Chapter XII: Keeping Secrets
"Dios mío," Antonio murmured as he covered his mouth. Of the entire group, he seemed to be the only one surprised to find Alfred and Arthur kissing passionately on the muggle side of the platform. Madeleine giggled quietly to herself while Francis and Gilbert shared an amused glance, both plotting how to derive maximum amusement from the situation.
Francis sauntered over to the two oblivious Seekers. "Oh là là là, what do we have here?" he asked loudly, barely restraining the glee in his voice. He was practically standing on their suitcases by the time they noticed his presence. Arthur reacted first, jerking backward as he gave Francis his fiercest glare. Still caught up in the kiss, Alfred just blinked and looked a little dazed.
"They grow up so quickly," Gilbert added, mock-sniffling as he dramatically dabbed his glove to his eye. "It reminds me of Luddie. God, he has the cutest crush on the redhead next-door. He likes to pull her pigtails."
"Yes, I see the resemblance," Francis agreed, nodding sagely. "They are like the children on the playground with the way they bicker during Quidditch games. I'm surprised the whole school hasn't realized it yet."
"Are you quite done?" Arthur hissed, his face and ears growing redder by the moment. He grabbed his bag and walked toward the pillar that led to the hidden platform, pointedly ignoring the trio and their ridiculous commentary on his love life.
Francis caught up with him a moment later and grabbed the Gryffindor teen by the sleeve. Arthur whipped around and from the expression on his face it was clear that Francis had to explain himself quickly unless he wanted a hex in the face. Francis let go of the sleeve. "Don't worry, Arthur. We won't tell anyone," the French teen promised.
Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You won't? Why?"
Francis shrugged. "Pourquoi pas? I'm a proponent of interhouse relationships and amour in general... and it would be no fun at all to tease you if everyone knew."
Arthur nodded. "All right, then. Let's keep it that way."
"Of course, if you ever do anything to hurt him, we will show you what villains we can become," Francis whispered, leaning in closer.
They stared at each other for a long moment before Arthur finally nodded again, silently acknowledging the promise and the threat. The Gryffindor tightened his grip on his bag and stepped through to the other side of the platform.
Francis gave Arthur a jaunty wave and turned around to face the others with a broad grin. "So... who's going to have the 'talk' with Alfred?" he asked.
Alfred groaned and buried his head in his hands. His fellow Slytherins were even worse than his mother.
After the most uncomfortable train ride of his life, Alfred had never been happier to see the turrets of Hogwarts. Realizing he had only one evening left before classes resumed, he buried himself in the homework that he had neglected to do over holiday. With the help of some energy potions, he just barely managed to finish his essays.
The next day Alfred still felt a little tired, but he brightened up when he spotted Arthur in the hallway after Charms class. He resisted the urge to wave at the other teenager. Grabbing Arthur's hand and kissing him was also completely out of the question, as tempting as it was. Instead the American teen desperately tried to remember how he was supposed to act so that the other students wouldn't suspect that the and Arthur were secretly dating. What he needed was a suitably scathing insult, but he kept getting distracted by thoughts of how much he wanted to just kiss Arthur in the corridor.
As Arthur walked closer, Alfred managed to open his mouth and said the first thing that came to mind as they crossed paths, "Hey, Kirkland, heard you got a new broomstick." It wasn't technically an insult, but he said it in a taunting tone, and that was what mattered.
"Don't worry, Jones. I'll be sure to fly slowly so you can keep up out there," Arthur retorted as he walked past, leaving Alfred in his wake. Alfred sought a comeback to shout before Arthur was out of earshot, but all he could think of was 'your robes do nothing to show off your ass' and even he could tell that (1) wasn't an insult and (2) would not help keep their relationship secret.
Alfred sighed—insulting Arthur wasn't half as much as kissing him—and continued on his way to the dining hall where he found Gilbert and Francis plotting a Slytherin Quidditch victory over lunch. The American took his usual seat, the one with a nice view of Arthur. He decided that a little staring would be okay. If anyone asked, he could just say that he was studying Arthur to learn his every weakness. If comic books had taught him anything, it was that it was perfectly normal for rivals to be completely obsessed with each other. Just think of Professor X and Magneto! Yep, perfectly normal.
"...it's not bad," Francis said as he pushed away the rest of his food.
