It's May 20th here again, which means I'm unfortunately a year older, and as such I bring you some updates (I wanted to update all of my ongoing stories, but due to various reasons that was not possible. Sorry)

Some of you may remember I mentioned a Big Bang story, and realized it hasn't shown up anywhere during the posting time. That story grew, A LOT, and I couldn't make it in time. I also admit I got somewhat burned by it, from working only on it for so long and all that, so it'll be a while before it's published (but it will be; I have over 50k written).

Now, this chapter was originally going to tackle the World Cup, but I finally decided against it, and this happened instead. I hope you like it.

Chapter 35: The invitation

"Okay," Harry muttered once Marco's explanation of the Triwizard Tournament was over. Harry had cursed quite creatively when he had been informed that he wasn't old enough to participate, and while Marco had smirked at him, Harry suspected he would be laughing his ass off under different circumstances. "Who's going to be there and who's a potential Death Eater?"

Marco shrugged and leaned back on his seat.

"The Ministry representatives for the tournament are Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman. Crouch was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement during the war against Voldemort, and he was firmly against anything related to the Dark Arts. Amongst other things, he authorized the aurors to use Unforgivable Curses against Death Eaters and when his son was discovered to be a Death Eater, he sent him to Azkaban."

Harry grimaced. That was harsh. Even if his son was a criminal, Harry had trouble imagining someone would abandon their own child like that. Even Roger, for all his sins and faults, had tried to ensure Ace's survival in his own way.

"You think he could be coerced into helping?" he asked, though he could guess the answer.

Marco shook his head.

"He'd off himself before helping Voldemort."

"What about the other guy? Bagman?"

"Now, he's… a possibility," Marco said, tilting his head to the side in a pensive gesture. "While I don't think he was a Death Eater, he was tried for having dealings with them. He claimed ignorance and swore he didn't know they were Death Eaters, of course."

"And he works for the ministry?" Harry asked, sceptical. There was one more proof of the wizarding world's political corruption.

Marco grinned wryly.

"Not just that, he's the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Bagman was a quidditch star, and that has always gained him special treatment. And he's a self-serving coward, from what I've gathered on him, but a competent wizard. Not the smartest guy around, but skilled enough in practical magic. He would be a good candidate to threaten into helping Voldemort, given his position. He'd need to be walked through every step of the plan, though."

Harry hummed, silently agreeing to keep an eye on Bagman whenever he was at Hogwarts.

"Anyone else?"

"Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang. He was a Death Eater who sold other Death Eaters and information to buy his freedom."

"And he's teaching?" Harry practically growled, eyes bulging.

Marco shrugged.

"Laws work like that. Don't forget Severus was a Death Eater, too. Karkaroff was acquitted, and so he can work like any other person."

Harry growled his understanding.

"Wouldn't Voldemort want him dead?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes, but he doesn't have that many options, so he can't be picky. I suspect that's why Pettigrew is still alive, too."

Harry sighed and leaned back on the couch.

"Could it be a student?" Because there were many Death Eaters' children and supporters in the school, the incident with the Chamber of Secrets had proven as much.

"Maybe," Marco replied, pensive. "I guess that depends on what, exactly, Voldemort has planned. And most people can be coached to learn magic that's supposedly out of their league."

Harry thought of his Moby Dick patronus, a spell that wasn't taught in school at all.

"So, basically, it could be anyone."

Marco hummed in agreement.

There was a tap on the window. Harry looked up to see Ron's new owl waiting there. He looked at Marco. Marco raised his eyebrows at him, shook his head and went to open the window. The owl, Pig, hurried in and crashed into the coffee table. Over the summer, Harry had noticed Pig was far too energetic.

Harry,

DAD GOT THE TICKETS! Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway.

We're coming for you whether the muggles like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway. Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work: the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you.

See you soon,

Ron

PS: Have you convinced Marco to come?

There was a short moment of silence before they both spoke in unison.

"I should go check—"

"I'd better go with—"

Harry and Marco looked at each other and started to laugh.

"I'm not missing this," Marco stated finally. "And the Dursleys might forget to be polite."

"Yeah, I don't think Mrs. Weasley knows how to work muggle post," Harry agreed. "Are you sure you don't want to go? There won't be any tickets left by now, but you don't need one if you transform."

"Nah," Marco said, shaking his head. "You know quidditch is not my thing. If you're not up on a broom risking something to come get you, I'd rather avoid it."

Harry would be indignant about the comment, except that given his track record so far Marco had a point.

"What will you do, then?"

"Go bug Severus, probably."

