'The End' - Part 2

Winter - March 10th, 1998.

A long way from Hogwarts, in a cottage by the sea of Lithuania, life carried on.

A few books on the shelves at the cottage stood out as particularly congruous with Malfoy behavior. Twisted Battlefields: Political Gambles by R.V. Coylove, Differences of the Righteous and Diminutive by Ada Smokeye. Halls of Cruelty and Chaos by Baptis Sessybundles. Harry read these books and found himself hearing the voice of Lucius as the narrator. He found himself re-reading Coylove by the time winter rolled around, wondering if perhaps he wouldn't use this information to maybe protect himself should Lucius turn on him one day.

He doubted he would; the two of them had become sort of pen pals.

During the months until spring, Narcissa came by about once a week carrying a letter from Lucius in that secret prototype purse. They were a letter apart, as Harry would at the time of her arrival have a letter ready to go in response to the last. Narcissa found the correspondence stimulating for both of them, as they were both rather in the same situation. She found their likenesses of character slowly starting to mingle, too. Harry was delving into topics that Lucius had long since mastered, and Lucius was enjoying recommending books. She'd also had delivered a few of those.

Although he was home alone most of the time, he kept up with sips of Beautification potion to hide the scars left by Lord Voldemort's torture. He hated looking at his blemished skin. There were six particularly gruesome marks all along his right arm that he hated seeing. So, in the mornings before his shower, he'd take a sip of the potion that would conceal them, so that while he showered his skin was blemish free.

Something big and new: Harry had his sights set on a job come that spring.

Lithuania was home to quite a few mid-level wizarding companies that needed their goods distributed. There were simple postal worker jobs, yes, where Harry could work with owls, but there were also delivery jobs where he would fly for the companies. Furthermore, there was the large distribution methods of The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting, of which the Herbology Division was located thirty miles north along the sea front from Harry's cottage. It was in easy Apparation range.

Harry spent the time before applying for a job fooling around in the area. He flew again at Jimualt's - solo this time. He used a more abbreviated version of his name, just A.G., but as he had been looking out for such initials, Jimualt had come around to Harry after one of his sessions flying to have a little chat with him about that evening months ago. Harry swore there were no hard feelings against the arena or Doka, and Jimualt was glad for that. He had known Doka for years, and attested to his childishness over professionalism; he was glad Harry saw it this way, too.

Harry also wandered the Muggle streets more than the wizarding ones. He was preferring the simple methods Narcissa had mentioned to altering how he looked: less was more, she often said. But he had so many potion recipes in the house that he had to try his hand at a few of them. He did visit the herbology shop in Blūesoul Alley for basic ingredients, stocking up little by little. Narcissa enjoyed her visits more once they started brewing together.

The notes on the edges of her old potion books he could fully attest to the helpfulness of; she wrote things such as, Too variable. Colors too strong. Good for clothing. Add a flick to the wrist while stirring.

She was quite good at concealment potions - fashion potions, really - and Harry had a lot of brews to choose from. Harry had turned the kitchen into a potion lab. The dreary dark basement at Hogwarts was nothing compared to a finely lit room. He had to keep the potions out of the direct sunlight, but so far he'd come to entertain himself brewing a few things.

Narcissa had taken the liberty of delivering quite a few more plants to him. Harry found tending to them a full-time job at first, but he slowly grew accustomed to their needs. He was awaiting Narcissa's next visit, sure that this time the sargasso grain would be ready to brew into Abjuration of Bane. This was what Harry had been waiting for. With an altered magical signature, he could finally seek a job without the worry of being stopped and tested - for whatever reason - and having his record come up as being a match for Harry Potter, deceased since 1997.

On March first, his friend Ron celebrated his seventeenth birthday, which Harry celebrated by lighting a candle by the window.

By March tenth, Harry had his brew and his interview.

Could one believe that the giant conglomerate had a building entirely hidden from Muggle view right in the middle of a bustling city? It was imaged as a small abandoned warehouse surrounded by trees, but was actually a three acre expanse with a four story building, with a tower reaching sixty feet into the air, with flags and strange magical plants growing up its sides. Surrounded by similarly tall Muggle structures, from within the boundary of the enchanted area, it was an amazing sight to see. Harry was invited to this Herbology institute for the interview, which he got after sending in a letter asking for a job. He'd followed all of Lucius's instructions, and it had paid off.

He walked to Blūesoul Alley dressed very nicely in grey and tan - some new clothes he spotted in a Muggle window and brought for himself. He'd pulled his hair back in a fashion he'd seen Muggles tie theirs in and carried with him four sickles, his wand in a quiver in his vest lining, and tucked under his arm was his Firebolt. He got a few appraising looks from Muggles as he made his way off the streets and into the Wizard pub.

Today, unafraid of security at last, Harry declared his intention at the Floo kiosk.

"One for the Floo."

"Two sickles a scoop, please," the witch replied.

Harry handed over half his money for his scoop of Floo Powder, then went toward the Flooplace.

"Hold there, English boy," said a heavily accented voice. Harry stopped for the security guard, his pulse beginning to race. His Firebolt was going to tip him off to an inspection, he knew this, but still he was a bit nervous. And he'd not bothered to dictate his pronunciation. The guard easily picked up his accent. He would have to be more careful; he was supposed to be from Canada.

"Yes?" Harry asked, sticking with simple answers.

"Random security check," the guard said. He was tall, dressed in his red and black uniform, and was quite intent in his place watching the crowd. "You're dressed nicely for a kid your age. What are you doing today that involves such a nice outfit with a broom?"

Harry heard all sorts of reasons why Draco was stopped for an inspection. His Firebolt was the number one reason, with others ranging from looking too young to be of age, looking well dressed, repeated visits, and one inspector stopped him just to inform him to stay in school. Harry was quite nervous, but the well-dressed card he'd heard before. He took Draco's advice and said very little.

"Job interview, sir," Harry said.

"Well, you look the part, expect for the broom."

"Transportation job interview, sir," Harry clarified simply.

The inspector nodded. "Just a quick check, then you can be on your way..." And the wizard waved his wand in a simple fashion, allowing for a white haze to filter around Harry. It tugged at his breast pocket where his wand was, but settled onto the ground quickly.

"Alright," the inspector said, stepping out of Harry's way. "Good luck with the interview."

Harry moved on with a nod of his head. At the Flooplace, he took a moment to remember where he was going, then tossed his powder in while saying what was written in the instructions of his interview letter, "ECEE Herbology Institute Lobby."

The green flames carried Harry away.

Not much time later, Harry was led into the interviewing witch's office, which was covered with pictures of Lithuania's coastal Quidditch team, Tallhorn United. Even the pictures of the three Quidditch players Harry had interacted with at Jimualt's summer race were on her wall.

Harry felt stiff, nervous, and gripped his Firebolt tightly.

"So, Mr. Gravewatcher," said Emidee Withers with a light accent to her British. "What position are you aiming for? And take a seat, please. Tea?"

Harry sat.

"No tea, thank you. A delivery position, miss. Flying transportation for this division of the Eight Companies."

"Oh?" She waved her wand and pulled a file from the numerous ones behind her. Her office was well cluttered and packed with work and sport related supplies. Harry saw a very battered looking Cleansweep mounted as a collector's item on the wall, and assumed there was some famous story about it. He decided not to ask.

"I have your file here, but there isn't much. You didn't send your grades, your address...you simply state that you have a Firebolt you're willing to use for work. This isn't a simple job you're applying for. What makes you think you're up to the challenge?"

Harry didn't take the bait. He took Lucius's advice and said, "This position is based on a physical exam using a personal broom. I hope my exam goes well and proves my capabilities...if I may take that exam?"

He was being a little rude, but Narcissa said not to give ground; bigger companies like hard workers, and niceness won't get him this job.

Truth be told, this job sounded quite interesting. The better the broom, the more chance of getting an interview, which was why Harry had written clearly that information into the letter he sent them, as the Firebolt was still the best broom on the market. They'd give him a test to see how well he could fly as well as how strong his magic was to a potential threats. This was a cutting edge company, using highly expensive and important material, and there had been cases of hijackings before. The transportation of the valuable goods were only given to highly qualified flyers. Harry hoped to be in this league, because then he'd have a pass through the Floo Networks that made him exempt to the tests that he just now had to have performed. He'd not have to rely so heavily on the Abjuration of Bane potion with that high profile pass.

It was worth it to get this job.

The interviewing witch smiled at his proposal. She held her hand up, first finger pointing to the sky in the famous fan symbol for supporting Tallhorn United. She really was a big fan.

"I'd love to see you do well. Let's jump right into it, shall we?"

The Eight Companies had ties to the Quidditch League, and no wonder, it was located right next door to this building, as Harry soon found out.

The interviewing witch led Harry outdoors. He was on a different side of the building now, on a side with many more flowers and fragrances. She lead him down a short path to an archway that, to his surprise, had engraved in the stone the words, Tallhorn United Training Stadium. Harry's heart sped up. She turned back to look at him as she passed under the arch, grinning as she saw his amazed expression at being in the stadium, walking right out onto the grass.

Harry stopped right after he walked through the magically hazy archway, because he had to catch his breath. This was an official training stadium, oval, five-hundred feet long and one-hundred and eighty feet wide, huge, open, capable of holding a mere 200 witches and wizards at once, with banners draping down with Tallhorn's symbol, the fighting ox in red and black colors. The six goalposts were twice the height of the ones at Hogwarts, and the field twice as big. Furthermore, there were players flying around in the sky, dressed in their gear and practicing the game.

"I'm testing here?" Harry asked.

"You're testing against Tallhorn United's Quidditch team, more precisely."

Harry looked down at her, at her now joyous grin. She clapped her hands once together and then patted him on the arm in celebration.

"I'm so excited to interview candidates for this job! I love meeting the team!"

She was selfishly ignoring Harry's nervousness at being here. Here...where Doka Bandar was, the Chaser who rudely broke up his kiss with Draco. The witch raised her hand with her wand and waved it, causing a long red ribbon to begin to wave in the air. Harry watched as one of the players came down. It wasn't one of the standard players, as it turned out, but it was the League's captain - according to the emblem on his chest, anyway.

"Here already?" the man asked, accent heavy, landing his Firebolt gently on the grass in front of them. He looked past her and to Harry standing behind her, appraising him and the Firebolt he carried. Harry wondered what his thoughts were, as still Harry wasn't used to the handsome face that Narcissa insisted on. He was starting to see an adult in the mirror each morning, and wasn't that just a sight to see?

"I'm Alderbaron Gravewatcher. Nice to meet you." Harry said, jolting to action, reaching forward to shake hands with the man. Heat rose to his face, as if he was caught red-handed with his narcissist thoughts. He pushed his self-image issues away and focused on what his eyes saw, not what he felt.

His hand was shook by a stronger one.

"Quintius Umfraville the fifth. Tallhorn United's Captain and backup Chaser. We were expecting you. Are you ready to fly?"

Harry nodded. He knew the name Quintius Umfraville. As a backup Chaser, he filled in for Doka Bandar when he had to sit out the first game. The fans loved seeing the captain fly.

"Let me introduce you to your opponents," Quintius stood now next to Harry, looking up at the sky at the players and the hoops. "We'll start with the release of the Bludgers. They are bewitched to fly off and seek only you. When I toss the Quaffle up, you are meant to catch it, signaling the start of your test."

"And what's my goal?" Harry asked.

Quintius pointed to the goal posts on the left of the field.

"Weave through those three goal posts. Then..." and he swung his hand across the five-hundred-foot field to the other three. "...weave your way through those three goal posts. There will be interference. The Bludgers and all seven first string players will be against you, as well as the backup six players - except me. Hey," and here, Quintius turned to face Harry. His look softened. He rested his hand on Harry's shoulder, leaned in and said softheartedly, "they're not trying to hurt you or knock you off your broom. In fact, a few will always try to fly below you, only coming at you one at a time, and only once for each player. If you fall off, you have a lot of people there to catch you. They're just trying to pat a hand on you. They are good players, so try to avoid them. We all will discuss our findings, and we will let Miss Emidee know how we think your flying is when this is all over."

Harry nodded once to show he understood.

It had been awhile since he flew out in the open, and he was remembering the wind on his face, the crowds at Hogwarts, and his flurry of instinctive choices he'd made during his own games. He'd been Quidditch Captain for the Gryffindor's once...He wondered still how Ron would do by the end of the year, and if Gryffindor would win the trophy.

"Focus on this first task," Miss Emidee said helpfully to Harry, then to Captain Quintius, "Will you call the players down?"

Harry walked with the two people to the center of the field. Meanwhile, the thirteen flyers landed on the field around the circle painted there. Harry braced himself as he walked up to the tall, strong, superbly clothed professionals. If this was the Chuddly Cannons he might be blushing, but he was blushing simply because they were a lot of really good looking men. He was forming a bit of a crush on this team; no one specifically, just all the men in Quidditch uniform in general.

Miss Emidee was right to enjoy this.

But he was hot for another reason as well. He made out the three players from Jimualt's easily. Tallest even of the other players, Doka Bandar was the first Harry recognized. While agile, the Welsh Chaser had a bad attitude toward Harry, who felt he'd have to watch out for that player most. The other two were next for Harry to place: the Beater, Nobel Magery, bearded and all muscle, and Aykroyd Grith, the Chaser who took first place in the competition back at Jimualt's.

Harry chewed his lip all the way up to the players. The moment the three of them noticed it was him, smiles bloomed on their faces, but also did a gleam to Doka's eyes.

"Hi there," the friendlier Nobel said in recognition.

The other players took to greeting him as well, but none so openmouthed as those three players.

"Here is the newest tryout for The Eight Companies. You've done this all well enough before, gentlemen; it takes only five minutes, so we'll be back to practice soon enough. Does anyone..." and Captain Quintius looked specifically at the three fans of Jimualt Arena, who had been whispering to each other. "...have any questions?"

Everyone was just ready to go.