"Not bad? Come on, it's way better than 'not bad.'" Gilbert turned to face Alfred. "Hey, Alfred, tell Franny how awesome my awesome plan is."
The American stuffed a buttered roll into his mouth. He knew Gilbert well enough to know the right answer. "It's awesome?" he mumbled.
The older teen slapped him on the back. "Of course it is! I thought it up over break. See, there are three games left in the season." He ticked them off on his finger. "Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, us vs. Ravenclaw, and the main event, us against Gryffindor, assuming we both have the top scores, which we will. Anyway, I realized over break that we don't have any more games with the 'puffs. You know what that means."
"More beer?" Alfred offered in between bites of his ham sandwich. Beer was also a good guess when dealing with Gilbert's plans. In fact, beer was typically a key component of his plans.
Gilbert grinned. "That too. But first we train the Hufflepuffs, and they beat Gryffindor. Then we all go out drinking together. Awesome plan, huh?"
Alfred nodded absent-mindedly and reached for the desserts. He'd never heard of treacle tarts before arriving at Hogwarts, so he had to make up for 16 years of tragic deprivation. He added a large dollop of clotted cream to the warm tart. Then he realized that Gilbert's plan didn't actually make any sense. "Wait, how does that help us?" he asked before taking a second bite of his tart. "I mean, we'd get to see Gryffindor lose, sure, but is there a point other than schadenfreude?"
"Die beste freude," Gilbert corrected.
Francis smiled. "Ah, you suffer from a common misconception about how the games work. The winner is not necessarily the team that wins the final match. The Quidditch Cup is awarded based on point totals from all of the games," he explained.
"So fewer points for Gryffindor in their Hufflepuff game means an easier victory for us," Gilbert crowed. "See, I told you it was awesome."
"The only downside is that if we train the Hufflepuff team this year, they will know our strategy for next," Francis offered. "But Gil, Toni, and I are seventh-years. You were going to have a crappy team anyway."
"Sorry, kid." Gilbert added. "You should grab your victory now."
Alfred chewed slowly as he considered the plan. The Quidditch teams normally didn't practice with each other so they could keep their game strategy secret. But there was nothing in the rules that said they couldn't. Alfred thought that spending time with the Slytherin trio would leave him completely ignorant of the school's rules. It turned out the opposite was true. No one else knew the rules as well as the trio. They knew the rules backward and forward. More importantly, they knew exactly how far they could go without risking serious punishment. It was one thing to break the rules; it was much better to break the rules and get away with it.
Having watched the 'puffs play, Alfred already knew a few tips he could give to their seeker. But most of them focused on how to take advantage of Arthur's weaknesses, and that felt like a betrayal of the other seeker. The American bit his lip. It was a clever plan and appropriately sneaky, as befit Slytherin House. But if Arthur found out... he would be angry and upset. Alfred didn't know how to deal with his divided loyalties. He wanted his team to win, but he didn't want to hurt Arthur.
"Look, I don't mind if you guys help train the 'puffs, but I'm not sure I want their seeker knowing my technique," Alfred finally said. He was hoping to join a Quidditch team this year and finish his seventh year NEWTs with correspondence courses, but if he ended up staying at Hogwarts for another year, he didn't want to lose his advantage against the Hufflepuff team. And he didn't want to admit the real reason for his hesitation, because he didn't want to his teammates to think he was choosing Arthur over them.
Gilbert leaned forward and nodded. "I have an awesome plan for that too. We'll just train the beaters and the chasers. The 'puff beaters need to focus on attacking Kirkland with the bludgers, because that'll give their own seeker a much better shot of getting the snitch."
Alfred nodded slowly. "And they don't need to worry about the Gryffindor chasers scoring points because the 'puffs have the best keeper. That is an good plan," he said in genuine admiration. Gil acted like a screwball and a clown half the time, but he really was a smart Quidditch player.
"Kesese. Told you so."
In the end, the hardest part of the plan was convincing the Hufflepuffs to go along with it. 'Never expect help from a snake,' was a saying at Hogwarts for a reason. They didn't see why Slytherins would want to help them, and Hufflepuff normally sided with Gryffindor in questions of school rivalry. Nevertheless, the Hufflepuff team captain eventually (albeit grudgingly) accepted their assistance. She was finally won over by Francis's argument that allowing them to help train with the Hufflepuff chasers and beaters would show that hard work and perseverance (both qualities that Hufflepuff selected for) beat natural skill.