"Okay, let me write back to Ron —the Dursleys can't say no, and I'm not leaving Pig in here to destroy the apartment while we're gone— and we can head out to Privet Drive."

You really think they'll dare say no? I'm at Marco's, so I'm gonna go see if the letter has arrived. He's coming there with me, but he still says no to the World Cup.

See you tomorrow.

He tied the letter to the excitable Pig's leg and sent her off, went to the kitchen to find something for them both to eat —they hadn't eaten breakfast with the distraction of the dream— and they headed out. They didn't bother to separate to go to Privet Drive; when Harry had suggested it, Marco had shrugged and said it was just a matter of time, probably not much if Voldemort was already on the move, before he would have to step forward into the world as a human. There was no point in hiding anything: they wouldn't volunteer any information about Marco, but they both knew that if they wanted to deal with the horcruxes they would have to work with Dumbledore eventually. There was no point in keeping things as secret as before they discovered their existence.

An advantage of going with Marco was that they took the car instead of Harry's usual bus route. It was a nice change, certainly much more comfortable than standing in the swaying and generally too crowded bus, and it wasn't long before they were parking before number four, Privet Drive.

They stepped out of the car and walked to the door. Harry opened it with his copy of the key —Uncle Vernon had thrown it at him after the first meeting with Marco, claiming that he refused to have his family wait for whenever he decided to show up— and he hadn't even closed it again when he heard Uncle Vernon's heavy steps stomping towards the entrance.

"You little—!" Uncle Vernon started to yell, but froze mid-step when he spotted them. Harry wanted to know what, exactly, had transpired last summer between Marco and the Dursleys, because the shade of green Uncle Vernon had turned was most interesting.

"I'm assuming the letter's arrived," he said instead, cheerfully. "Can we see?"

Uncle Vernon grimaced, very clearly wanting to refuse Harry anything he asked, but he simply took a step back and threw the letter at them. Marco caught it.

Both Marco and Harry burst out laughing when they saw the entire envelope, sans a tiny space where the address had been written in crammed handwriting, was covered in stamps. Sometime while they laughed Aunt Petunia and Dudley had stepped out of the kitchen, because they were standing behind Uncle Vernon when Harry next looked in that direction.

"You have a day to pack," Marco reminded him as he read over the contents of the letter. "I guess we'll have to bring your clothes over here."

Uncle Vernon didn't dispute the fact that Harry was going, which served to show just how scared he was of Marco.

Marco wandered over to the cupboard under the stairs where Harry's school supplies were imprisoned. He didn't bother asking for the keys, simply taking hold of one of the deadbolts and using it as leverage to pull the door off its hinges. By the way the Dursleys paled, any sense of safety they had felt knowing Harry's belongings were in that cupboard was gone.

"Do you have your school supplies list?" Marco asked, picking Harry's trunk up.

"Yeah, it's upstairs. Why?"

"I was thinking," Marco started, casual, "that quidditch matches can last for days. While the Weasleys probably have something thought out to buy everything," he continued, and while he didn't hesitate, Harry knew him well enough to know that Marco only beat around the subject when he was nervous or unsure about something, "we could go buy them today. We don't have anything better to do anyway."

Harry grinned, and the only reason he didn't make a comment about a date was because he didn't want the Dursleys —still looking at Marco as if he was going to turn on them any given moment— to know about their not quite relationship.

"You're buying me a ton of ice cream."

Marco mock-saluted him —the marine salute, which looked kind of hilarious on him— and Harry dashed upstairs to grab the list and the clothes from yesterday that he had forgotten in the morning.

As they left, Harry waved cheerfully at the Dursleys and promised he would be here by tomorrow at four to wait for the Weasleys. If they weren't hiding Marco's existence anymore he fully intended to spend his last night in Surrey at the apartment.

"You have some other intention aside from buying my things, don't you?" Harry asked once they were in the car, because that alone wasn't enough to explain Marco's hesitance when he had asked.

Marco nodded, not looking away from the road. As if Harry wasn't sure that his reflexes and haki were good enough that he could probably drive with his eyes closed.

"I've thought, if I am to appear at some point, that the wizarding world might panic about an unknown man suddenly in the life of their golden child." Harry scoffed, but he knew that was how many people saw him. "So far I have only dropped by Knockturn Alley a handful of times, and it has been a few years since I visited a shop that could be called respectable. If we were to be seen together a few times, then I wouldn't come so out of nowhere in whatever big fashion would happen if we wait until the war has started."

Harry nodded, and they didn't speak again until they were climbing up the stairs.