All the players stood around. Harry prepared his take-off stance and his first move: catch the Quaffle. Quintius released the balls and then prepared to throw the Quaffle up.

"Ready?" he asked Harry.

Harry bit his lip, gripped his broom tighter but with only one hand, and nodded. Ahead of him, the on-looking professional Quidditch players grinned.

The Quaffle was up.

It wasn't a trick, but Harry didn't know what to expect. He had learned the sport from the great Oliver Wood in his first year at Hogwarts. Oliver joined Puddlemere United as a reserve player after leaving school, and to this day Harry regularly sought the results of Puddlemere's games to see if Oliver had joined in. Oliver taught the Chasers to get the Quaffle fast. Harry did just the same, but he had no competition.

He then went for his second task: weave through the left-most three goal posts. His eyes were trained to find the little and fast Golden Snitch, so the two large black Bludgers coming up on his left and right sides were easy pickings to dodge. He used his swerve to glance behind him, noting that the thirteen players were coming towards him at a slow pace, seeming to only want to cause interference on his return trip. Harry swerved his body through the set of hoops easily, dodging the Bludgers again as he made the last one, and then made the turn to head straight for the other side.

Harry could dodge around the student Quidditch players at Hogwarts, as well as patron's legs in the wizard alley to avoid the inspectors, but how was he going to avoid thirteen professional Quidditch players in the air, over five-hundred feet of space? Well, four-hundred by the time the first person came in for a touch at him.

Harry swerved the familiar person: the Beater, Nobel Magery. He wasn't putting in as much effort as Harry was, perhaps giving Harry a chance to avoid his touch. The second person as well was passed with a sudden dive and a twisting re-direct towards his goal. The next four took to power runs straight up at him, causing him to rise to the top of the flag posts some distance above his target. He saw that they were keeping a fair bit apart from each other, so as to do as Quintius said and come at him one at a time. It was a flaw in their formation that led to Harry by-passing all of them and another three as he nose-dived down and back-tracked some. He left these first eight players over fifty feet behind him - well, technically above him, but still, he was well past.

He was ten feet above the grass but aiming back towards the goal, with two players ahead. Harry tactfully dropped further. They might have suspected he would try to dodge them or fly over them, but little did they know of his talent near the ground.

With his nose nearly against the grass, Harry had nothing to fear but what was ahead: three goal posts and three players left in his path.

A player was near the bottom of the goal posts, moving headlong for him a few feet above the grass with his hand already out to slap it upon Harry. Harry made the decision then to stop avoidance. He kicked it right towards the player: a classic game of chicken at top speed. The player stopped his leisurely attack and returned both hands to his broom upon seeing Harry's move. For one mere second the player held his ground coming towards Harry, but then suddenly moved off. Harry soared past like a blur.

He wondered if he might have killed them both if the player hadn't moved aside. Harry wasn't going to move, pull his wand, or willingly be touched...was he really carelessly able to hurt himself just so as to not have one point against him? He doubted it. In the moment he probably would have swerved. It just looked from the start like the flyer would have moved; Harry kept his spirit up.

He'd reached the base of the goal posts and turned ninety-degrees vertically, and up he climbed with speed up the first goal towards the two players above.

Then the surprise: Bludgers from the field.

Harry hadn't bothered looking for them since he rose so far into the air. That was his folly. Harry was coming up on Doka Bandar and the other player - ready to maneuver around them - but then one of the Bludgers landed a harrowing smack to his face, right along his jaw, and Harry was torpedoed off course. He dropped thirty feet fast in his attempt to stabilize and dodge the other Bludger, catching himself feet from the hard ground and kicking it at top speed again straight up. One second he was flailing limbs, the next he was streamlining for his target.

He left the other Bludger behind, but Doka was closer than ever and reaching out.

Then it was a match of agility against the single-minded Chaser and the last other Quidditch player left pursuing Harry. Face stinging, three posts to maneuver, Harry made it up to the highest one first and was through. The second to last player was right there and it was all Harry had to twist away out of his reach the moment he left the hoop. He was forced to drop halfway back down the posts before the player eased off, leaving the final one-on-one to Doka Bandar.

He was right there. It was another agility-match up again for Harry to make it through the last two hoops. Harry took his opponent on a dizzying spin between all three posts, reaching out with his one free hand to catch the wooden post and help himself spin the tight turns onwards and upwards to the top, barely keeping out of Doka's reach.

He set his sights on the lowest hoop. Doka was barely six feet behind him, so it would be a risk, but he hadn't seen any gap wider than this and took the chance.

He was up, he was tight, he was half-way through the hoop, and then he was full body-snatched and stopped dead still. Doka'd not just slapped a hand onto Harry, but had taken fully hold.

The most surprising thing about it all was the sudden darkness and silence. In full Quidditch gear, Doka had layers of clothes, of padding, and the customary cape, and they surrounded Harry like a cave. Doka's huge arms hugged tightly, preventing him from moving. The Quaffle tucked neatly under his arm, one hand still on his Firebolt, legs squeezing. Harry hadn't realized how hard he was breathing until he could hear his own breath. He was lodged tightly against Doka's padded chest and could hear and feel hot breath against his ear, a hot body wrapped around his cold frame, nowhere to go now that he was caught within the small loop and held so strongly.

"Merlin, you are a natural," huffed Doka, loosening his grip.

Light from the sun came back. The blue sky with grey clouds on the horizon was seen again, with Doka in front of it. Doka's hazel eyes and light brown hair were shimmering with moisture and so close Harry could smell him.

Harry had been caught, but he wasn't worried, once again the lack of a life-threatening issue kept him calm. Besides, he'd had a good run of this. And Doka was smiling anyway, so Harry just didn't feel quite so at a loss.

The stillness was starting to make Harry dizzy. If he kept moving he could focus less on his spinning head and throbbing face where the Bludger hit, but because he was so still, all he could think about was being against this body.

Doka looked now at the obvious wound Harry had suffered. He raised his hand to wrap over Harry's already bruising face where the Bludger got him. Large palm swallowing Harry right up. The pressure hurt, but his hot hand instantly made up for the pain.

"You got hit hard. Didn't see it coming, huh?"

Harry shook his head. His eyes focused only on the man's, inches away. His heart beat still wildly in his chest and in that split second his teenage hormones took over and he was in love. Never mind the fact he was almost twice Harry's age - not to mention Harry knew he was a jerk - Harry was lonely enough to crave even this.

Doka grinned wide, holding Harry at arm's length. "Woah, now," he joked. "Don't get any ideas. Last time I saw you, you were lip-smacking that blonde bloke. Do you always look so...smoldering?"

"Wha-?" Harry blinked fast, giving a little shake to his head.

Doka patted Harry's good cheek. "Give a guy a little mercy. You look as pretty as my girlfriend, but she never looks at me like that."

Harry blushed and looked away, wide-eyed and not really sure of what he was hearing. Were his thoughts really so obviously painted on his face? He needed this job to focus on something in life, because he was making desperate choices if he was getting the hots for this Welsh man.

Past the rugged features of the Chaser, a group of people were all standing on the ground waiting for them. Harry gathered some words and pushed them past his breathlessness.

"I should finish. One more hoop. Will you try to stop me?"

Doka's smile turned into a laugh. He moved back and gave him room to finally ease out of the hoop he was caught in. Harry held still for just a moment, but then flew through the final hoop. Doka and Harry lined up side-by-side to fly back to the waiting crowd on the grass.

It was a bit nerve wracking for Harry. It wasn't just that a few months ago he had a shouting match with Doka, or that he'd elbowed him hard in the side and left him to get a talking to by the wizard guards; it was the subsequent punishment of sitting out a game at the start of the Quidditch season that worried Harry most about Doka. It was a shock to Harry to find out that the crowd outside Jimualt's had turned against Doka for shouting homophobic slurs at the boy they knew had beaten his teammate in that tournament. Jimualt had even interviewed, saying that he didn't run a business that excluded witches and wizards for their sexual orientation, and that he had no affiliation with Doka's point of view. Many businesses had taken such a similar stance, but alternatively others had taken the other route and used Doka as a weapon against gays. But this had put Doka in the position to write an official statement apologizing for his behavior and not condoning any such stance against alternate lifestyles using his face as their mascot.

It was all quite humorous to see Doka's punishment at first, like a bit of justice for one more wrong-doing against Harry. But now that he was in Doka's company and experiencing some of his hospitality and joy, he felt he had some apologizing of his own to do.

"Sorry about all the trouble last year," Harry said, looking sidelong at the Chaser, but trying to keep his eyes in his pants, so to speak.

"You little punk. Right you are. For awhile all the media talked about was how I harassed your queer ass. They really thought I was homophobic."

"Yeah...I read some of those articles." Harry nervously said. Some of them were really quite mean to the Chaser. Some even called for his resignation.

"So?"

"So what?" Harry wondered.

Doka raised a thick eyebrow. "Did you accept my apology? Did you read it in the article?"

Harry smiled bashfully, looking again at the Chaser. "Yes. I accept it."

Doka huffed, irritated but prideful. "Good. My girlfriend wrote most of it. And, hey there, fox! Sex eyes off!" And Doka reached forward and pushed Harry's face away. Harry grinned wider. He'd started to drift off imagining all that skin under Doka's uniform; the shape of his muscles. Yeah, he needed the distraction of this job.

They came up now on the group waiting for them. When they landed, Doka put his arm around Harry and gave him a shake.

"What did you all think?" He asked happily.

The other players congratulated Harry for a moment, some shaking his hand. Jostling about like this reminded Harry just how much adrenaline this interview took out of him.

"Hey Coach?" said Aykroyd Grith to Quintius. "If you think this was a fluke, let me tell you: this is that kid from last summer. The one who beat Nobel in the race at Jimualt's. Remember?" And now he was speaking to everyone. "The one Doka got into a fight with and got himself benched for."

Everyone was suddenly quite dumbfounded, looking anew at Harry.

"Sorry he got benched," Harry stated, rubbing at his head. He looked at Doka. "Sorry it happened that way."

Doka explained to the Coach, "He wouldn't give, and I wouldn't give," and then Doka rudely grabbed hold of Harry's long hair and pulled Harry back and into him. His hair was tied back in a tail but with strands starting to fall loose. Doka aimed at arching Harry's neck back and roughly unbalancing him, grinning down into his face. He was just playing like a dog with a new bone. "He's a tough pretty boy! Ain't that right, fox?"

Harry struggled to get out of his hold and succeeded, Doka letting him go. Harry stepped away now, handing the Quaffle back to Quintius and getting away to some freedom.

Aykroyd said now to the woman who brought Harry here for the interview, "Gravewatcher. You didn't even tell us his name, miss. I know his name."

Miss Emidee was taken out of some personal deep thoughts - a mixture of professional worries about hiring on this new lad with such a history of trouble, and a still darker mixture of thoughts about the tall Chaser pawing up and down on the skinny young man. She was torn for a moment, shook down her thoughts, and cleared her throat.

"Um, yes. Yes! His name is Alderbaron Gravewatcher. You're right about that!"

She rubbed at her warm cheeks.

Quintius was about finished with the play. He gave an out to Miss Emidee.

"Well, we're past all that now. If we're going to keep our place in the running, we're going to have to do a lot more practicing. Alright, everyone, back in the air! Miss Emidee, I think you have your answer."

The others all dispersed. Harry received a wave goodbye from Doka and a few others before they went back to practice in the air. Harry was sporting a small smile when he turned now to Miss Emidee.

She was still blushing, but said, "You did a great job. Certainly you can fly. But I've first got to take you back and have you cast a few spells. We have to know your magical potential as well for this job."

He was asked to cast an array of defensive spells and non-lethal attack spells, both of which he performed admirably. There were no Dementors in the test, so that was fortunate that he would keep his Patronus a secret still. The final test was signing some paperwork. Then Alderbaron Gravewatcher was a certified Grade B-2 Transportation Agent for the Herbology Division of The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting.

Grade B was the second highest flying grade, and the -2 was second highest defensive grade capable of a new-hire. A few months from now would be the earliest he could become a Grade A-2, so long as he didn't have any flying mishaps. In a year he could become Grade A-1, but that would require an intense exam of his magical capabilities. But with that, he'd get all the benefits as well as the premier delivery jobs that would take him all over the continent. Not many were capable of such a high starting grade, but this Canadian graduate had some raw talent and was quite willing to do the hard work.

Most flying Agents for The Eight Companies were merely C level, spending their career doing the standard work. There was a special outfit for the hard-edged -1 types. Harry felt he wasn't long away from trying out for that group. But he needed time to prove himself.

Harry was most pleased that they asked him to start tomorrow, but gave him the badge today. That second time walking through the Floo Network, the guard did approach him, but Harry had his identification badge around his neck. The guard was the same as before, and a wide smile spread across his face as he approached Harry and saw the badge.

"You earned the job!" The man said happily, proud of the young wizard.

This was the first time Harry looked upon a guard without trepidation.

"I did," he confirmed, smiling.

"Well, with that you're a Transportation Agent, and you may pass unchecked." He even offered Harry a sweeping gesture of the archway leading out to the street.

Harry smiled the whole way home.

Still March, 1998.

The uniform was cool. He was issued a a vest and gloves, a winter coat for when the weather called for one, and an over-the-shoulder broom holster that would hide all but the tip of the handle of his Firebolt should he need to use Muggle transport. The vest buckled in the front and had clasps all the way up his neck, with an attached hood. He was told to keep it on while on delivery, even if it was a nice day. The hood was enchanted for impact resistance, as was the vest. They found that the spell was constricting for the arms and legs so it hadn't been applied even to the winter coat. The coat was a mixture of deep red and silver buckles, with black trim, and would keep him warm even in the worst weather. He was asked not to wear his uniform unless on duty, but he could take it home.