As the two teams practiced together, Francis and Antonio gave tips to the Hufflepuff chasers, who took turns scoring against the Slytherin keeper. Meanwhile, Gilbert showed the beaters how to use their bats to give the bludgers a good spin. With extra spin, the heavy balls flew faster and hit harder, creating enough force to seriously injure the other team's seeker. "Now, pretend that Alfred here is the Gryffindor seeker and try to hit him!" Gilbert shouted as he set loose a number of bludgers.
Alfred ducked and weaved, barely avoiding nasty hits from the flying balls. It took all of his attention just to avoid getting bludgeoned—he had no energy to spare for finding the snitch. Of course, that was precisely the point of having the beaters focus on the opposing team's seeker. Arthur wouldn't be able to catch a damn thing.
After a hard hit to the stomach, Alfred swooped to the ground and dismounted. "I'm done!" he shouted, calling off the attacks. He stumbled into the locker room and grabbed a potion of soothing ointment, grateful that he had the foresight to bring it along.
The American teen smiled, pleased with the Hufflepuff team's fast progress, but his smile faded as he remembered that he was helping them improve so they could attack Arthur with heavy bludgers. Alfred shook his head and pushed away the uncomfortable thought. He reminded himself that he couldn't afford to turn away any possible advantage; he was at Hogwarts to be noticed by a top-notch Quidditch team. If he won the Quidditch Cup, the Quidditch teams would definitely select him as their seeker.
He also soothed his conscience by reminding himself that attacking the seeker was the same strategy the Gryffindors had used against him in the second Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Really they had no one to blame but themselves if the Hufflepuff team used it against them. Still, none of his excuses or rationalizations made him feel any better about the possibility of Arthur getting hurt.
Alfred sighed as he ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. It was going to be hard not to warn Arthur about the Hufflepuff's strategy the next time he saw him. But he had to keep silent. There could be only one winner and Alfred was determined that it would be him.
Arthur ambled into the library as nonchalantly as he could and made his way past the shelves until he reached the back table. No one had ever commented on him and Alfred studying together in the library before, but he was afraid that they would start now. Everything about their relationship seemed more intense ever since they agreed to keep it secret. Fortunately, the students who spent most of their time in the library generally ignored matters as mundane as the Quidditch Cup rivalry.
"Hey," Alfred whispered as Arthur slipped into the seat across from him.
"Hi," Arthur replied quietly, keeping his voice low to maintain secrecy and also because they were in a library. Most librarians just shushed people who spoke too loudly, but the Hogwarts librarians preferred to use a silencing charm.
Alfred smiled back happily and kept glancing up at Arthur as they both did their homework. It was frightening and exhilarating that just sitting across from Alfred and sharing coy glances could make Arthur's heart race. The sounds of turning pages and the soft scritch-scratch of quills gliding across scrolls filled the library. After a little while, the two teenagers swapped essays across the table. Arthur corrected the spelling and grammar in Alfred's essay, while Alfred filled in the gaps in Arthur's potions essay.
And at the bottom of the page, Alfred had included a little note inviting Arthur to meet him in the abandoned North Tower on Saturday night. Arthur scribbled back an eager acceptance and tried not to blush. He heard a faint giggle, but ignored it in favor of watching Alfred's face fill with happiness as he read Arthur's response. They stared at each other like two dorks in love.
The giggle grew louder and Arthur dimly remembered that Alfred's quiet Hufflepuff friend typically joined them for study time. "You know, sometimes I think you two forget that I even exist," she said with a fond shake of her head. Arthur was too much of a gentleman to admit that whats-her-name was probably right.
As the week slowly passed, the charade proved increasingly difficult for Arthur to manage. His classes provided some distraction, but it simply wasn't enough to keep his mind (particularly his dirty imagination) from drifting to Alfred. It had been bad enough when he wanted Alfred and thought the American wasn't interested. Now he knew the only thing standing between them was the potential disapproval of the entire school body. Peer pressure won out over his heart, but it was a tough choice.
The worst part were the nightmares where his teammates discovered the relationship and kicked him off the Quidditch team. In his nightmares, he found himself jobless after graduation and relying on his aunt and uncle for a place to live. They forced him to clean the house and live in a broom closet under the stairs. He woke in a cold sweat, swearing to himself that he would earn his way onto a top-rated team and never have to depend on his aunt and uncle ever again.
