It was a beautiful day of October. The forbidden forest had put his golden leaves hood. The lake was still and dark, ink stain in the landscape. The air was fresh but the sun kissed his face in a tender, shy embrace. The raven haired teen sighed. Why could he not appreciate the autumn last lights on the lake side with other students, worrying about the next essay, laughing at the latest Weasley's twins prank ?
Witnessing a murder and the rebirth of the darkest wizard of the century was certainly a good reason, Harry thought bitterly. The burden of worry that had weighted on his shoulder the whole summer was slowly crushing him. Looking in direction of the lake, he could see a redhead lean to the ear of a bushy brunette next to him. They laughed, carefree.
Harry felt... put aside. Anger rose in his chest. They did not understand. They were still kids.
Harry resumed his walk, going in the opposite direction. A moment of solitude in the forbidden forest would allow him to sort his thoughts and calm him.
Voldemort was back, but he was still showing a low profile. Half, if not more, of the wizarding population believed he had gone off the rockers proclaiming his return. If the rumor mill was to be believed, the latest conspiracy theory painted him as the new soon to be Dark Lord, taking over the underground dark society and killing Diggory to assert his reign. It frustrated him to no end. He wanted to shake them, to make them understand. With Voldemort lurking around, they were not safe anymore. They had to take measures, to add wards to their home, to keep their children safely tucked in their bed. They had to do something! But no, a few lies printed here and there, and the population remained as docile as a sheep flock, happily following the carrots handed over by the Ministry.
The Order was supposedly working against the Death Eaters, but Harry was kept in the dark as to what they were doing. How was he supposed to defend himself against the press attacks when he had no clue about what was happening out there? And all this to protect him. Wonderful job so far.
As if dealing with immature friends was not enough, Harry had to manage the whispering mass that was the student body. Joy. One could think that the boy who lived would be used to all the rumors and the whispering, but he was sadly still not immune to them. If he could usually dismiss most of them, the nasty ones still stung. Feeling ready to break down, Harry took most of them too seriously. He knew it, but somehow he was not able to let go. He still tried to defend his position, making a bigger fool out of himself.
The worst was Umbridge. The pathetic excuse of a woman was a pain. Not only did she antagonize Harry every single lesson she taught, she clearly enjoyed to humiliate him. Her toad face was distorted by an hideous smile every time the teen grabbed that blasted quill. The result of a week of detention was a permanent scar on the back of his hand. "I must not tell lies". At first, taking the insult at heart, Harry had decided he would never lie. A hundred line later, he had cursed his truthful mouth. Resigned, he had stopped actively speaking the truth. As long as in the safe walls of his mind he was still admitting the truth, remaining silent was not lying, he told himself.
Malfoy's little stunt was the final straw. Since the bathroom incident, he kept on taunting Harry, making innuendos about his supposedly devious sexuality, making outrageous enticing move like eating bananas with half closed eyes, moaning. Or licking his spoon while staring at Harry. At the same time, he was provoking him, calling him a liar, a fool. This constant wobbling was disconcerting.
Already during the previous year, Harry had not been able to stay clam in front of the spoiled aristocrat. His doubts about Harry's sexuality and his insults somehow hurt more this year. His childish taunts were like scratching already raw flesh. So the raven haired teen had decided to forget about that fateful night, and to avoid the blond like plague. He had enough on his mind without dealing with the prat.
"Harry Potter."
Harry jumped, startled by the eerie voice. The blonde girl from ravenclaw – Luna was it? - was standing in front of him, caressing one of this horrible boned horse.
"Hello Luna" he answered, unsure.
"I can see them too, you know. The Thestrals I mean. "
She smiled. Harry had the weird sensation that she was speaking at someone behind him. Not daring to turn his head double check, he nodded.
"They are pretty nice to talk to, when your mind is too full. What is bothering you, Harry? Your brain buzzes with Nargles " Her back was no facing the other teen has she threw raw meat at the animals. "I mean, beside the Voldemort business and the Kornshak living in your trunk?"
Harry grunted noncommittally. What were Nargles anyway? The blonde girl was humming. She threw five more raw meat pieces. Harry watched the Thestrals fight for them, mesmerized.
"You know, the wizarding world is a bit behind the muggle world, where homosexuality is concerned. But you should not take that bullshit into account" She said after a while. "It feeds the Nargles in you brain." she added as an afterthought.
"What... what do you mean?" Harry asked, taken aback by the bluntness of the little blond girl.
"Wizards think gay people are mentally ill. But I am not crazy, nor are you Harry." She nodded to herself. "Beside, my father and I believe you, about you-know-who's return."