Harry went shopping at a Muggle sportswear shop for a pair of boots. He got some good help from the woman who fitted him, and wound up with below-the-knee size eleven equestrian boots - leather and matt black in color that laced up in the back from ankle to upper calf muscle, with plans to return for a pair of snow boots that caught his eye but was a little out of his price range for now. He was thinking about going to a Quidditch shop for the boots there, but thanks to Narcissa's collection of magical books, the cost of just a Muggle pair of boots and then enchanting them himself would save him a bundle. He chose the equestrian boots because of the lace-ups, which resembled a backwards Quidditch boot.

He had to admit that he was disappointed they weren't dragon hide boots like the ones Charlie Weasley owned, but they matched with his uniform.

He wondered if Ron would have liked the shoes. He figured if the two of them bought matching ones that he would. He knew Ron would protest if Harry offered to buy him a pair, as he protested often whenever Harry offered to pay for anything. But if Harry told him he wanted to match Ron, well...it wasn't manipulation to get Ron to accept his money if it was Ron doing him the favor.

Harry wondered if keeping his old friend at the forefront of his thoughts was a healthy thing or not, but he couldn't shake the fact that thinking of Ron satisfied some deep part of his physiological makeup.

He spent ten quick minutes in another Muggle shop looking for red shirts that matched the red of the jacket, so that when he didn't have his vest done up he would still have the uniform colors. He would keep the red arms rolled up to his elbows, as he liked the feel of the wind on his arms. He bought two pairs of black pants and two pairs of black shorts, length just above his knees, and - as he was inspired by the music playing on the radio in the shop - he also bought two Muggle band t-shirts with words on them, one that said 'QUEEN' and the other, along the same lines, said 'GAGA'; they made him feel normal.

At home, he decided for a few simple anti-skid enchantments as well as waterproofing, and managed both these spells before work the next day.

From there on out, he felt pretty ready for this new step in life.

One thing he learned right away that first day at work, was that he sure put in a lot more thought to his uniform than most others. There were at least a dozen others there when he walked in for his first day, and while some kept it to a pure black uniform, others wore colorful shirts, deciding that casual was the best way to blend in; one person even wore sandals. Harry was rather glad he was outfitted sharply. He wouldn't have considered himself sharp usually, but he'd gotten use to Draco's wardrobe and must have learned a bit about fashion from Narcissa, too.

Talia Visicala was his boss. She worked in an office on the second floor. This was where they also created the catalogue that they received the orders from, so her office was really a wide open room with many tables to spread the newest catalogue onto, with a half dozen others working there in the background. She was a large, round-about-the-middle witch with a sweet tooth, and she was always very busy. The Coordinator, as everyone called her, was in charge of dispersing the Transportation Agents to the appropriate office to pick up and get a signature from the herbologists, and setting the destination for the package, where they'd receive another signature. The paperwork would return to her, for another assignment after.

Learning the job meant following along for the first three weeks as a shadow. He was paired with a veteran B-2, a man in his late forties with Ethiopian heritage, named Woedem. He claimed to be a descendant of the emperors' court during the 16th century, that his ancestors used their magic to enrich the lands or derail it based on donations. That first day, all he talked about was himself, but even that was a bit too bragging to really take to heart, so Harry took the things he said with a grain of salt.

Harry was willing to make friends, but he just couldn't seem to catch anyone for a chat that first week. And if Woedem wasn't talking about himself, he couldn't be bothered to listen to Harry's fables about his imaginary Muggle parents. He wasn't a very educational teacher, either, as Harry had to infer a lot of his actions and piece together the general job himself. Woedem spoke English well, but chose to toss around a number of sentences in Lithuanian that threw Harry for a loop. He wondered if Woedem was just cryptic, but the truth came out soon enough.

About a week into it, Harry overheard Woedem chatting with a group of others.

"- I wouldn't call him a natural, he flies well enough, but how is he going to really fit in here if he's got nothing in common with any of us?"

"I wouldn't really have a problem with him, but he nearly got Tallhorn's Chaser sacked," said another person in reply.

And that was it. That was when Harry discovered that they knew he was the one who forced Doka Bandar out of the first game of the season. They were acting lackluster towards Harry due to this, and it explained why Woedem helped so begrudgingly. It was March now, but memories were long.

He didn't know quite how the memo got out about him. It was only the Quidditch players and the interviewing witch who knew he was the reason Tallhorn United had their Chaser on ethical trial, so it was one of them who spilled the beans, causing this crevasse between getting to know anyone here. He knew there was such trouble with the truth of the story, with some believing the simple kiss was what set Doka off, and some believing it was a pornographic public display that should make being gay illegal, and that Doka was defending the bleeding eyes of the public by scorning Harry for a public display.

"I mean, I hope we don't see him making out with anyone in the halls here! Could you imagine? Is even anyone else here gay?"

"He's such a fag, just look at how he dresses!" This remark reminded Harry so very much of the boys at Dudley's school that it caused him to wince, not so much because the remarks stung, but because they reminded him of a life he lost.

It was at that time that Harry left the group and took his break time outside.

There were quite a few people milling about between the Herbology Institute and the Quidditch practice field. The long cobbled pathway that connected the building and the stadium was lined with benches, at which three separate magical families were picnicking. It was a sight he'd become use to. These were family members of both the Quidditch players and the employees who were here to let the kids play in the fields. Today, the kids were kicking a ball about, but usually they're on practice brooms with limited height and speed regulations.

Harry walked past all of them, worried that now he might conclude the adults' tame gazes as hiding scornful thoughts. He was just on a lunch break, still in uniform and still holding onto his Firebolt - which he had gotten use to never setting down and only putting away when he was sure there were Muggles around. Besides...it was nice to have something to fiddle with in his hands, because he was feeling antsy from his sudden realization about how others felt about him. He went through the archway into the Quidditch field, alighting upon the team practicing midair.

He wasn't alone, and if he hadn't just overheard the conversation just now, he might have gone up to a group of people also watching the players practice that he knew spoke English, but instead Harry went to stand in the grass off to the side and leaned against the wall there, just a ways off to a door that he knew led into the locker rooms for the Quidditch players.

He settled against the wall, his Firebolt over his left shoulder with that arm outstretched and snaked around the wooden handle, hand dangling in a relaxed fashion. The twigs making up the end of the broom was close to his right ear, behind his neck. He undid the clasps by his neck and opened his vest, pushing off his hood and letting out some heat.

He stood in the sun and watched the players fly intricate practice loops around the field for a time. He glanced once at the group he decided not to chat with and saw that a few were looking at him, but then quickly looked away. Harry kept his eyes in the sky after that, glad suddenly that he hadn't gone over.

At last a whistle blew and the fourteen players all clapped. It was break time for them, too, and they dispersed to the ground. A few went a ways to Harry's right, out to the field where people were snacking, but the rest went to his left to the lockers.

One player went right for Harry, though.

The sun shadowed him as he grew in sight, cape flowing behind him, brawny silhouette bulking up as he got closer. Doka landed just in front of Harry, feet settling on the ground with practiced ease, two steps from him. He was smiling, a bit of a glint to his look that Harry could see so very clearly when he stepped up and settled one arm on the wall behind Harry, his face just a foot away. His body blocked the sun because he was so much taller than Harry, and with his arm to one side and his Firebolt to the other, Harry was locked in like a cage.

He was close, looming really. Harry could smell his exerted body and see sweat dripping on his forehead. It must have been a workout, because he was breathing hard, breath blowing onto Harry's face and neck with gentle strokes. Just like last week when Harry took his training flight with the team, Doka was in full uniform and looking sweet and powerful. Harry licked his lips as his heart sped up.

Quick-like, Harry lost all thought. He hadn't noticed the wrinkles around the hazel-eyed Chaser, but he was thirty-three and was weathered by the stinging wind, so there were some. His hair was tousled and spiky, wet with sweat along the rim. He had a shadow of a beard. Harry ate up what he saw.

Doka kept smiling. He asked in a baritone voice, "What in the world are you doing here?"

"I was..." Harry watched a droplet of sweat slide down Doka's forehead to his nose, and wanted to wipe it away. He gripped his broom tighter. "...on a break."

There was no way Harry was being very subtle. He could see how his attraction was amusing the Quidditch player, who already was probably use to attention. He was one of the more handsome of the team players, and garnered quite some fame for his looks. Not one of the pictures in the newspapers was unflattering.

Doka nodded, but didn't seem like he bought the excuse. He narrowed his eyes. "How is everyone treating you?"

Harry shrugged as best he could with his arm still outstretched on his broom. With the husky man so close, none of Harry's previous worries weighted at all heavily anymore.

"Fine," he lied.

Doka grinned more mischievously than before.

"Liar. I heard at best they're ignoring you. Mostly they're giving you a hard time."

So, even Doka knew! Harry was forced to stand there while Doka laughed.

"I've heard the wives of some of the these guys have already threatened to petition the Herbology Company to fire you. They think I should file a restraining order for all the crap you put me through."

Harry lowered his arm, broom following. A worried frown creasing his forehead.

"Will you?"

Doka shook his head.

"I told everyone to tell their wives to lay off. You didn't do anything wrong."

Harry blushed and looked away. Doka didn't really like that. He tapped Harry's broom handle with his, then pressed his fist holding the broom against Harry's chest, between the open flaps of his vest. He got Harry's attention back.

"Would you want a ticket to the game next week?"

Harry was taken off guard again, and had to first push down his swelling dislike of the gossip before he could feel his blush return. "You could get me one? At a discount?"

"I'll get you a free ticket, actually," he patted his fist against Harry's chest, leaning closer. "Should I get you two? Are you still with that sore loser blonde who dumped you on the street?"

Harry gave a returning spiteful glower. "You don't know when to stop being a foul, rich Quidditch idol, do you?"

"When you stop licking me with your eyes, I'll stop biting!"

He snapped his teeth, holding his lip just so, making his large canines show. It was sexy. Harry gasped, mouth falling open when he did it. Doka grinned like a feral cat. Harry was left with his pants getting tighter and his stomach in knots. Doka was just playing with him, obviously, though.

Harry was surprised his voice was so raw when he said, "You scared him off. He's out of the picture."

Doka look pleased. "Good. He was a sore loser."

Doka pushed himself off the wall, settling his hand now against Harry's shoulder with a lot of weight. Harry's eyes dropped to Doka's wide chest, down to his thighs, quickly looking away from these attractive places and back to his face. Knowing Doka saw the whole move, Harry blushed and looked away. Doka didn't miss any of the looks, and snickered at Harry's conundrum.

"What are you looking at?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You're confusing me."

Doka laughed.

"Hey," he ruffled Harry's hair, "I'm flattered. But you've got three things wrong with you..."

Harry quirked a small smile, eyes locked again on Doka and liking his playfulness and friendliness. He saw his only ally with Doka.

"What's that?"

Doka raised a finger for each error on Harry's part. "One, obviously, you're a bloke. Two, obviously, you're still a teenager."

Harry was grinning by now. "How do you know? I might just look young!"

Doka rolled his eyes. "You look like your beard hasn't even started in, and the interviewing witch said so; you're just eighteen."

True enough. Lucius had invented Harry's new identity, and had chosen July 20th, 1979 for his new birthday. On paper, he was a full one year and eleven days older than his actual age, which was really seventeen.

"And three...?" Harry wondered, genuinely touched by Doka's thoughts on him.

"Woah, fox! What have I told you about lover eyes?"

"I don't have lover eyes," but Harry knew he did when he glanced at Doka's sweaty uniform and felt his stomach clench. Doka pushed his broom handle against Harry's chest and took a step back, finally giving Harry breathing space.

"Yes you do. I know you work at hiding it, though. You're such a good sport!" Doka fluffed up Harry's collar, now, taking a different approach to the conversation. "Just look at your level of fashion, though. You actually give a shit how you look. Most of those delivery scoundrels would raise Auror eyes if it wasn't for their delivery pass though the Floo Network. You dress like you're on your way to a fashion convention. Reminds me of someone I know..."

Harry looked down at himself, at his red shirt, open black vest, and the rest. "What? This is just some Muggle stuff I got on discount."

It wasn't on discount, but it wasn't out of his budget, either. He had Malfoy's to impress, besides! He wasn't going to get anything not related to 'fashionable.'

Doka ruffled his light brown hair again.

"The next magazine article will be about me robbing the cradle. Look at everyone around," he glanced about at the people, some of which were looking at them, "they're going to think I'm the one fooling around with you, because no way would a little twerp like you be at fault, right?"

Harry bit his lip for a millisecond, blushing at the idea of them fooling around. He cleared his throat, taking a moment to clear his mind before asking the awaiting man, "What's the third reason you're flattered? Flattered, but...?"

Doka held for a moment, smiling back, then reached forward and swiped at Harry's face.

"You little shit. I have a girlfriend. How about that for a third reason?"

"That's right," Harry pushed his hand away, but still playfully. Doka was all hands, no reason Harry couldn't be a little grabby, too. "You said I looked like her. Do you still think so?"

"Blue eyes, shoulder length hair. And your skin is so nice..."

"Shut up," Harry grinned, slapping Doka's hand as it caressed his cheek. "Well, forget it, anyway. I don't think anyone would want you to even be acquaintances with a gay boy like me. Imagine it: even now, they might think I'm rubbing my gay off on you, and you'll play horribly in your next game," here, Harry made a kissing face. He put on a playful, fake voice, "'Oh, Doka, let me take advantage of you in your Quidditch uniform! Come into the locker room with me and -'"

He couldn't finish his childishness.

Doka snatched Harry's face up, pushing his kissing face to the limit of goldfish. Harry's eyes went wide as Doka loomed over him, arching his neck for relief from the stone-like grip.

With his deep baritone voice, he rasped, "Careful, 'Ron. The winds will shift, and your face will get stuck that way."

He meant for it to be domineering, but the moment was lost on Harry, who was struck by a level of fright. 'Ron? Short for Alderbaron? The nickname was upsetting on many levels.

Doka saw Harry's fright, similar to a deer caught in headlights. He narrowed his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"Maybe...maybe I like you calling me 'fox' instead..." Harry's voice was so quiet.