Tired after finishing his Ancient Runes essay and hoping for a short nap before dinner to make up for missed sleep the night before, Arthur climbed up to his room. As he pushed open the door he discovered his cousin rifling through his belongings. He clenched his fist, annoyed at the little brat.
"Peter! What are you doing here?" he snapped.
His cousin looked up. Instead of looking guilty, he had a small smirk on his face. "Look what I found!" he said, brandishing a small potion bottle. "This must be how the Slytherin seeker cast a spell on you... with a love potion! But don't worry, I'm going to save you, Arthur."
Arthur sighed and grabbed the bottle. "This was a Christmas gift from Kiku, now get out of my room before I have to deduct points from Gryffindor."
Peter stubbornly refused to leave. "Is it alcohol? Mum and Dad say you drink too much."
"It's none of your business," Arthur replied, yanking the potion from Peter's grasp and placing it back into the trunk, where it was cradled by a bit of Christmas wrapping paper.
He was lying about the source of the gift, of course. It had been a present from Alfred, not Kiku, and a particularly thoughtful one at that. The potion contained Alfred's hangover cure. Arthur gently touched the wrapping paper. He couldn't find it in his heart to throw the paper away after the Slytherin had pointed out that the red and green colors were perfect for them. The Gryffindor Prefect relocked his trunk and made a mental note to invest in a better locking charm.
"Why were you with him in the library?" Peter asked accusingly.
Arthur had hoped that no one—especially Peter—would notice, but he was prepared just in case. He sighed wearily. "The Potions master suggested that I needed some help on my potions and for some reason she thought Jones would be a good tutor. Of course I wanted to say no, but I need to pass that course."
"So he is good at potions," Peter said, nodding to himself. He was apparently satisfied with that explanation, since his next question lacked the bravado of his earlier accusations. "Why didn't you come home for Christmas? Are you still mad about your broom?"
Arthur sighed again, feeling somewhat guilty for letting his cousin think that he had been avoiding him over the holidays. "Peter, I'd rather not be called a delinquent by your parents the entire time, and I had a lot of studying to do over break. I've got my NEWTs, remember?" he said, since he really didn't know how to explain to a 12-year-old that his parents weren't very nice people. They had expected Arthur to be grateful for taking him in, but they had never once apologized for the four years he spent in foster care (even though they must have known about his existence), nor had they ever spared a kind word for Arthur's parents. And they could be downright cruel about Arthur's trouble with potions. Apparently they viewed any academic deficiency as casting doubt on the purity of their magical bloodline.
"I wanted to play Quidditch with you," Peter whispered. "Remember how we used to play together with our cousins? I miss that."
Arthur bent down and squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Me too," he agreed. "I especially miss seeing the look of shock and dismay on their faces when they lost." There was something very heartwarming about seeing his older cousins defeated on the Quidditch field. It was probably because those wankers deserved it.
Peter grinned, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that tugged at Arthur's heart because it reminded him of Alfred. "They nearly threw away my Christmas presents when they heard I got into Gryffindor," the boy said proudly.
"You know, I think I would have enjoyed seeing that. But Peter, part of being in Gryffindor means that instead of spying, you should be doing your homework."
"Fine, fine," Peter complained. "I'll stop spying on you," he promised. Arthur was satisfied with that response initially, but after his nap, he realized that he should have made Peter promise to stop the spying altogether.
The north tower had once been used for divination classes, but now served as a storage room for extra classroom supplies and seized items. It also provided the perfect place for two teenagers to meet up without having to worry about prying eyes.
Arthur arrived a few minutes early. He set a subtle confounding jinx to confuse anyone other than Alfred who tried to enter the tower. They would reach the door and then forget what they were doing. Pleased with his handiwork, Arthur spent the rest of his time hunting for pillows or cushions of some sort. He found one old armchair that looked big enough for two. Even better, he pulled out an unopened bottle of rum he had confiscated from a surprisingly tipsy group of Hufflepuffs. There were no drinking glasses, but Arthur was ready to rough it. He took a swig straight from the bottle.
The American teenager arrived a few minutes late, which was on time by his standards. He grinned when he spotted Arthur lounging on the chair with a bottle of rum. Arthur offered the bottle and patted the seat next to him, making room for the other teenager.