"Thanks I guess? Wait... you mean you like girls? But I don't, I mean I do like girl, not boys."
Harry winced. Even to him, it sounded more like a question than a statement. The little blonde looked at him, her face dreamy.
"Yes Harry, I like girls." She giggled.
"How did you know?" Harry asked, curious.
"It's simple, Harry. I tried both, and one was dull and the other exquisite."
Harry was not sure if an answer was needed. Luna's gaze was staring behind him again, out of focus. They stayed silent for a while before going back together to the castle. When they separated, in front of the Statue of Barmy Barnabus, the little blonde went to the left, bouncing.
On his way back to Griffindor's tower, Harry thought about what Luna told him. So the wizarding community was prejudiced against homosexual. That was not a real surprise, coming from a society were arranged marriages were usual, with an oligarchic political system and a taste for blood purity.
The teen crashed in his bed, savoring the solitude. The smell of washing powder exuded from the washing powder. Harry inhaled deeply. It smelt like home.
Poor Luna, both barmy and lesbian. Not a wonderful cocktail to get accepted in the wizarding world. At the same time, Harry was not mad nor gay, and the same wizards were ostracizing him. The thought hurt. All his childhood he had longed for acceptance, friendship, a sense of belonging. Yet, every body at the school was whispering in his back. Maintaining his relationship with Ron and Hermione was strenuous, his latent angry mood and their lack of maturity getting in the way every now and then. He was alone, again.
Luna, at least Harry supposed, was not. She said she had been with boys and girls before. She surely had to experiment a bit to be certain of her sexuality. Harry was envious. He had never kissed in his whole life, nor got any kind of romantic relationship before. Before Hogwart, the girls were afraid of him, or from Dudley. They avoided him. And here... well, he had usually been more busy trying to stay alive and save the school than getting involved in any kind of relationship.
Harry buried himself a bit deeper in his bed. There had been this girl, Cho, from Ravenclaw. Whenever she looked at him, Harry felt a bit funny. Last year, she had an appreciative expression that made him feel utterly self-conscious. She liked him, though he did not know if he liked her.
How would kissing her feel? He closed his eyes and tried to picture a smiling Cho. She would have been laughing at one of his joke, and then, she would look at him, mirth sparkling in her eyes. He would bent slightly his head towards her, and kiss her softly. Maybe he would even dare to caress her breast. What would she look like if he were bold enough to unbutton her shirt? Maybe she would wear a colorful bra. Or no, better, no bra. What would he do then?
Harry breathed deeply.
These forbidden thoughts were delightful.
Aunt Petunia would bring him to church right this instant if she knew he was laying in a bed, caressing imaginary boobs. It made the fantasy even more exciting. His aunt was such a bigot. Harry remembered pretty well the day when Petunia had discovered one of the neighbor lived with his homosexual partner. She had signed herself at least twenty times, rambling about demons and freak of nature living next door.
The teen remembered feeling curious about the freakiness of the neighbors. Little Harry, having no clue what an homosexual was, had often wondered if he had something in common with the two older men living next door, as he was a freak too. Old Harry had since understood that the two were forming a romantic item. Suddenly, the same curiosity that he felt as a kid possessed him. What kind of freakiness was that, having a relationship with another man? How did it feel like?
Feeling bold, Harry morphed the soft breast of the smiling Cho in a toned, hard chest. The skin under his imaginary hand still felt incredibly good. Curious, the fingers started to map the pec, caressed the nipple, trailed to the abdomen. The teen's breath grew faster. It was electrifying.
As he reached the hip of his unknown fantasy, a familiar heat was pooling in his belly. He dared to look a bit lower and was faced by the evident sign of male pleasure. Harry felt an answering tightness in his pants.
"Do you like what you see, Potter?"
Vision-Harry suddenly lifts his head to meet bottomless grey eyes. The scene is changing around him. In the madness of swirling colors, the grey gems stare at him. An undisclosed desire burning in the pupils. Suddenly, the colors stops their wild dance. Harry is in the Prefect bathroom.
He stares at the hand on the Slytherin hip. On the back of it, a red scar morphs into a sentence - I must not tell lies. He reads it over and over again. Then, slowly, he looks at the other face. A smirk is glued to the blond face, a taunt, daring him to admit the inadmissible.
Harry wants to push Malfoy away. He wants to ignore his painful erection. He wants to look at a smiling Cho. He wants it badly. Desperately.
"Yes," Harry says instead, softly. "It's exquisite."
He must not tell lies.