Doka looked him over, seeing him turn from anxiety to standoffishness, disquiet shifting. Doka's hand loosened, so that now his callused hand engulfed Harry so carefully, just gently holding Harry's jaw, his face tilted back and still close.

"Foxy's my girlfriend's name...but you know how much of a mouthful 'Alderbaron' is, don't you? Fine then, fox. Fox it is."

It took a simple second for his rhythmic heartbeat to settle down. Harry at last nodded, a small smile reforming. Doka's hand slid from his jaw down his neck, surrounding it feather-soft, but then slipping away to land on his shoulder.

Harry said nervously, "I need to get back to work."

Doka grabbed the lapel of Harry's vest. He wasn't about to let Harry walk away so early. He turned himself around, pulling Harry with him. Now leaning against the wall Harry had been, he still gripped Harry, keeping him so close. His expression didn't change, as if he didn't see anything wrong with handling Harry thus so.

"Not so fast. My break just started. There's ten minutes left. Want to go into the locker room, and I'll let you finish telling me what you're going to do to me?" He was just kidding, of course. He knew it, they both knew it.

But now it was Harry's turn to threaten with a word of wisdom.

"Careful, Doka," and Harry wrapped his hand around Doka's, where he had Harry by his vest. Doka's strong hands dwarfed his lanky digits, but he had strength and held. "I might just get the impression you're willing."

Doka let go and flicked Harry's face, stinging him where it landed on his cheek.

"Ah!" Harry stepped back, holding his stung cheek.

And then he laughed. Doka just glared at him, but his eyes didn't express anger at all. Harry took the moment to take a few more steps away, speaking as he went, "Nice chatting with you. Bye, for now."

Doka nodded his head. "Bye, fox. Come again tomorrow and bring me a snack from somewhere far away!"

The request startled a grin out of Harry. Doka was taking advantage of him, but hadn't he always been doing that?

"Yeah, sure," he said, and waved.

He started for the exit, but he couldn't help a look over his shoulder as he left. He grinned, glad to see that Doka was watching him go.

The summer progressed.

A week after that first visit with Doka, Harry's bad and lonely feelings were gone, but only one thing had changed: Doka kept asking him to come around. Foul gossip and rude coworkers still existed - they probably wouldn't change - but Doka made it better.

Harry was also finding out what sort of food Doka liked. First off, he was a spoiled man. He liked extravagance and got a lot of it in his personal life. At work, he had less of it, which was why Harry bringing him snacks really hit the spot. The first snack brought by was a pastry from Latvia, which Doka ate up. The next was a caramel apple from a cozy patisserie on the border to Belarus, which Doka took a bite of but gave the rest to Harry. Then Harry decided to have a laugh and brought Doka soup in an invisible container, but Doka said it was too salty.

Sushi, naan bread, and creamy pastries were clear winners in Doka's book.

Throughout the day, Harry was glad at least no one was asking him directly about the suspicions that he liked Doka. When he stopped by in the morning to hand Doka his morning gift, the team in general was nice to him and seemed to be of the opinion that he was a good guy, but Harry only ever hung out with Doka.

Harry had come to recognize a lot of people at work but hadn't learned many names. He had become rather familiar with the people who oversaw groups of herbologists, but when it came to those who focused on only a class or subgenus of plant, he really didn't have correspondence. His coordinator, Talia, and Emidee, were the only two in the higher offices that he knew.

The same couldn't be said the other way around, as it seemed that everyone knew him. They weren't familiar with his persona as nearly no one tried to connect with him, but they kenw his face, name, rank, and aspiration to become an A-1 level flyer as fast as possible. He was ambitious to some and competition to others trying for the job. They were good flyers and not anyone Harry found threatening; though they weren't trying to be friendly, it was sort of like the competition between Percy Weasley and his brothers: Harry felt like Percy, in that he didn't really fit in even if he was competent.

What was it about him? Why did he always seem to have baggage? Why couldn't he be as uncommon as the herbologists, or simplistic as the C-level transporters?

It was early morning, just seven a.m., but Harry had been working since five and had done nine deliveries already. Today was a Quidditch game day and Doka had gotten him a free ticket again. He was working early to fill in his hours, taking an early day to watch the game. He didn't expect to find the Quidditch team warming up in the training stadium, but sure enough they were there. Harry had brought a snack for Doka that he bought in a shop in central Lithuania just an hour before while he was dropping off a delivery in a hidden magical town square in the middle of a Muggle village. It was a vibrant orange flower about as big as his hand, and the petals were edible and tasted like pancakes with syrup. Harry ate one and bought another for Doka.

He was standing by the entry way, little pastry bag in hand, but there were maybe a hundred people in the stands that morning. He wasn't use to seeing the seats so full. It was family, reporters, and managers from the looks of it, all preparing for the game that day.

The whistle blew, and the team huddled for a brief meeting, then took the route for the locker rooms, passing close to Harry.

Surprisingly, Nobel Magery landed closer to Harry than usual. The bearded Beater looked jazzed for the game today.

"Hey fox!" Greeted Nobel, giving Harry a wave. "What's in the bag?"

This was the first time someone other than Doka had called him 'fox.' Harry instinctively hid the bag behind his back.

"Hey, Mr. Magery! Good luck in the game today!" Harry said, smiling.

In that moment, a number of the other players also gave him a wave and a smile, some calling out the nickname, too. Harry greeted everyone as politely as he could.

"Everyone is happy today. No one calls me 'fox' but you," Harry told Doka when he came up and landed a hand onto Harry's head, sweeping it over the top and flicking his tail.

Doka also looked like he was keyed up, grinning and vibrating a bit.

"They're just jealous," Doka said as answer, which wasn't much of an answer.

His sidelong look at the lot of them said more than his words. Harry caught the extra few smiles as the players disappeared into the locker, landing last glances back over their shoulders as they talked out of earshot.

"Jealous?"

"Just that I have someone who gets me snacks every day," Doka said. Then he stretched up a brow, arching his neck to see what was behind Harry in that bag. "What have you got for me? Not another caramel apple?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's not the proper way to ask."

Doka stood up to his full and looming height, clearly dwarfing Harry. In this way he was alluring. It was the proximity to Harry that kept Harry coming back and trying to please him. He liked exerting his energy on the Quidditch player, and didn't mind at all that he was spoiled, rich, talented, and straight.

"Then maybe if I say please?" Doka wondered.

Harry knew he had an impressive snack and wanted to see Doka's reaction, so brought it out from behind his back despite not acting very impressed with Doka's posturing. It was in a white paper bag and he held it out. He wasn't disappointed by Doka's reaction when he opened the bag and looked in. He knew just what to do with the orange flower on the stem, and took a whopping bite of it.

"Just what I wanted," he said with his mouth full, beautiful orange petals sticking out of his lips as he munched. "Thanks, fox. Coming to the game, right?"

Harry nodded.

Doka tugged on his ponytail again and then patted the back of his neck. He waved goodbye, leaving with his snack and disappearing into the locker room. Harry smiled and left.

Little did both know that a photo had been snapped on a zoom lens of just that moment when Doka's hand was looping around Harry's head and tugging on his ponytail, then settling on his neck. The photographer who took it smiled to himself, giddy to get back to his office and show an editor.

Also, little did Harry know, but within the locker room, Doka held up the half eaten flower to show off to everyone.

"Look what I got today!" He declared, plucking a petal off and stuffing it into his mouth. "It tastes like waffles!"

"I haven't had one of those in years!" Exclaimed Nobel in awe.

Doka laughed. "Get yourself a devotee like mine and he'll get you one."

"I'll just get your devotee to turn against you, instead. What's your secret, Doka? Why does he like you so much?"

The room full of players laughed.

Doka puffed out his chest. "It's my good looks! He can't help but be a dutiful fan!"

"Yeah right!"

"You don't got any good looks!"

The jibes kept coming.

"Nonsense!" Declared Doka. "I didn't blackmail him, did I? I just told him to bring me a snack and he hasn't stopped!"

"Lucky bastard," replied Nobel, teasing Doka, "Alderbaron Gravewatcher gives you snacks because he feels sorry for you!"

"Or he wants to make you fat!"

The room laughed again.

Doka ate up his flower in their faces, grinning despite them. Honestly, he had no idea the delivery kid would keep coming with snacks, seemingly enjoying sharing and spending so much money on him. Doka changed into his game uniform as the team kept talking about his little fox.

"He must have a thing for you. Are you really okay with leading the gay boy on? What if he gets the wrong impression?"

"He's a smart lad, he won't get the wrong impression. And the food is getting better!"

"People are already talking, Doka. My wife says the gossip is that if you keep it up, the papers will pick up and start saying you two are together."

Another player added for whoever's benefit, "He's of age, you know."

Nobel added, "Still, people love gossip. You get gifts from him, that's all any one is talking about. They think you have blackmailed him."

Doka rolled his eyes, unmoved by their chatter. "Have you guys seen Foxy? You think that boy has any way to turn me against her?! You're sorely mistaken!"

The chuckles started up again. Sure enough, Doka's girlfriend, named Foxy, was about as hot as they could get. She was famous in the magical world, and was recently given a segment in the magazine Raganų Savaitė, similar to the English magazine Witch Weekly, which featured her often as a fashionable celebrity.

"Don't they look alike?" Called out one backup player.

"I think so, too! Haven't you noticed, Doka?"

More laughter.

"Does Foxy know you've got the eye of a teenage boy on you? Do you think she'll be very happy to learn you have been getting gifts from him?"

Doka shrugged at these words from his friend.

"You can't tell her anything, Noble, because she wouldn't be caught dead in a room with you! And besides, see if I care. Our relationship is as strong as one of these!" And then Doka kissed his own bare bicep, then pulled his uniform up to show off his abs. He pointed at them and wagged his eyebrows.

Laughter, because they all knew the game, and they all knew how wild Foxy could get when she got a little jealous. She was maybe the most famous of the team's spouses. The papers loved her in a fit, because she brought their ratings up.

"Okay, Doka, I'm going to tell her she's got competition!"

"You're all bluff," Doka declared.

The banter was just that - banter. He didn't really think anyone would purposefully take Alderbaron out of context. Besides, he wasn't hiding from anyone when he met with the kid, and he often bragged about getting free and thoughtful snacks. They were getting better and better.

He hadn't brought the kid up at home, in his shared house with his girlfriend. He had other things to talk with her about - or do things with. It wasn't that he was hiding Alderbaron, it was just that she never came by to learn about him.

No big deal.

Later that day, in another part of town, after the Quidditch game.

In an office on the sixth floor of a Muggle building was the publication house of Raganų Savaitė. The office was full for an evening, but they had a lot of work to do to cover the Quidditch game that went on that day. As it was too early in the season for the win over the Polish National Quidditch team, the White Eagles, to really affect whether they go to the nationals or not, the feud between the two teams still meant it was going as a main article in tomorrow's issue.

It had been a good game, and the fans were loving Doka being back.

The editor in chief, Ondu Dikar, was respite in his office enjoying a yogurt, when he got a knock on his door.

"Come!"

The young photographer to enter had such a smug look that it made Ondu light up. He put his yogurt down and raised an eyebrow.

"What have you got?" He asked of the photographer, sensing the juicy gossip already.

"I've been wanting to show you all day, but I had to stay to cover the game. But the photos are in. Here - " in his hand was a manila folder that he held out to the editor in chief, and again, he was so smug.

Ondu pulled from it three photos, one of which he wasn't expecting.

The first was a photo of Foxy Von Süss at the Quidditch match. She looked stunning and sat surrounded by big names in the business, all looking like they were enjoying the game. She was wearing a gorgeous blue dress with a black collar that showed off a nice amount of cleavage. Her light brown hair was pulled up, with curly strands hanging out. Her eye makeup was dark and her lips bright red. She had a woman friend with her, one seen regularly assisting the notorious woman with appointments.

Ondu scrutinized the photo for flaws, but found none.

"The fashion magazines are covering the game, too, thanks to her," said the photographer. "They'll be using this picture I took. But...look at the others..."

The next photo is what floored the editor in chief.

It was of a young man standing across from Doka Bandar. The young man was wearing the familiar delivery uniform of the Herbology Institute, and Doka was still in his training uniform. Doka held his broom under his arm with a pastry bag and a large, vibrant orange edible flower in one hand, and his other was coming up and behind the young man's head. For a moment, the young man's head was pulled back, thrusting his head into a position that would put him in line to have a kiss from Doka, who loomed over him. The young man was skinny, pretty, and had sensual eyes when he smiled up at Doka.

The magical picture was moving, and showed after the smile the young man's heavy blink, and then Doka pulling back. The photo naturally repeated itself.

Ondu stared at the beautiful boy, spotting instantly the similarities to Foxy.

"I asked around. His name is Alderbaron Gravewatcher. He's eighteen. Doka Bandar calls him 'fox.'" The photographer said from across his desk, returning Ondu back to reality.

Ondu switched suddenly to the third photo, and it was of Alderbaron at the Quidditch game, sitting alone in a different outfit now, with half his hair pulled back, the lower wisps blowing in the wind, a white shirt with a grey jacket. To compare the photo of Foxy and the fox was like comparing twins, but one an angel and the other a devil.

The editor in chief gave a heavy look to this photographer.

"Just what do you intend for us to do with these photos?"

The photographer burst out in a laugh. "Look at them! Bandar is with Alderbaron Gravewatcher! A. Gravewatcher! I asked around, that is who this is. That's the wizard who benched Bandar all those months ago! Not only is Bandar caught in close proximity to the wizard he attacked publicly, he sees him nearly every practice at Tallhorn's training field, gets gifts from the delivery boy like you see in that photo, and even attends Bandar's Quidditch games! And look at the similarities between him and the girlfriend. He is clearly attracted to this type! There is so much here, there's no way you can skip this article!"

Ondu was suddenly standing. With the photos still in hand, he went to the door and yelled out, "Danska! Come!"