"You know," he said once inside, "you've always been insightful, but when you say stuff like that you sound like a politician. That's kinda scary."

"Don't worry, I'm not interested in a political career," Marco told him flippantly. He put the trunk down, opened it and threw Harry his school robes. "Try those on, but I suspect you'll need new ones."

He was right, of course, because the robes had already been a little too short on Harry by the end of the school year.

Marco had disappeared into his room, and returned with a dark blue robe thrown over his clothes.

"Isn't it a little too hot for robes?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. They looked good on Marco, of course —great, in fact, blue always looked great on Marco— but Harry didn't want to be anywhere near robes when they were having one of the mostly stable hot days of summer.

"They're charmed to keep the wearer cool. And people don't look at me twice if I'm wearing robes," Marco pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he didn't bother arguing anymore. Wizards were idiots. They trusted appearances far too much. And speaking of appearances...

"What happens if someone who's seen you at Knockturn Alley lately recognizes you?" Harry asked, heading back to the door.

"Not much. While it has a dubious reputation, if everything that's done in Knockturn Alley was illegal, they would have closed the place up." Marco waited until they were inside the car again to continue. "The only one who knows for sure that I was doing something illegal is Borgin, and he would get in more trouble for admitting he sold me those books than I would for buying them."

Harry had a sudden mental image of a group of aurors attempting to arrest Marco, and he snickered.

"I'd love to see them try to get you in trouble."

"Believe it or not, it's happened before."

"Really? When?"

Marco hummed, pensive.

"A little under two centuries ago. I killed a group of scumbags, the aurors showed up, I knocked them out and decided to spend the following years travelling other European countries in search of clues. International cooperation back then was even worse than it is now."

The few times Marco had entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, he had fooled the brick wall entrance with haki, because the spell keeping it closed identified it as a variation of magic or something and reacted to a haki-imbued finger the same way it did to the tip of a wand. This time he let Ace tap the right combination of bricks on the wall, something Ace took great joy in because it was the first time he did it.

They started their trip with a visit to Gringotts, because Marco didn't have much money left and Ace didn't have any at all. He, unsurprisingly, refused to let Marco pay for everything, mostly out of pride than anything else. Also unsurprisingly, Ace laughed all the way down the first cart ride and announced he loved those carts, earning a sideways dubious glance from the goblin accompanying them. One of the goblins in a higher position, of course, because goblins made a point of treating Marco well. By well, Marco meant they weren't as gruff or rude to him as they were to the average wizard.

Ace's vault had a considerable amount of money in it. Nowhere near as much as many people would expect from the Potter line, but one thing that never changed about humans was how they equated a notorious name with money. As the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, Marco could assert that a notorious name didn't always mean riches. The Whitebeard Pirates had been the sort who spent any money they got their hands on quickly, and it had fallen to Marco more often than not to ensure they had enough left to feed the crew.

Marco's vault was much deeper than Ace's, a trip Ace enjoyed as much as the first one, and the goblin opened the door, stepped to one side, and they walked in.

Ace whistled, looking around at the stacked piles of coins and the shelves filled with books and artefacts.

"You haven't wasted time, have you?" Ace observed, walking over to study a collection of four centuries old jewellery.

Marco shrugged and started to scoop coins into the pouch he used for the wizarding currency.

"I never saw the point in stopping collecting things once I started. You don't know when you might need the money to buy an entire island or something."

Ace scoffed, giving him a look that probably was meant to be unamused but fell short.

"Where are they, anyway?" Ace asked, looking around meaningfully.

He didn't need to elaborate. Marco pointed to the fourth chest starting from the left in a line of twelve, all piled unobtrusively against a wall, and all of them magically enlarged on the inside to hold much more than they appeared to. None of them, except for the fourth one, contained anything of particular value. It meant that in the very unlikely case someone managed to break into Gringotts and this vault in particular, if the chests caught their eye amongst all the other on first sight much more valuable items, the devil fruits would be discarded as useless junk and overlooked in favour of gold and antique artefacts.

Ace just nodded, probably seeing this reasoning. As pirates, they knew well how treasures attracted people's attention.

"Clothes first," Marco announced once they were outside the bank, and he smirked at Ace's glare. Then it was Ace who smirked.

"You said it's been a few years since you've been around here, right?" he gestured with his arms in an attempt to encompass Diagon Alley. Not Knockturn Alley, Marco knew.

"Yes," Marco replied. He dodged two running children without removing his eyes from Ace.

"Then all your robes must be a little old fashioned. If you're gonna start showing up regularly, the least you can do is have an updated wardrobe."

