do you really think Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and myself just leave after disclosing such news? We make sure the siblings are prevented from mentioning the fact amongst members outside of their immediate family.'

Harry felt ashamed of himself for having doubted that the professors would make sure the secret stayed within the families. But . . . 'Why was Dudley able to tell Piers?'

'I can't be sure,' Dumbledore admitted. He looked over at the boy crouched in the corner and lowered his voice somewhat. 'But I'm sure Mister Polkiss might just be able to handle the news; if you start to suspect anything, don't hesitate to contact me. You have a fine owl, Harry.' With that, the Headmaster flicked his wand once more, releasing the Silencing Bubble around them, and departed with a pop, leaving Harry wondering about certain Ministry laws and how many loopholes the average person could find.

An arm around his waist pulled Harry away from his musings. Piers whispered in his ear, 'Am I going to be okay?' Harry nodded and turned to face the boy.

'Yes, you are.'

Piers inhaled deeply, and let out the breath with a sigh and a nod. 'Thank you, Harry,' he said, pulling the shorter boy towards him and bending his head so that their foreheads were pressing together. 'Thank you so much.'

Harry raised his hand so he could cup it around Piers' nape; he pulled him in close for a kiss and Piers responded instantly. Being the taller of the two, Piers took up the dominant position and walked them back towards Harry's bed. Harry fell backwards on the comforter, Piers landing on his chest. Their groins met as Harry reflexively wrapped his legs around Piers' waist, holding him against his own body. Piers kissed Harry hungrily, as if Harry was the only sustenance he would rather have for the rest of his life. Harry was more than happy to succumb to Piers' ardent fervour. Harry's arms circled around Piers' neck, pulling him closer with his own desire. Piers' kissed down his neck and Harry arched upward, causing their cocks to press together, resulting in another gasp of want from the wizard.

'Is that what you want, Harry?' Piers whispered huskily in his ears, teasing him with the question. Harry bit down on his lips to keep from releasing a load moan, instead letting out the pleasure with yet another muted exhalation.

'Oh, yes' was all Harry had time to say -- or rather breathe -- before Piers thrust his cock up against Harry's and claimed his mouth.

'Wait,' Piers said, breaking their connection. 'Look, my mom won't be home for another couple of hours; why don't we head over to my house?' Harry nodded, understanding his concerns. As the two disentangled themselves from each other, they realised they were too late in voicing said concerns. Harry's relatives were standing outside the open door and the murderous expressions in their gaze told the two all they needed to know.

'Well,' Harry started, 'Thank you for raising me and I won't be seeing you lot anymore. Cheers.'

'Too right you won't, boy. You're never to set foot in this house again. Pack up and leave,' Vernon's voice was surprisingly calm as he gave Harry his last command. Harry made quick work in packing up the few belongings he had, most of which could fit easily into his trunk. He grabbed Hedwig's cage and set off with Piers, both waving goodbye to the Dursleys forever.

Piers took the cage from Harry soon after leaving the house and the two continued on to the next neighbourhood towards Piers' house. When they finally arrived, Piers led the way up to his room and Harry was glad to stop dragging his trunk behind him, setting it by the door. Piers set the birdcage on top of his dresser, ridding himself of his burden, as well. With a sly smirk between the two of them, they hastily rushed at each other, eager to pick up where they left off. They entangled their fingers in each other's hair, crushing their mouths together in the process, not seeming to care if they were capable of taking breaths or not.

Piers was quick to discard Harry's oversized shirt – or rather Dudley's small one – and the gray mass of material fell to the floor, soon forgotten. Harry, however, was in no hurry to discard Piers of his shirt. He rather liked the way the white shirt clung to the Muggle's fit torso. He ran his hands up Piers chest, letting his palms and fingers form to the boy's muscles. Piers hugged Harry to him, revelling in the wizard's touches as they caressed his skin through the shirt.

Piers moved his right hand away from Harry's waist and mirrored the raven-haired boy's actions, slowly trailing his fingers upward. They barely touched Harry's chest; even so, Harry could feel the static charge tingling his nerves and he shivered inside with anticipation. His breathing was laboured and his cock was aching as it pressed tightly up against Piers'.

Piers was positively growling in frustration, the sensations of Harry's hands roaming over his skin clouding his senses, allowing the wonderful sexual headiness to envelope him. His forearms moved in between Harry's and he pushed them apart, gripping Harry's biceps and forcing him to his knees, following shortly after. He lied down on top of him and started stroking him, cock to cock. Their breaths were more vocal now, and Harry's head was arched back in pleasure. Piers relished in the feel of Harry's abdomen as it fought against his own for a deeper breath. Harry's right hand had crept up and was now clamped down on Piers' nape. He tilted his head downward and pulled Piers in for an agonisingly-pleasurable kiss.

Piers couldn't help but moan into Harry's mouth as they kissed; Harry's moans ended up more as responses to Piers'. Piers lowered his head further and settled in the crook of Harry's neck as Harry leant up into his. They rubbed their cocks together more fervently, the material between them providing rough friction. Piers could feel his orgasm building to its peak and bit down into Harry' neck as it washed over him.

The bite was enough to trigger Harry's orgasm as well, the wizard's load shooting against his trousers, mixing with the Muggle's spunk on his. As the frottage slowly ended, the two boys' breathing slowed down; Piers rolled off of Harry and settled next to him, eagerly awaiting the short wait until he could solidify his relationship with Harry Potter, who just so happened to be a wizard. And he would love that wizard until the world existed – no longer.