Danska Lee was the author of many of the articles covering the gay and lesbian defense against Doka's brutal behavior towards the gay wizard caught kissing in a public street. She was instrumental in pushing the limits of the story, rousing so much attention that she even was granted a national award for her writing last year.

Ondu heard the subtle context from the photographer to take the offensive and subject Doka to more brutality for finding Alderbaron Gravewatcher, but Danska Lee had brought pride to the paper for covering the story in a way that defended the gay young man. Ondu was a smart man. He knew the paper needed Danska in on this.

Danska quickly responded to the harsh demand for her presence and came clacking in her high heels into his office. She entered, her short black hair spiky, her eyes painted around with green makeup.

"What was the name of the wizard who was assaulted by Doka Bandar last year?"

She was a bit out of breath from her hustle, but replied quickly, "A. Gravewatcher. No one knows his first name."

Ondu looked over at the photographer again, who was now more than ever gleeful.

"Try Alderbaron. Danska, I want you to look into this," Ondu held out the photos for her to see.

"We haven't discussed a price yet!" Complained the photographer.

"What am I doing with - oh - oh!" Danska had seen the second photo.

"Find out if this is A. Gravewatcher. That's a Herbology Institute Transportation Agent uniform. Start there, but be subtle! It's March, no one wants to hear gossip yet. If this works out, this will be our Summer hot topic," and now Ondu looked at the photographer. "Let's discuss a price..."

Danska was glued to the photo as the other two talked money. She was shaking with excitement, thrilled to believe this was the outcome of A. Gravewatcher and Doka Bandar...and Foxy. It surely would be a hot summer topic!

Late April, the day before another Quidditch game: Tallhorn United vs. Norway Karasjok Kites.

It was difficult and cold at first, but now that he was use to the job and the weather was turning, everything was getting easier. Harry had been working for two months now. He made dozens of deliveries a day to potioneers and craftsmen of various sorts, like cauldron craftsmen and book binders, each of whom needed oils and salves from plants for preservation or manufacture. Most witch and wizard businesses were staunchly reliant on people like Harry to deliver their supplies. There is always that one bad experience of going to the city to get your own things, only to be mugged in the street and lose everything on your way back, so people relied on his profession.

The bonus of delivering to all of these businesses was that he could get a look around the country. As he waited for signatures, he would glance around the wizard's shops and even come back to buy things for personal use. He had made a fine collection of trinkets, clothing, and books that he wouldn't have ever come across if he just shopped the magical street of Blūesoul Alley. Weasley Wizard Wheezes had even made it all the way out here, so Harry was starting to purchase from them, too. Also, it was amazing to find some new and special food thing for Doka.

He approached him now, a small muffin wrapped safely in a napkin in a bag, holding it out.

The bag opened and Doka grinned as the orange zest of the berry muffin came to light.

No words were spoken as he wrapped an arm around Harry and took that first bite. Harry was free to look up into Doka's face as he hummed in appreciation, because their backs were to all those in the training stadium and Doka's uniform - cape specifically - was hiding them.

His lower status meant he was exempt from intense review, unlike his higher class coworkers, some of whom were pompous; feeling more important than others because they had moved up in the ranks. There were people even Harry's level who felt superior to those below them - like the C-level transporters who mainly delivered goods directly through the Floo Network to the other seven departments of the Eight Companies. Harry had yet to make friends with any classification of coworker.

So like usual, strangers at work kept to themselves and their cliques, and Harry kept to himself and his work. It was probably for the best that he kept a distance between everyone, so as to keep his cover as Alderbaron Gravewatcher. Narcissa and Lucius were happy to hear he was settling in, and also happy to hear that he wasn't making friends.

Doka kept humming and nodding his head as he took another big bite, still yet to speak.

"You are appreciating things pretty vocally today," Harry observed slyly.

Doka burst into muffled chuckles, trying to keep his mouth closed so his food wouldn't fall out. He patted Harry fiercely even as he pulled him in closer.

Harry may have considered Doka a really good friend, but so did Doka about him. He really liked the delicate thrill his five minute meeting with Doka brought him nearly every day. To get that loud and rude Welsh man to focus on him meant a lot more to Harry than just a platonic relationship should.

At last Doka swallowed his mouthful.

"Merlin's beard, fox. I'm a vocal guy! You have no idea what sort of Pandora's box you're opening making a comment like that!"

Doka was also older by fifteen years, hell if that didn't spark a bit of thrill into Harry's life, too. Harry loved that Doka let Harry be different around him - more feral, less concerned with proper socializing. If there was a teacher-student taboo relationship going on here, it was Harry chiding Doka, who clearly lacked discipline off the field.

Harry had made this one really good friend that he just...wasn't talking about with the Malfoys. He was told to - demanded to - so that they could offer their advice if things got dicey. But Harry didn't want to. Maybe it was because Doka didn't dislike Harry staring longingly at him, and Harry didn't dislike Doka's scolding tone of voice. It was a strange balance.

Doka looked fondly down at Harry who was still pressed against his side because Doka wasn't letting go.

"You're easy to appreciate, you know that?"

"I am? You're complimenting me?"

"Happily!"

Doka swung Harry around, displaying the Quidditch field with his hand. "Remember when you flew here that first time? Even at Jimualt's. Your skills, your charms - you are an easy guy to get along with!"

Harry scrunched up his face in a smile and an embarrassed wince.

"Thanks..." he blushed now.

"You'll find someone who appreciates you," Doka said then, coming to a restful conclusion.

It was without a doubt Narcissa's potions that strengthened his fortitude for the complexities of the world and the relationships he'd make there within. Also, it was these potions - as so stated by Draco on numerous occasions - that caused him to not be as concerned with keeping the things he liked secret as he was with things he didn't like.

Harry said now, "I know the world isn't ready for a gay Quidditch player, but since you appreciate me, we might as well give it a real shot some day."

Doka merely laid his head back and closed his eyes in censorable restraint. He took some easy breaths before he returned to his last posture.

"You're funny," he stated with a strained smile.

Harry was grinning up at him. When Doka looked down with that black look, it quickly turned into a matching grin.

"You're easy to make blush," Harry said.

Now is a good moment to mention a little about Doka that Harry had already figured out.

He's a seasoned professional Quidditch player, yes, and he's also competitive, loudmouthed, and boorish in so many ways. He thinks he's funny, so it would be hard to change him. His girlfriend, Foxy Von Süss, is so alike Doka with her own level of competitiveness that they make a strong and popular couple. Foxy knows this, and has made a small fortune in public appearances because of it. Doka doesn't mind the attention, and often it doesn't bother him one way or another if their attention is bad or good; he feels like a good guy, so that's what matters to him.

Doka cares about his appearance so far as it affects his career. He knows the taboos of society well, and plays dumb otherwise. He learned a harsh lesson about the treatment of gay wizards, and also the lack of humor many on the outside had. He swore to be a bit more careful when it comes to that topic, because he hated sitting out the first game.

He's Welsh but plays for the Lithonia team Tallhorn United since they traded him off in 1990. So for eight years he had been flying and living here in Lithuania, and was a stable player as far as the fans were concerned. He took sides against Voldemort, as so many in the Quidditch sport had.

He was also handsome. Rugged and tanned from the sun, six and a half feet tall and built like a car, but flexible like a Chaser had to be. He was considered Tallhorn's second best player, surpassed by his fellow Chaser Aykroyd Grith, and just ahead of the Beater Nobel Magery. The three were good friends.

Enough with Harry's thoughts.

Doka had this radiance when Harry was around. Little did Harry know that others noticed, too.

Foxy couldn't be bothered with Doka's friends, that's why Doka went solo to Nobel's house to have some after-work beer and grilled steaks with just his two friends and their families. It was a warm evening. The sun was setting, but Nobel's back yard was decorated with string lights and enchanted with glowing bugs. It was in a small magical community where he was allowed such enchantments, which was why the other two often liked visiting him.

Nobel's two kids were flying on their training brooms, as his yard was rather big, and Aykroyd's wife was sitting with Nobel's wife inside. The three men were alone by the grill, and that's when both Nobel and Aykroyd cornered Doka.

"Are we going to tell him now?" Aykroyd asked in a leading sort of way. It drew the conversation in the direction they needed it to go.

Nobel gave Doka a serious look. "Yeah, I think we need to tell him now."

Doka smirked and took a sip of his beer. He could read into their accented voices and knew they were bothered by something he was doing.

"Don't get me started, you two. Is this an intervention?"

Doka got slapped with a charcoal covered tong and told, "Yes! Doka, you are flirting with an eighteen year old boy, and you need to stop it!"

Little did they know that it was only on paper that Harry was eighteen. He was actually seventeen.

Doka threw his head back and laughed. Nobel already looked hilarious in his apron standing over the grill, but flinging the tong around and declaring such things really rocked Doka's sense of humor.

The two Lithuanian men were quite serious about this, though.

Nobel shook his head in disappointment. "He's a good kid, from what I can see. You need to leave him alone, Doka. You will get him in trouble if you keep this up. You have no idea how stupid you are being."

"Stupid?" Questioned Doka, acting like he was unfamiliar with the word. "That little fox is so easy going, why would I stop messing with him? He buys me good food!"

Aykroyd reached out and shook Doka's shoulder. His massive hand looked small against Doka's more massive shoulder. He made Doka unstable so he had to catch himself against the banister he was leaning against. There was the sound of the kids playing not far away.

"Stop messing around, man. Alderbaron is so young. People are starting to look at you two and ask if there is anything going on there. He's gay, so there's that chance that he'll try something on you."

"Psh!" Admonished Doka.

"Don't make him believe he stands a chance with you!"

"I don't make him believe that!" Doka was still smiling at the oddity of it all.

"Hey, listen. We get it," Nobel continued with passion, "Alderbaron is gay and you are not. Fine. But try telling that to someone from outside -" he was referring to people who weren't on their Quidditch team. "- they are starting to look at you and him, they see you throw your arm around him. Fine. Nothing there. They see him bring you a snack. Sure. But then you grab his face like this -" and Nobel reached up and clenched Doka's jaw, pinching him tight and bringing his face right up to his. They were so close they could see the specks in each other's eyes.

Doka loved doing that to the kid who looked like Foxy.

Doka felt heat rise in his face and a tingly blush form as the Beater moved up near him.

He smacked Nobel off and rolled his eyes. "It's only a game."

"There!" he exclaimed. "But it's not! He thinks you're a good guy. Why not cut ties with him now and send him off before things get dirty and he finds out the truth. You are playing with fire, Doka."

Aykroyd clarified more, saying, "It's true. The newspapers know who he is and that he works at the Herbology Institute. They're sneaking around asking for information! They talked with my wife earlier in the week!"

That wasn't news to Doka.

"The captain says he's keeping the reporters off the property."

Both his teammates shouted in anxiety. "So you know!"

Doka shrugged a bit. "Whatever. Bound to find out the kid works near us. What did your wife tell them?"

Aykroyd sighed. "She didn't know not to say anything. She said that you and him are close."

"They're planning a big reveal in the papers come the summer. Be careful! We're telling you now to give him up and ignore him."

Doka believed them about the pending publication. He also believed those same papers were powerful and criminal at the same time. They would find dirt on people and try to profit off it. Well, he maneuvered them last year and he'd maneuver them again this year: he wasn't going to be cowered into hiding from them.

And what was this strange heat he was feeling? What was this feeling in his stomach as he was told to leave Alderbaron alone? He didn't like it, so he had two choices: he could fight, or he could brush it off.

Whatever. They were talking bullshit. Besides, Foxy was at home. This was just pent up heat that he could release in her tender arms...well, her iron fist, really.

Doka asked, "What's the angle they could possibly take? Lie and pretend there's something between me and the kid?"

"There is something between you two!"

Doka shrugged. "Not really."

Nobel said, "I heard they have photos of you two, and that it's not nonsense to believe you're attraction - or at least his attraction to you! There's something about it that they're going to exploit. You did something that makes them think there's a story there."

Doka swallowed a big gulp of beer.

"You do like him," Aykroyd said, nodding with understanding. "But that is because you are thick-headed and don't realize you can't be friends with a gay teenager."

"Why not?" Doka was honestly inquisitive suddenly. "What's wrong with being friends with a gay?"

"Because gays will want to sleep with you!" Aykroyd said, as if it was obvious.

Doka burst out laughing again. "You two! You guys! You're the dumbest shitheads I've ever met! I can't believe you two are both married! Where do you come up with this stuff?!"

They were not as amused as he was. They were quite sure that the newspapers were planning something big with this story at Doka's expense. It was stewing, but it would boil over if it didn't find some way of slowing down.

Nobel landed a hand onto Doka's shoulder.

"Let him down, Doka. Publically! Let others know that you stopped him."

Doka shook his head, calmed down now but still his usual self.

"There's nothing going on with the kid. He's just being friendly. So am I."

The night carried on normally for the most part. Doka then went home and went straight into Foxy's arms. He had so much stamina that even he wasn't sure where it had come from. If he thought about it, though, he might just realize that he kept his eyes closed the whole time he made love to her. There was an image in his head that setting eyes on the person in his bed just took away from...

The next day. A game day.

Harry had a free ticket again, this time to Tallhorn United vs. Norway Karasjok Kites.

To keep up his disguise was top on Harry's list. It consumed him so thoroughly at times that it had the by-product of keeping him without friends, as should anyone become suspicious and start asking questions, then his true identity might come out. Less contact with others led to just a more relaxed mind.

Really, the most contact Harry had with anyone was the Coordinator, Talia Visicala. Talia got to see him upwards of a dozen times every day, but she never noticed anything about the slight changes in his disguise - slight color variations in his eyes due to Narcissa's magical powder she'd given him, or if he'd spread his tanning lotion a little differently that day - too swamped in paperwork to notice. Whatever the reason people had missed it - just too busy, distracted, uninterested, naive...whatever it was that kept people from seeing the subtle things about Harry was in fact similar to the reasons Ron never saw Harry's crush. Harry aided in distracting people from his true feelings and true self, and truth be told he did this innately; as if raised with the special talent of being out of the way of others.