Marco raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He knew exactly what Ace was doing, but there was a flaw to his plan.

"You know I don't mind shopping for clothes, don't you? I've done far worse."

But Marco conceded Ace's point, and they spent over an hour at Madam Malkin's, first getting Ace's school robes sorted out and then looking through the shop for everything else. Aside from Marco's clothes, Ace needed dress robes for the Christmas ball that was part of the tournament (Ace's pained grimace at these news had Marco snickering in response) and finding suitable ones proved to be more difficult than either of them had expected.

Marco vetoed Ace's first choice on the basis that orange, while a nice enough colour, looked hideous for dress robes; Ace refused green ones saying that he didn't want to have to deal with any nonsense about then enhancing his eyes, the exact reasoning Madam Malkin had used when she suggested them to him. Finally, Ace settled on black robes, and asked Madam Malkin to add some dark purple and white accents to them. Madam Malkin tutted in disapproval when Ace sketched the Whitebeard Pirates' flag on a piece of parchment and requested that the robes' brass buttons had the flag engraved on them, but she agreed when Ace stubbornly refused to be swayed.

"Maybe you should get dress robes, too," Ace muttered while they browsed through the men's section. He pulled out a hideous set of canary yellow robes and showed them to Marco.

"I don't need them, it's not like I'll attend. And if you even think of suggesting I try that on, you can forget turning sixteen will change anything," Marco hissed at him, and smirked at how quickly Ace shoved the robes back into the rack. His feigned expression of innocence was better, but Marco knew him too well to be followed.

Finally, armed with a handful of possible robes, Marco called Madam Malkin to make the necessary adjustments. Ace sat on a chair, ostensibly to comment on how the choices fit and make the occasional jibe, but Madam Malkin was the only one who believed that was the reason Ace was watching.

As soon as they were out of the shop with the promise that their clothes would arrive at Marco's address by owl the following morning, Ace dragged Marco to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Ace knew Fortescue from spending the majority of August last summer at the store, and was greeted warmly. They settled on a corner table outside of the shop itself and ordered.

Ace grinned widely, pointed at Marco and said:

"He's paying, so I want the largest sundae you can make. Any combination of flavours is okay."

Marco sighed, glanced at Ace in amusement, and asked the now disconcerted Fortescue for an average-sized sundae for human beings who had a normal stomach. Any flavour was fine for him, too. Ace kicked him, hard, under the table.

Fortescue looked distinctly amused when he left to prepare their orders.

"Don't you think I'm done with this," Ace said, mock-threatening.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Ace was a little shit. He might still be growing up, stuck in that stage where a good part of his more childish features had disappeared but he was still on the lanky —if far more muscular than average— side of things and needed to grow up at least a few more inches and fill out in various places.

That didn't mean he wasn't attractive, of course.

Marco knew Ace's hormones had been acting up for a while now, Ace wasn't subtle at all about filling him in on certain memories he dreamt about instead of the average teenage wet dreams, and Marco always made a point to tell him to take a cold shower or use his hand.

Now Ace was enacting his revenge.

"Ace," Marco said with a weary sigh, focusing on his own ice cream, "I know that ice cream is good, but you don't have to give the spoon a blowjob. It's not like it'll make a difference."

Ace released the spoon from his mouth with a damn wet sound. Most people, even horny teenagers, wouldn't have dared to do something like that while facing the street, but Ace had never given much thought to what others thought about him. And maybe the gestures themselves weren't that obscene, Ace wasn't making exaggerated moaning noises or anything, but this was Ace, with a relatively long object, ice cream smearing his lips and far more tongue activity than strictly necessary.

"Oh, it does," Ace assured him in a passable attempt at a sultry voice. The voice alone wouldn't have worked, but there was the spoon. Damn lucky spoon. "How much can those robes cover?" Ace continued with a self-satisfied smirk, and Marco glared at him.

"Enough," Marco said in his most cutting voice. The one Ace had always been immune to. Ace just grinned. "What about your jeans?"

"Huh?"

Marco's back was to the street, and he was conveniently facing the wall behind Ace.

"How much do they cover?" And, without waiting for a reply, Marco put his spoon down and very deliberately scooped some ice cream up with his index finger.

He had no intention of doing anything with Ace yet, but if Ace insisted on being a little shit, two could play this game.

They spent a very long time in the store, enough to eat another ice cream each, before Ace had calmed enough for them to continue.

While being a teenager was said to have many advantages, there were some very bothersome disadvantages as well.

To be continued