"Y'know, I think I see why you aren't Head Boy," Alfred said with a laugh as he accepted the bottle and plopped down onto the armchair. He moved around gently, taking care not to spill the alcohol, and soon they had found a comfortable arrangement half-cuddling on the chair, with Arthur mostly resting on top of Alfred. Alfred took a small swig and coughed as the liquid blazed down his throat. "Damn, that burns."
"It's an acquired taste," the English teen casually replied as he tilted back his head and showed off his skill at smoothly drinking the hard liquor.
Alfred laughed. "Come on, Artie, I'm starting to suspect you're only here to drink." He claimed the rum bottle and set it on the floor next to the chair, out of Arthur's reach.
"I happen to like drinking."
"Yeah, but it'd be a pain to carry your drunk ass around without getting caught or having someone jump to the totally wrong conclusion. I mean, sure, you're adorable and hilarious when you're sozzled, and super affectionate... but, uh... actually, wow, maybe drinking is a good idea."
"I don't have to be drunk to take off my robes."
Alfred grinned. "Prove it."
Arthur obliged by sitting up in the chair and stripping off his outer robes and cardigan. He helped Alfred out of his own robes and then planted his lips on the other boy's mouth. The first kiss ended too soon (they always ended too soon), but Arthur immediately titled his head to begin planting rough hickeys along the American's neck. As Alfred sighed happily, he ghosted his own hands along Arthur's body, and, feeling particularly bold, rested his hands on Arthur's butt.
"Artie, have I ever told you that your ass is amazing?" he said in genuine admiration. Arthur deserved to know how absolutely sexy he was. And if Alfred had any say in the matter, he would hear it repeatedly for the rest of the year.
"Is it all you could ever arse for?" Arthur responded playfully.
"Well, let's just say I'm starting to get jealous of your broomstick," Alfred teased back. He wasn't sure if he should thank the kissing or the rum, but he liked it when Arthur was in a touchy-feely mood. He returned his hands to Arthur's hips and pulled the other boy into a hot and heavy kiss.
After a few breathless kisses, Arthur rested his head against Alfred's chest. The American wrapped his arms around the other boy and nestled his chin in Arthur's soft hair. He was going to have a hard time waking up for breakfast the next day, given his shortened amount of sleep, but he didn't care. Every stolen moment was worth it. He gently rubbed his foot against Arthur's leg and grinned when the other teenager grinned back at him. In the dim light, Arthur's smile looked soft and happy and perfect. Alfred loved their kisses, but Arthur's smile made him feel warm throughout his whole body.
"Alfred, say something in a Southern accent," Arthur whispered.
"Sure. What'd ya want to hear?"
"Oh, just anything."
Alfred grinned and drawled. "Well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn what you want," he said, leaning close as he delivered the line. Since it seemed to please Arthur, he continued, "I just hope ya ain't fixin' to finish the rum, darlin' mine."
"Maybe. Keep talking and pass the bottle," Arthur replied, trying not to lose himself over something as silly as an accent, even one spilling from the lips of a handsome young man. The pleasant buzz filling his body was probably just the alcohol.
"Y'all got some strange kinks, Art," Alfred added fondly.
Arthur tilted his head to the side and kissed the other teenager on the cheek. He relaxed in the warm embrace, enjoying the rise and fall of Alfred's chest beneath him. Eventually they both heard the bells chime midnight. Arthur sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He corked the bottle and slipped it back into a secure hiding space.
They left the warm armchair and retrieved their robes. As they descended the spiral staircase that led to the base of the tower, Arthur turned to face Alfred and grabbed his hand. "I should warn you. Peter suspects," he said quietly.
Alfred frowned. "Your cousin?"
"He saw us in the library."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with studying together." Alfred squeezed his hand. "But don't worry, I'll be careful. And hey, at the Hufflepuff game... you should be careful too."
Arthur chuckled. "You should worry less about the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game and more about our rematch, my lad," he advised, giving Alfred a quick peck on the lips before he disappeared down the dark corridor.
Alfred watched Arthur go with a sense of unease. The other teenager had warned him about the dangers of mixing sport and pleasure, but he had brushed those concerns aside. Now the reality of being torn between two desires was starting to sink in. Alfred had dreamed of playing on a professional Quidditch team his whole life. But he didn't know if he could win the Quidditch Cup and still keep Arthur, and oddly enough, he wasn't sure which one he wanted more.