Thank you Dursleys.

Harry would have hair in his eyes when others were close, would look away, would move along faster than the rest...so many diversions to keep people away from him.

He spent brief moments with clients he needed signatures from, and was becoming familiar enough with a few of the leads of the greenhouses, but other than five to ten minutes in the morning giving a gift of food to Doka, he rarely even spoke to anyone else.

But those minutes were magical, it had to be said.

The moments between purchasing some exotic treat and making it over to the Quidditch training pitch caused his heart to beat faster. As he had by now memorized the break time - 8:30am - of Tallhorn United, he made sure to be there about then to deliver his gift. He'd sometimes only smile, but he'd sometimes grin without the ability to stop. It all depended on Doka's enthusiasm.

That morning, Harry had found himself in the vicinity of the shop that made the bright orange flower pancakes. He'd bought one and received a glowing smile from Doka for his trouble.

"Thanks, kid!" Doka declared, patting Harry's shoulder but glancing over his shoulder as he did so.

Harry looked in the direction Doka glanced and saw the retreating backs of the other Quidditch players as they made their way into the locker room. The team wouldn't be returning to the pitch, as it was a game day.

"Do you have to hurry back?" Harry asked, believing that was the reason for Doka's split attention.

Doka turned back and made a noncommittal gesture. He even appeared a bit lackluster with the gift, if Harry was to be honest.

The height difference, the age difference, and the level of importance between both their jobs made Doka infinitely superior to Harry. But one more reason Harry liked him was because he had such a carefree attitude; Doka had joked about all three of these chasms between them, never once making Harry believe they were things he took seriously. Most of Harry's coworkers were so stuck-up and believed themselves so important...it was hard to get along with people who were so egotistical.

It wasn't that Harry was suddenly wondering if Doka was starting to be board of him, but -

Oh, fucking hell.

Yes. Suddenly Harry was worried for just this reason.

Paranoia.

It was part of his new life.

Harry reached up and clasped a hand onto the beginnings of where Doka's cape came out from his collar. It was twisted up and he took a moment to fix it. Doka's eyes had been glued to the treat, but now they looked into his. Harry tried to smile warmly, instead of worriedly like he felt in his gut. His hand stalled while fussing with Doka's uniform.

"Sorry if you don't like the flower. I'll get you an éclair next time."

Doka's eyes lowered to Harry's mouth, to his smile. Nervous suddenly, Harry licked his bottom lip and then bit it. Doka kept looking.

It was unlike the man he'd come to know not to mention something like this with a turn of a joke. Harry was use to being cuffed about for staring with too much lust upon the Quidditch player he was so fond of. Doka was a game he loved to play. Where was the fun now?

"Are you okay?" Harry wondered.

Then Doka squeezed his eyes shut. He reached up and took Harry's wrist and pulled his hand away from his cloak. Doka took a step back, releasing Harry.

"I do have to go back. We're heading out to the game soon."

As Doka turned to leave, a chill ran though Harry's heart. He wondered what was going on that would make Doka act this way.

Harry had a ticket to that game, though, and would still go to support Doka and Tallhorn United, even if Doka was a bit cool towards him. He figured the team was getting a beating for needing to win this game if they were going to stay in the running for the Quidditch finals. A lot balanced on the outcome of this.

Tallhorn was playing their worst enemy, the Norway Karasjok Kites. Harry was going to the game with another free ticket. As he walked with the crowds up the many stairs to his seat, he entered his platform and wouldn't you know it, he was sat right next to Emidee Withers, the witch who interviewed him for his job. She was hard to miss; she had a giant foam red and black pointing finger on. One of those extra over-sized ones, and it had on it a picture of an ox as the emblem of Tallhorn; it was the team's colors and symbol.

She was a very talented and smart woman in her mid thirties, fair skinned and styled enough to pass for being a few years younger than she really was. She was a quadrilingual, a huge sports fan, had an eye for other talented people, and she was everyone's favorite among the whole building. She just got along well with others. She knew everyone's name and could recall specifics in their personal files so as to make her a great conversationalist.

Harry admired her because she was also open and friendly with even the most self-important - those who would usually put Harry off. Harry wasn't self-important, but his reticency to mingle with not just anyone was a trait Emidee didn't have, and he acknowledged that.

"Looks like you got one of the team's free tickets, too!" Emidee chuckled. "Let me guess: you got yours from Doka?"

This brought Harry up short, but why should it? Everyone was gossiping about how they were friends. He started to settle in to a seat next to her. Having expected once again not to know anyone in his booth, this would take some getting used to.

"Uh, yes. Who did you get yours from?"

She smiled and blushed. "I got mine from the Captain."

Then from behind them, a great laugh sounded, and a woman descended upon Emidee with a squeal.

Harry only saw a blur of a frilly shirt, and the shine of tight leather pants. Whoever this woman with short black hair was, she dressed so very stylishly that she might have been cold in this weather. Harry was expecting to need his jacket - a blue one - as the game progressed into the day. It was scheduled to get colder as the day wore on.

Emidee and the new stranger caught up in the native language of the area, though it had to be said that when the announcer began and the whistle blew to sound that the game began, Emidee was starting to become distracted from this new woman, but was unable to shake her off. Harry just tried to enjoy the game, as the crowd was loud, the seats were filled, and the sun was high.

The Quidditch players were well into it before Emidee turned and held up her hand to this woman, saying something to stop her endless chatter. And then she turned to Harry and held out her hand in display of him.

"Alderbaron, this is my old classmate Danska Lee. Danska, this is Alderbaron Gravewatcher. Here, trade places with me, Danska!"

She never even asked Harry if he wanted to talk to her. This got a surprised look from Danska as Emidee stood up and just about shoved over Danska into her sitting place. Emidee turned back to the Quidditch game and was just in time to witness a goal from Tallhorn, and she was on her feet, foam finger in the air, screaming in delight with the rest of the booth. She was truly a Tallhorn United fan.

But Harry had missed it, because Danska was right in his face and smiling.

Harry was less intrigued and more fearful suddenly. His shoulders naturally tightened.

"Did she say your name right?" Wondered the woman in quite good English, and then she wilted onto Harry like a chocolate table piece melting in the sun. As Danska came into his arms for such a luscious hug, he got the strong whiffs of alcohol from her, and suddenly her gleefulness had a source: the concessions that were floating magically about had clearly had her patronage.

"I wrote all those articles about you?! It was you?!"

Harry didn't know what she was talking about, until a light clicked in his head.

He was lost for words.

Danska Lee was the name of the author who had taken a sharp edged sword against Doka and his behavior after Jimualt's competition last year. Harry looked around to see if any of the dozen other people in their stand was paying attention to them, but fortunately many were there for the game, just as he wished he was.

"You know, we should chat about all that. I think I'd like to get your point of view on a few things." She released him from her hold. From out of her purse she produced such a familiar pen and quill that Harry was instantly reminded of the sneaky witch Rita Skeeter. He felt shivers, as he had all those times he wondered if she was watching in on him secretly. Harry didn't like this so much suddenly.

But really, he was talking to a reporter. A reporter! He hated this.

It was no good for his low profile.

He found his voice.

"I don't have a point of view. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh come on! A few quotes! You're at Doka's game. Are you a Tallhorn United fan, or supporting their opposition?"

Harry turned suddenly to get up and go, but Danska grabbed him and said, "It's just a little question!"

"You're not leaving?!" Emidee suddenly said, seeing now that she couldn't just pawn Danska off onto him. If Harry left, then she'd be left talking to Danska for the whole rest of the game!

Emidee wailed at the two of them, "Not now, Danska! Alderbaron, don't listen to her! She's a writer for a magazine and can't help herself. Come on! We're at a game! Put your work down and just enjoy it!"

Harry tried, he really did. He even made it to his feet, but with both Danska and Emidee on him and pulling him back down he had to consent. Harry moaned in disappointment at not being able to escape.

"But don't ask me questions!" Harry declared to Danska.

"Ooh!" She grumbled. "But why!? Gravewatcher, Gravewatcher! I've always wondered what you looked like! You are so handsome! What was your first name? What did she say it was?"

Harry supplied ruefully, "Alderbaron."

He watched the magical quill get to work, and hated the moment.

Danska giggled and patted his shoulder.

"Alderbaron, you don't need to be worried about the articles I write! Unlike some publishers, I cover gay and lesbian literature in the wizarding community for a reputable magazine. I've been advocating for equal rights and equal treatment of all witches and wizards, gay, Muggle-born, cursed - it's all just people I'm writing about. I think there should be more compassion in the world! And I know something about you..."

She let the sentence hang.

Harry digested it.

Yes, he was quite fond of the point of view she took in those articles. He recognized her name and her face now, although the picture in the paper wasn't of a sloshed witch in such tight pants...

Harry raised his eyebrows behind his white glasses, dodging his eyes to the left and right. He mainly didn't want to have the attention of a reporter, who might start peeking into his very secretive life.

"Don't look so nervous!" Danska laughed. "If you're the young wizard who Doka Bandar harassed on the street while out on a date with a lad, then I know you're bold and go-getting! You kissed a handsome young wizard in public, the story goes. Who was he? Never mind! No, that's not what I want to know! What I want to know is if you are here to watch the game, or to watch Doka? Emidee says this is the booth for people who have gotten free tickets. How did you get yours? Has Doka tried to make amends for his behavior?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Is this an interrogation?"

She shook her head and laughed - maybe too loudly, if Harry was to be honest. "I'm just asking! I would love your story to end on a high note. Are you and Doka friends? How close have you become?"

"I didn't realize you were here because you wanted to write a story about him," declared Emidee, standing up and quickly shifting so she was sitting between the two of them now, whereas before she was mostly leaning over the banister on the very high seating stands. She pressed herself against Harry, who pulled himself back to give her room. "But if Alderbaron wanted to talk, he would have done it all the times you asked him to last year! You're not fooling anyone, Danska Lee! This wasn't a coincidence! You knew who he was and you knew he would be here! You've got to stop!"

Danska smiled still, although not as happily as before.

Harry allowed himself to be shielded, because he was in trouble if he didn't. He looked meekly around Emidee's head at the reporter, who really was quite a suspicious woman now.

"Emidee!" complained Danska, swatting her friend softly in protest. "I'm not here to get on your bad side! How long have we been friends? Alderbaron is an adult...he doesn't need you sitting between him and me."

Danska didn't give ground. "I think you've misread the situation. We're here to watch this game, not catch up, not talk about the past, just have fun. You don't like Quidditch games, I remember you telling me that. Why are you here if not for him? You don't cover sports."

Just then the close-by crowd roared in anger: the Norway Karasjok Kites had scored a goal.

With the crowd in uproar, Danska stood up and with a wave of her wand her magic quill and parchment rolled up and went back into her bag.

"Oh, you are right, I don't really like all this noise. But, let's stay in touch!" And she offered Harry her business card.

Harry shook his head, denying the token card.

"I'm really not interested in talking about it," he said.

Suddenly another goal was made, but this time it was Tallhorn making the points. Having missed it, the three of them took a moment to take in the game's progress.

"I don't think I'd like to be featured again," Harry said to the reporter once it all died down.

"Think of the community," Danska phrased it wisely. "You would be a hero. You not only made it through a tough time, but you changed the heart of your assailant. Not only that, you became his friend and supporter, and he became yours."

Harry was wise enough not to fall for her leading statement, knowing one answer would lead to another, and if he learned anything from Rita Skeeter it was to pay close attention to reporters and their tricks.

But she did phrase it in an appealing way. Harry was personally aware of how little support sources he had while growing up. It led to him keeping silent about his desires for Ron...it also meant that Ron had never come into contact with the idea of someone being gay.

If it had just been a little different...

"I think you really aren't here by coincidence," he said astutely, denying his feelings for the tactical lessons he'd learned from Lucius.

Sure enough, Danska just shrugged and returned her business card to her purse, and with a final farewell, she left their stand.

Harry was let off the hook, but had a hard time returning to his enjoyment of the game after that. So did Emidee, but in the end they celebrated just as jovially as the rest of the people in their stand when Tallhorn won the game.

"That game was a blast!" Emidee hollered, fists raised with one smothered in a giant foam finger, the ox dancing merrily on the front of it. She then wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and nearly fell over, swooning still with jollity and a little too much to drink from the concessions stand that kept floating by. Both of them found that after a drink they were putting that bothersome encounter with Danska Lee behind them.

Harry gave a nervous laugh as her very womanly body came into contact with him, and though it was a bit awkward, he kept her from falling into the grass. They'd stopped progressing to the exit, causing a bit of turbulence among the moving crowd. Harry looked around at the fans of Tallhorn.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He said to anyone who wanted to hear it.

He got Emidee back onto her feet and moving again.

"Oh Merlin! Was that a wonderful game or what?!" She asked him. "And never mind Danska Lee! She's just a prize winning writer! What a buzz kill!"

Harry could only roll his eyes and shake his head, but still he smiled at her. He recalled the very same spirit at this game as he had seen when he'd gone to see the Chudley Cannons with Ron and his family. But of course there weren't nearly as many people at this event, and no one was camping out; these two teams didn't have the track record of having their games last for days on end.

Emidee started to jump as she walked, like a little girl would who was excited.

"Let's go! Let's go!" She said to him, and then she lowered her voice to continue, "Let's go see the team! I can get us back there!"

Harry laughed. "What? Really?"

She suddenly turned from a gleeful girl into a pouty child. "Ooooh! What? You don't want to? You're my plus one, Alderbaron! You don't want toooo?"

Harry laughed louder, causing her to realize he wasn't going to be holding them back.

"If you think you can..." he said to her. He wouldn't mind congratulating Doka in person.

She squealed, and only just then did Harry realize that she reminded him a bit of Hermione Granger. Emidee held a powerful position at the Herbology Institute - she was the one you had to impress during your interview to get a job there. Harry saw her as a bit out of reach even if he wanted to be friends with her, but similar to how it was with Hermione: once you saw the girl behind the bookworm you were suddenly friends.

