Badger and Lion
Created: July 8, 2004
Date Written: July 20, 2004
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! I'd sure like to, because the franchise would make me a multi-billionaire and forever remembered as the person who led millions of children to read, but I'm not. So I suppose there's no use in crying over spilled potion now, eh?
Notes: Italics denote thought; Bold obviously denotes emphasis, in case you don't know because you were holed up in Elvis's apartment for the past few decades. Oh, and sorry for not updating. I have had zero time to write for a while. Ooh, and also thanks for all of you guys that have reviewed (four, is it? Yes, I think that's right) and go read Ravine-Limit's stories if you get the chance. He's a H/C shipper too; yes, there's actually someone else!
Part 4: It's About Acceptance
The next day was absolutely grueling for Harry. He spent half of his time laying in his four-poster with the curtains drawn tightly around it, trying to convince himself that Hermione was a fool, that she knew nothing about anything and was better off ignored. But, as usual, Hermione was right, and he knew it: The time came now that he would just have to accept it. And yet he couldn't. How could anyone ever accept that? The raw, sinful feelings that you weren't supposed to have… the incompletion, the impurity, chafing at his conscience always, never ceasing and never slowing the pace. All day the thought chiseled at his already fragile brain, judging him; the voice spoke clearly and sounded so much like Draco Malfoy that Harry could've sworn he was standing right next to him, hissing reprimands in his ear. It was more horrible than he'd ever dealt with, yet at the same time, it was a wonderful, liberating revelation. And it was always one he'd never forget.
Finally, at half past seven, Harry unlodged himself from the convoluted tangle of his blankets and sheets and made his way out of Gryffindor Tower, feeling simultaneously terrified, relieved, and confused. He made very sure to ignore a tall, red-headed figure by the fire, as well as the jungle of brown hair beside him, though he could feel the stares. He could feel them, and he absolutely couldn't take it. He was torn between roaming around the library, between the towering shelves, and inhaling the musty smell of books; or perhaps walking down to the willow tree so near the lake, where he thought he might find the other Hogwarts champion. No, rebuked the Malfoy voice in its most jeering tone. You remember what Hermione said. You know that you can't talk to Cedric anymore, because what will happen then? Would you like to know what happens when you get closer to a boy like that? It was absolutely true, of course. Harry had learned, in that startling moment of clarity that he'd had just the day before, that he harbored certain unseemly emotions for another person—a boy, no less—and that it must be stopped at once. He knew that Hermione knew about it; when she had interrogated him in Potions the day before, the look in her eye, her choice of words, her tone of voice… she had known.
Would he perhaps ignore Cedric altogether? That was a thought. He'd be much better off, oh yes, and maybe even he'd begin to compromise with himself. Make a pact to pacify the screaming, insecure fourteen-year-old boy hidden under the scar and the raven hair and the pale skin. He would ignore Hermione, of course. He hated the way she looked at him. It was like she pitied him, but it was more of a judgmental pity, it was the look in her eyes that said it all. Harry couldn't accept it. He wondered vaguely as he made his way down the marble staircase if Ron knew, and found that he didn't really care, because he wasn't really gay. Right? No. Harry was normal, as normal as a person could be under the circumstances—what with the curse scar that twinged painfully when his arch nemesis was near, and his somber appearance that so mirrored his late parents—and nobody would think otherwise. He would make sure of that.
The weekend passed and he stayed holed up in different parts of the castle; the owlery, the library, an empty classroom or two. Every time he thought he saw Cedric in the halls he quickly turned around and made for the nearest escape; he would not let Cedric notice him. And every time he thought of ignoring Cedric, of treating him in this manner, his stomach gave a guilty squirm, but he didn't care. It was best to stop the problem at its source, and if so, the seventh-year Hufflepuff was indeed somewhere around the roots.
Monday started and Harry noticed with alarm that the second task was drawing uncomfortably near. When he didn't find his thoughts straying to the lake, he was wondering if he should talk with Hermione again—but no, that was preposterous. He wasn't ready to talk to her quite yet. He wasn't ready to talk to Ron, either, though he wasn't sure why. It was almost as if he were afraid…. Yes, he supposed he was afraid. Afraid of what Ron might say if they got to talking. Afraid that Hermione had confided in her other best friend about the secret she knew. What secret? I've got no secret. Harry Potter has no secret. I'm an open book, for Merlin's sake! No secrets here, no sir, that's not allowed. But he still stayed away from Ron.
Tuesday dawned and Harry had to stare determinedly in the other direction; he could feel Cedric's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He wished with every fiber of his being that the man would not come up to the Gryffindor table, hoping for more conversation, or maybe an explanation of his strange behavior. He prayed to whatever gods were listening, prayed so hard that he didn't even notice Hermione sit down next to him and shovel bacon onto his plate, looking at him intently. Harry yelped when he finally discovered his best friend was there.
"We need to talk," she said, drifting a spoon absentmindedly through her bowl of porridge.
"Do we?" Harry said, playing dumb. I've got no secrets—I'm an open book, remember? Read me. No secrets here. "What about?"
Hermione looked half exasperated and half sympathetic. She lifted her spoon, now filled with the colorless sludge in her bowl, and seemed about to take a bite of her breakfast when she said quite abruptly, "I haven't told Ron, you know. It'll be our little secret." Secret? I've got no secret. Ask somebody else, you've got the wrong person. "I think I could help you. If you only let me try, that is. I know you've been avoiding me, ever since Friday, me and Ron. But I can help you, Harry, I really can." Harry said nothing, but stared at the pieces of crispy bacon Hermione had placed upon his silver plate. I've got no secret. Nothing to tell, I'm Harry Potter, everyone already knows everything about me, anyway. Hermione took a breath and looked nervously at Ron, who had just appeared in the doorframe from the entrance hall and was looking tired. "We'll talk later, okay? At break or something. We'll take a walk and… and talk things over, okay?"
Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure why. No secrets. Nothing to talk about.
Cedric's eyes, his stormy-gray, fathomless, entrancing eyes were staring at him. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't let him be. Please don't look at me anymore. I've got no secret, can't you tell? I've been trying to convince you. You won't find secrets here, okay?
All through Divination and History of Magic Harry's mind was on Cedric. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of anything else. If he did think about something else, what would it be? Hermione and her words of comfort, her words of pity? The imagined look on Ron's face when he found out? Found out what? I've got no secret. Why won't you listen to me? Please listen to me. So he focused on Cedric. Tall. Muscular. Handsome. Silent. Smart. Cute. Kind. Caring. Hot. Compassionate. Hot. Attractive. Unrejectable. No!
Let's focus on something else for a while. Crystal ball predictions? No, that's just rubbish. Manticore executions of the sixteenth century? No, I've got Hermione for that. Hermione… His thoughts returned to her and he remembered assuring her that he'd meet up with her at break. But no—he didn't assure her. He'd nodded his head. It was a completely different vibe. He could walk away, he could run back up to Gryffindor Tower and scream into his pillow, maybe drown himself in a bathtub, perhaps the prefects' bathtub, that's where he and Cedric had talked—No! Not him. Let's think about something else. Like lunch. I'm hungry. Aren't I?
The bell rang. Professor Binns passed boredly through a desk to get a better view of the sky outside his window. Harry and Hermione hurried past Ron and out of sight before he could object and ran to the grounds, where other students were chatting amiably. Harry's heart was thumping as he passed the lakeside willow tree. It was thumping so hard it hurt."Hermione?" he said when they had stopped, leaning up against a wall to catch their breath.
"Mm?"
"Do you think anyone would notice if I just sort of—er—dropped out of school?"
"No, it would go completely unnoticed, because you're just an average student, nobody knows you." She paused to laugh quietly.
Harry didn't know what to say. Would he accept it? Would he finally tell Hermione about the things he'd been holding back? Could he? Would his brain let him, would the Malfoy voice allow him to do it? If he said it… that would make it irretrievable, final, absolute. He wasn't sure if he could deal with that quite yet.
"I think we really do need to talk," he said quietly. I do have a secret. I DO. Oh, God, oh merciful heavens, I have a secret.
Hermione looked at him, and Harry noticed something he'd never quite discovered before burning away in her eyes (they were like lamps—beacons, they could signal ships at sea, God, were they ever bright); he couldn't place it, but it was genuine emotion, and he knew in an instant that Hermione felt for him like she'd never felt for anyone else. She understood the position he was in—how, he wasn't sure—but she could help him through this. She could make people understand. She could be his friend, quite possibly his only friend after Hogwarts found out what he was… Hogwarts, and Cedric. God, would Cedric even look at him after he told everyone? Would he still like talking to Harry then?Before he knew it, Harry was spilling his deepest worries, tugging up his most painful, confusing, scarring emotions from a well deep inside of his heart, tears streaming down his face. He told Hermione about everything he'd felt and thought since the day she'd told him about his secret. I have a secret. I have a secret. He told her about trying to sift through these unwanted, alien feelings, trying to make sense of something in a world completely awry. And she nodded. She nodded and smiled. She inserted comments in every once in a while, smiling, her eyes blazing with compassion and friendship and love. She knew Harry better than even he was aware of, and he finally knew that now. That smile… it was so encouraging, so amazingly beautiful that he could cry—she didn't hate him, didn't want to judge him by the sins of homosexuality, she wanted to help him get through it, to accept it.
"Because, Harry," she said, still smiling that encouraging, elating smile, "in the end, it's all about acceptance."
He went to bed that night and he dreamed. He dreamed of Cedric. And when he woke up… he smiled. And he knew everything was going to be okay.
TBCDM, Signing Off:
Wow, that's certainly a doozy of a chapter. Very moving, I thought; much deeper than I intended it to be, but it worked out. Right? I guess I should ask my reviewers first. Oh, and speaking of first, first things first: Thank you for reviewing, people! It's made my day. Ravine-Limit, you've been a big help, I love your story (only a 3-6 more chapters to go? Say it isn't so!) and you HAVE to write more Harry/Cedric or I might have to kill you. Astherosewilts (right pen name? This is only by memory), thank you also for reviews, and the anonymous ones (MYSTERIE and Anonymous—is that right?). I appreciate reviews so much. But I'm greedy. God help me, I'm a review whore. So you know what that means? Er… REVIEW. That will always get you on the right path with me. And sorry for not updating for a while (see Notes above) because I've had no time to write, but I shall make up for it, people! Thank you, and tell me what you think about this chapter. Too deep? Too heavy on the emotion? I feel it's a particularly pressing, weighing thing to accept homosexuality (believe me, I completely know), and I had to reflect that in Harry: the consideration that it might be true, then the flat-out denial, then the acceptance, usually with the help of somebody you know. Hermione is always going to be the more sensitive one, right? Oh, and just you wait until Ron finds out. JUST YOU WAIT. Hint: It's going to be a redux of the night Harry's name came out of the goblet…. But more offensive. Okay, that was too big of a hint. But there you go.Onto part five (and if anyone knows Hermione's eye color, please share)! Dusk Magnum