Emidee led Harry by his hand back the way they had come. They'd descended up a long trail of wooden steps that reminded him of the steps in Jimualt's Flying Arena (he hadn't ever made that connection until now; that those steps in Jimualt's were there to simulate the steps going up to the fan seating). Less than halfway up them, she turned along a narrow path until they made it to a small door. The other fans could still be heard, but not seen as they were around a bend.

She knocked on the small door.

It soon opened and there stood a really, really big man - security for the event - dressed in a suit and tie despite looking like a Muggle boxer. He looked right at Harry and spoke in a deep voice in another language. "Do you have a pass?"

Harry looked to Emidee for guidance.

She cleared her throat and smiled. She spoke the same language and replied, "Hi! I'm a guest of Tallhorn United's team captain! Can you let Quintius know that Emidee is here to congratulate the team? I don't have a private pass, but could you give that message to him? We'll wait here."

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if her reply - whatever it was - would really work.

The man at the door said, "One moment," and closed the door.

Emidee turned to him and grinned excitedly. "I hope it works!"

"I hope so, too..." he was really thinking more about the consequences of disrupting this man more so than for any desire to see the team.

The bodyguard was back and held the door open.

"Come in," he said in English, and stepped aside.

Behind the bodyguard was the team captain, Quintius Umfraville the fifth, who had come out to meet them. She clapped - one hand a giant foam hand - at the sight of him, jumping with joy again.

"You won!"

He was grinning and stood before her, eyes glinting. "We sure did. Come in! Say hi! Alderbaron! You're here too? What did you think?"

Harry said, "Great game! Great catch in the end!"

"We have a great Seeker!" Quintius agreed.

They were led into a locker area where a team meeting had just burst into cheers and clapping. Most were still in full gear, soaked with sweat. The room was warm. Each player had a locker spread a distance away from the others in the round room, with a bench in front of and a personal shower room off to the side of each station. Harry had never seen such an opulent locker room where everyone showered separately.

He'd never seen Doka with his shirt off, either.

Harry's gaze found Doka near the back, who had just spotted him and was coming over to him with a broad smile.

Doka's shirt was absolutely off. It took Harry's breath away to watch his sweaty skin shimmer in the light, covering with such buff muscles.

Another player bumped into him as he walked towards Harry. The other guy was bounced back by the padding of his raw muscles and didn't seem fazed even as Doka patted him on the shoulders to show that everything was alright. Doka's skin wrinkled for that barest of moments where the impact happened. He side stepped the next collision and was then standing before Harry.

Harry gazed up. His eyes discovered Doka's chest hair was the same reddish brown as the shadow that adorned his cheeks and jaw where he wouldn't let his beard grow in, and that his long, bare neck looked just so kissable - even just lickable.

Doka was smiling in a friendly way even if it was plain to see what thoughts were going through Harry's head. Harry's mouth had dropped a little, as if to speak, but he was voiceless.

Stupid reaction in a Quidditch changing room. He had more tack back in school than this! But then, none of the other boys looked like this...

"You all did so well!" Emidee loudly congratulated the team, and they noisily accepted and their chatter was fierce.

If Harry spoke Lithuanian, he might have understood all of what was said. He could translate a few words of it. Go team! We won! Winners! Those losers! It was the regular banter.

Harry was distracted, though: Doka had wrapped his arm around Harry. Harry's neck and jaw got a feel for his warm arm as it looped around his shoulders. Doka didn't look at all bothered as he had a few hours before when Harry was dropping off his gift.

"Come look at this!" Doka Bandar said, pushing through the hurried movements of the team. They ignored the two as they slid through gaps to return to where Doka had been changing; his locker left open and half spilling out with his gear. Harry kept his feet because Doka never let him go.

No one paid them any attention, too busy celebrating.

Harry was brought into a tiled shower room that was full of hot steam and running water. There were towels on a rack and seating along the edges. Doka still held him around the shoulders.

"Doesn't look like I shower with anyone, does it? And you thought we did! You're full of nasty little thoughts, gay boy!"

Of course, Doka was commenting on their first meeting, when Harry had declared that Doka was more gay than him because he showered with a bunch of men. Harry gave him a look he hoped was a full-faced eye roll, but his glasses had steamed up. He didn't know what to do with his hands until now, but used them to take his glasses off. Still, he didn't know to do anything else; he was getting sensations from everywhere.

Still wrapped in Doka's arm, his face was right there, too close to be too blurry.

Doka, with his free hand, took Harry by his jaw and held his face still; right in his face and so close. Harry parted his lips for the connection that wouldn't come. His mind was in naughty places...

Doka said, "You're eyes are darker than I remember. Weren't they blue?"

That took a moment to register. Doka's eyes were hazel and spotty.

"Oh," Harry just remembered that the magical powder had turned his eyes more of a brown today than a blue. He looked down, but Doka's large hand tightened further on his jaw. Harry grasp it and tugged, but it held strong so he couldn't look away.

No one really took note of Harry's eyes changing colors, even though it was mostly a surprise to him every time he dabbed Narcissa's magic powder onto his eyelids in the morning. They never changed too drastically away from a dark blue, but some days they were hazel, wanting to be brown. His green color was never an option.

So the fact that Doka noticed at all attributed to Doka's attention upon him.

Harry tried to hide, but Doka pushed back the hair that had fallen forward. He tilted his face further back to get a good, close look. Harry was swung around and now faced Doka.

"Let me see. Yes, they weren't brown before. They were blue like my girlfriend's. Fuck, you're wearing some magic makeup, aren't you?" And he gripped Harry's head with a hand around the back, his fingers entwining into his hair.

That's when he pulled Harry forward so close that his body was pressed against his, against all the muscle and the layers of clothing below his waist. Doka's hot breath was right there, his face just inches away. And Harry was caught in his discourteous grasp and forced to undergo this torturous proximity to such a big, muscular body.

The hospital ward: Ron's body above him. So consuming.

It was reflex to reach forward and lay his hands upon Doka's bare pectorals. He felt the large heaps, the sharp nipples, the soft hair, and he squeezed. He leaned into the touch of both Doka's hands and the front of his body. It was so provocative that his eyes drooped and he sighed and shivered involuntarily. Time stopped in this moment, which held and held as his heart raced.

Harry's eyes refocused when Doka repeated the motion of his hand, caressing back more of Harry's hair and, with his other hand, rubbing his thumb gently over Harry's eyelid, which caught Harry off guard.

"What sort of magic is it? Just makeup?" Doka asked with a richness to his baritone voice, a softness, really.

Harry grabbed his hand and held tight, stopping it from rubbing any more of the dab of powder off his eyelid. He daren't get caught using a disguise.

He jerked his body to retreat, but he was in a grip.

"Let go," Harry gasped.

Doka moved his thumb off Harry's eye and smiled, holding his hand flat against the side of Harry's face. Harry was left looking up with wide eyes, with Doka's mouth just inches away...lips just right there...

Did he mean to press his leg forward ever so much? Did he like that it made Harry rethink retreat?

"It's lighter now. Not naturally blue, then. Not brown, either. It looks muddy...can't tell what color..."

"Stop," Harry breathed, full of confusion and sensation.

Doka leaned his head to the side and smiled fondly at him.

"I've got a question for you," he said.

Harry jerked back again, but went nowhere. If anything, he was pulled up more - pulled tighter to his bare chest. And he couldn't help biting his own bottom lip in an altogether very fetching way when his swelling desire landed against Doka's thigh.

"Ng!" Came a sound deep within, and his hands tightened into fists and his body started shaking in trepidation.

Doka finally got the message. He looked there at Harry's lustful desire and finally let him go.

"Woah!" He took an energetic step back.

Harry was icy cold suddenly. He shrugged with his whole body, like a dog shaking to relive some stress.

Then Doka burst out laughing, his voice ringing off the walls. But was it so very unexpected what he had been doing to the young lad he'd brought into the shower room? The young lad with the smooth skin, the wavy chestnut hair, the demeanor that was so strong, caring and relaxing to be around?

Doka brought his laugh to an end.

"What are you thinking? Ha-ha! What are you thinking, really? I just wanted to know if you wanted to play a little friendly Quidditch match back at the training stadium. We're short a Chaser on the other side, with the back-up players. They liked how you flew and are okay with the idea if you want to join us!"

Harry had let all his breath out. He gave his cheek where Doka had been holding him a fast touch to knock off some of the numbness. And he had to admit it, he was favoring a more leaning-forward stance, so as to hide his tightening trousers. He licked his bottom lip again where he had bit it.

"You son of a bitch," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He pulled his wand and cast a defogging spell on his lenses. He returned his glasses to his nose and then returned his sight to Doka.

Doka laughed louder still. He pushed Harry playfully.

God, his pants were tight.

Harry looked up with a glare, but then rolled his eyes. He knew Doka loved playing with him like this. Harry muttered, "Oh, yeah. Sure. I'll play. Chaser? I haven't ever played a Chaser before."

Doka came in and gave his hair a mighty ruffle with his fingers. What a turn off!

"You'll be great, you little fox!"

"Hey!" Said a woman's voice suddenly in indignation, with a clear Irish tone coming through. She sounded from the doorway, which was behind Harry.

The added presence of a stranger - a woman no less - chilled Harry to the bone. She was a bit foggy through the haze in the steamy bathroom.

How stupid to be horny while in a bathroom with guests!

The woman continued to say, "That's my name, you take that back!"

"Foxy!" Doka greeted, pushing Harry aside as he went up to her and wrapped her in his arms, pressing up to her body with ease. "My baby!"

She was smiling as she spoke.

"Who is this, sexy? I'm not the first fan to congratulate you on the win?"

Doka flagged his hand here and there.

"He hasn't congratulated me! This is just some lad friend of the captain's woman out there," Doka said of Harry as way of explanation.

Harry didn't respond. He felt pretty small and a bit upset by Doka's casual way of throwing off his introduction, considering he had just been glued to Harry's front. But it was better not to make waves...he appreciated that result of Doka's reply.

"Well, come out of there. What are you doing in the showers? We're planning the after party!" She looked long at Harry as he stood there alone. "You can come...?"

Harry noticed that casual hesitation in her offer, which could be interpreted as meaning she didn't really want him to come. Harry was also a bit upset at Doka teasing him, but he had been invited already, so he said, "Doka already invited me. Thank you."

Foxy - as that was her name and not just a nickname - said in a skeptical voice, "Reeeally?"

The question hung in the air.

Doka was there to laugh off the tension.

"Come on, Foxy! He's going to join the lads and me with a game!"

And just like that, he swooped an arm around her and escorted her on into the next room.

Harry had time to pass judgment on her once he was out of the hazy bathroom. She had curvaceous hips and a tiny waste, with a sparkling dress plastered to her skin. A short fur coat was open, revealing massive cleavage. She had high heels on, however comfortable that was. He could admit that her hair was a similar light brown as his, but was up in a very feminine fashion. Harry was just in regular clothes, some of Draco's that were probably starting to be too tight thanks to his body maturing, and wondered if he shouldn't have been more fit to compete against this model. She was her namesake.

And just why was he thinking this was a competition against Foxy? Where had all this possessiveness come from?

"Come on, come on! Let's figure out the plan! Let's party! But let's do it at the practice field! We're going to have a match!"

Those words were greeted by cheers of the players, with many of them looking forward to the private game. Harry knew, since he was once on a Quidditch team, that the backup players often wanted a game right after the main event, so that they could join in some of the play and excitement of flying.

Harry stood in the shower room doorway looking upon everyone, still as a stock until he reached up to fix his hair and purse his lips. Foxy stood next to Doka, tight against his side, over by captain Quintius and his biggest fan, Emidee, smiling and chatting. Other people had come into the locker room for a brief visit before the guys went in to shower, there to shake hands.

Harry narrowed his eyes upon seeing Emidee giggle and bat her eyes, sure now that she was more the captain's fan than the whole teams. He stepped back out into the room.

"See you at the after-party?"

"The drinks and food are set, see you there!"

"Let's clear out so we can let these boys shower and change! What a win today!"

The shouts and cheers followed the team, while Harry followed Emidee.

She was grinning and held his arm tightly. "We're going to the after-party! There are going to be so many people there!"

They were making their way out to the sunny country field set up for Apparation, with plans to go back to follow the group of people surrounding them and meet up for the party, which would be at the practice field next to the Herbology Institute. Harry couldn't help but keep an eye on Foxy and her entourage of four fabulous women, who had been waiting outside of the locker room for Foxy to return. It looked as if they were going to be the life of the party.

He was going to be putting up with a lot of bullshit; he was already a sucker for Doka, but now having seen the muscles on the man, he was going to be even more of a sucker.

Emidee led Harry. They were coming up upon the Apparation site, guarded by Baltic Aurors in black and red uniforms. There were a few milling witches and wizards about who were from the papers. Funny enough, Danska Lee was here. It appeared this was where she had gone to so quickly: she was covering the game after all.

While some of the reporters approached the people who were part of Tallhorn United's ownership for a report about their feelings on the game, Danska approached their group of guests with a cameraman behind her. She smiled at Harry and Emidee but focused her attention on another.

"You look beautiful, Foxy! Mind if we get a picture?"

Foxy gave off a laugh.

"That's what we're here for!"

And her group of women giggled. They made everyone look like homeless vagrants; the mud even chose not to stick to the lady's sparkling high heels. They posed for a few pictures from the cameraman beside Danska.

Harry instinctively looked away, just in the case a photo came his way. He let his long bangs fall across his face as the wind caught him at such an angle.

"Let's go on ahead," said Emidee from his side, but not because she noticed his discomfort; she just wanted to keep going.

Harry followed along. They had gotten nearly to the Apparation pad before they heard the real commotion. Foxy had screamed.

They turned, only to see her drop-jawed and looking back at them.

"You're Gravewatcher?!"

Harry stiffened up. Emidee put a hand on his arm and squeezed; he got the feeling she was suddenly uncomfortable, too.

Foxy had gotten all the attention on the two of them, included the older people who probably had a grudge against that name.

"You are? You? You're the gay boy Doka caught kissing another boy? You're the cause for all the trouble for Tallhorn United? You're the reason they're so far down on the list this year?"

"That's a little much," was Harry's only muttered reply.

Emidee pressed her lips, trying not to smile - not at the team's ranking, but at Harry's salt.

"Let's not talk about this here," Emidee reasoned wisely, louder than Harry, but her words were quiet compared to the staunchness of Foxy's.

Harry glanced down at the woman by his side. Emidee was clearly uncomfortable with Foxy's offensiveness.

That was when Danska held up her hands and confessed, "I didn't tell you that to be mad, Foxy! I wanted to know if you were friends with the lad, too!"

"Well, I'm not!" Foxy retorted. "I've never seen him before in my life! What is he doing here anyway?!"

"Alderbaron has done nothing to incur any of this malice!" Emidee defended loudly.

"She says he's been hanging around my boyfriend! You think I shouldn't tell him to leave Doka alone! He's got no business around him!"

"You think he's trying to get your boyfriend?" Asked Danska in a very reporter-like tone of voice, catching on to Foxy's point of view. Her quill and parchment were at work by her side.

Harry was a bit lost for words at the moment. He was use to negative attention, especially the direct kind like this; Draco was full of on-the-spot accusations over the years.

In the past he was quick to defend himself, but for whatever reason, he was caught by curiosity...Foxy was clearly the one most upset by him, way more than he was by any of it.

Foxy's Irish blood was boiling. She stomped forward and glared at Harry right in the eyes. She smelled quite beautiful, it had to be noted. She was almost his height in her heels. Her hair was up, his was down, her dark makeup surrounding her eyes was in contract to his white framed glasses surrounding his eyes, but they had similar smooth noses, full lips, tanned skin, and smooth features. Emidee was a head shorter than both of them and looked between them from down there, noting that yes, they did have a lot of proportions in scale with each other.

Harry's eyes tightened around the edges, although he tried not to appear to be glaring back. He wondered if he really did look a little like her in Doka's eyes: perhaps it was his own level of competitiveness...Foxy was clearly an offensive player, as was Harry when he had competition. Doka was on occasion a provoking player...it appeared hair, skin, and eye color was not the only quality that Foxy and Harry had in common that was attracting Doka's attention.

"Let's not go to the party," Emidee whispered at Harry's side.

"Yeah, don't go to the party," Foxy agreed in a low, dangerous tone.

To his side, Harry heard a photo be taken.

As the flash went off, and as the white flare of light was fading, for just a split moment, time slowed down and Harry had a good talk with himself.

In his head, the conversation went like this:

She's angry that I'm spending time with Doka. Is she really jealous?

Her name is Foxy and she dresses like a rich socialite, so yes, jealousy is probably her most practiced feeling. The Malfoy's have a similar rich aura about them, and Draco often acts just as snobbish and possessive. She's rather like him. She wants you to stay away from her boyfriend, will you?

But I really like Doka. I like giving him things he likes and watching him enjoy time with me. He's my only friend besides - fucking hell - is it that my only other friend is Draco Malfoy? And he dumped me for a girl! Draco use to make me feel this way, but with Doka it's more intense.

That's right, Draco liked you when you were unattainable: The Boy Who Lived, a Gryffindor, his enemy. Doka has said that you're unattainable, too: you're young, you're a boy, and he has Foxy.

So, become attainable and fight for Doka, and lose him just like Draco?

Right now, doing nothing is the right reaction. Just forget boyfriends, like Narcissa said.

Am I playing him if I try? Am I playing him if I don't try?

You're playing everyone, Harry Potter, but you're not hurting him.

She's jealous that I spend time with him, but Doka wants to spend time with me. He said so. Would it be wrong to defend myself?

So, will you give in to Foxy, or will you let Doka down?

Harry smiled as his thoughts came to an end.

No to both those things.

He looked down at Emidee and his smile brighten and his features relax, because now he knew: this was both a competition against Foxy and a competition to remain true to himself.

"Let's go to the party. I want to play Quidditch. We've been asked, so let's go!"

He said this optimistically. He was purposefully making sure Foxy did nothing to provoke his feelings - Lucius had told him to keep his emotions contained. And he had a friend back at Hogwarts - Seamus Finnegan, who taught him that the Irish were all fire and explosions, and there was some fun in it to make it worse for them.

"You little whiffet!" Foxy gasped.

Harry wrapped his arm around Emidee, pulling her to his side as he steered her away from Foxy and the listening reporters and businessmen. He was trying also to get her away from these people, because she was quite unhappy here. They both had on their jackets, but it was nice to have some warmth against his side in the cool atmosphere.

"You haven't got a chance!" Suddenly shouted Foxy as they made their way ahead before the others. She also stomped her foot.

Both Emidee and Harry kept walking.

"Stop meeting with him! Stay out of his locker room!"

A few people stepped out of the way, getting good looks at Harry as he made his way past their silent figures. Harry pulled his arm away from Emidee, because now they were at the Apparation field and shouldn't Apparate together. He looked back at Foxy, smiling still.

He called to her, "What exactly do you think I'm doing with him? We're just friends!"

And without further ado, he looked to Emidee and nodded. She looked rather proud, in all honesty, and Apparated just before he did. The tight feeling lasted a moment, but then he was at the familiar landing point of the Herbology Institute, and Emidee was by his side.

She burst out laughing. She still had her foam finger, and jabbed him with it.

"You - you are so much fun! Ha-ha!" She fell into a fit of gales.

Harry also couldn't help but be pleased.

"Well, anyone can tell you what to do, but I think I'll just do what I think is best for me."

"I knew there was a lot to get to know when I met you! You had such an empty application form! But I like to give everyone a chance. You can handle yourself."

Her words settled into a smile. She took his arm and walked him off the Apparation platform and towards the exit leading away from the training stadium. Harry looked behind him at the doors leading that other way.

"I'd like to go to the party," Harry reminded her.

"Let's wait until the players get there. Maybe half an hour. I've got some Muggle money, let's go have a drink at a bar first! I want to hear all about Doka! Would you like to talk about him?"

Harry smiled. She poked him again in his ribs with her foam finger, covering her giggle with her hand. A strong blush was appearing on her face.

"Tell me! Why is she so jealous? Alderbaron...he's a Quidditch professional! What have you been doing with him?"

"Depends..." Harry said with a smile, "on how much you tell me about the Captain!"

It was maybe her exaggerated respect towards him for standing up to the spitfire that was Foxy, or the drink he had while at the bar, or her mature clemency for his disposition of having hurt her beloved Quidditch team earlier in their season, but by the time the second drink was drunk and they were walking back to the Quidditch practice stadium, Harry had told her that he really didn't know what his limits were with Doka, and she told him the same about the Captain.

"Really?!"

Harry shrugged, feeling buzzed. "He doesn't dislike me, does he? He likes the things I bring him. We talk some...So, yeah. I don't know how far we'll go. As far as he wants."

Harry liked the sound of it.

"You seem smart enough to know what's right. Sooner or later you'll know what he really wants," she said, holding onto him as she wavered on her feet. She was so very happily drunk.

It was nice having a friend older than him; she was so confident.

"Well, it's all rather unlikely!" Harry foretold. "He teases me for fun, but that might be all he does. In my experience," and right now, Harry was speaking about his experience with Ron Weasley, "people don't change. They don't compromise for me, either. I should just be happy...with what I do get from people I like."

Emidee was the right person to be chatting to, as she was very encouraging.

"I think you'd really excel with a partner as talented as him! He's one of the best Quidditch players, and Tallhorn is one of the best teams!" She took a breath and changed her tone of voice, "Even if you don't get together, I really am in support of you, Alderbaron! And remember, though Danska is a writer for a publicity magazine, she really will always be on your side, too. She covers so many same-gender relationship stories and is a strong advocate for equality."

Harry pursed his lips into a frown, then said, "Well, she certainly never gave it a rest last year. It got a bit out of hand...he had only just said a few words."

Emidee let that be for now.

They were pulling themselves along as they made it back onto the magically concealed campus, making their way towards the archway that led to the stadium.

"I like the tall ones, too," she joked as an aside.

"You like the captain-like ones, too!" Harry jibed.

She burst into laughter, loud and full of spirit as they entered the busy stadium, where the winning Tallhorn United team were in the air. Some changes had come into effect, and the place was decorated with tassels and ornaments of the win, with decorations blowing in the breeze and sparkling in the evening sunlight. There was a long shadow across the field. None of the players were in their uniforms, but instead were dressed fashionably as they were flying about, no Bludgers in sight, with just the Quaffle tossing between the lot of them. There were thirteen players up there, with just one missing to make it a full team.

The seating high up had been transformed into a flat platform, with the guests and now their families enjoying a crowded party. There was a glowing orb around the whole of the platform, indicating someone had cast a warming spell within. People were dressed down while in the orb, enjoying the warmth and the lack of jackets and coats.

There were a lot of people there, most of which were out of sight for the pair of Herbology Institute employees to see from this angle. This included Foxy, but Harry had a feeling she would be glaring at him while he played, and that idea sparked a bit of joy within him.

Two people in the air caught sight of them and came down together to meet them. Quintius had a smile for Emidee, and Doka had one for Harry

Doka said, "Good timing, we just got started! Are you ready to get your ass kicked?"

"Yeah right," Harry said against his statement, not believing it for a second. "But I don't have my Firebolt. I left it at home."

Doka took out his wand, a very dark wood wand, and waved it about just a bit.

"Accio Firebolt!"

His action brought from the locker rooms a whizzing broom, a spare Firebolt. He caught it and handed it over. Harry took a hold of it, so very happy with Doka for helping him get a broom. He was a bit tipsy, so his smile was a bit stretched and toothy. Doka pinched his cheek, looking with focus at his eyes again. Harry blinked and looked away, feeling his attention on his magically altered eyes; it was a bit unnerving to know his disguise had been spotted. Doka smiled and patted his cheek.

"Sorry about Foxy," he suddenly said.

"What? You heard about that already?"

Doka nodded.

"She's angry and is probably going to get the papers started in on you. She likes attention. Come on, though! Forget it for now! Up! Up!" He called, pushing off on his broom and ready to stop talking and start playing. He pushed Harry to mount, and so he did. Quintius sat Emidee on the tip of his wand and flew her up to the guests - much to her delight - and then the game began.

What a game it was. It wasn't easy, it wasn't like a game against friendly Gryffindors and other teenagers. It was like a hundred Dudley's rolled into just thirteen guys; they were big, they were brawny, they were lewd, they were pushy. Fortunately, six of them were on Harry's team and though they said they were just messing around, they were rather competitive about it.

Harry stayed on Doka's tail the whole time. At one point he was tightly snug within the barrier of his arms, pushing his back against Doka's front as he tried to give his capable Chaser team mates the opportunity to get the Quaffle with one less combatant. But truth be told, he didn't feel much of a fight to escape his attempt; Doka even took a firm grasp against his stomach, which drove Harry a bit internally wild. At another point, Doka had the Quaffle but he also had Harry wheeling after him, all the way to the other side of the field without more than an inch between them. It did work, as he got a swipe against the ball, teetering it off course so Quintius could take it from him and start in towards the other side of the field.

Doka turned to him and snatched him up, a hand on his Firebolt as he flung Harry behind him. Such a maneuver could dismount a player, sending them to the ground, but Harry had good posture and familiarity enough not to be risked.

"That's a fowl!" Harry had called.

"Call the referee!" Doka called back with a grin.

But there wasn't one for this game, but there was a clear winner: with Harry all over Doka, and with Aykroyd Grith and Quintius playing a hard game, with the added two Beaters also helping out, they had scored more points. Winning against Doka was proof that he loved the feel of being the best. The celebration was long lived, with Harry getting a feel for what it was like to be on a winning Quidditch team again.

"You did alright, fox," Doka told him. "You should come by more often, maybe with a bit of practice you'll try out for the minor leagues; make a name for yourself!"

His suggestion didn't go unheard. Knowing he owed something to Harry's performance, Quintius arrived in time to say, "You should coach him, Doka. I won't get the clearance to have him even watch practice, but you could show him a few things."

It was appealing, but of course it wasn't in the cards for Harry to make any name for himself just yet. He was barely starting his new life; no use making long term plans. But it was some good fun to play, and if Doka wanted to...

"What's with that look? Of course I have a few things to show you! What do you say? Want me to show you a few things some time?" Doka wondered.

Harry's heart was beating double time.

"If you would, that would be great."

Quintius had done his part, so he said, "I'll see you around!"

And he left to join the others.

It was just Doka and him in the air, making their way for the ground. Once landed, Harry passed over the expensive Firebolt back to Doka.

"Will you stay awhile, enjoy the party?" Doka wondered.

Harry looked up at the stands, catching sight of Foxy, who he had seen many times glaring at him.

"Naw. Foxy has it out for me. Besides, it's dark, and a bit late. I better go home."

Doka understood.

He wondered, "Do you still live with your parents?"

That was a bit of a loaded question, but one Harry had long ago decided an answer for. Even Narcissa agreed with his choice, because he had passed it along to her.

"Yes, I do. I don't see the point in moving out yet."

Doka's grin spread. "You are just a kid! What an easy life!"

Harry may not agree, but that was the life of Alderbaron Gravewatcher: easy, hard, it didn't matter. He wasn't someone with baggage or a past; he couldn't be if he wanted to make this new life work out for him. It brought a genuine sense of comfort to know he didn't have the weight of the issues of Harry Potter anymore: no big war to fight, no being the cause for his parent's deaths, no Headmaster Dumbledore expecting the world of him...It had once all been on his shoulders, but every time these issues crept up on him, he'd take one of Narcissa's potions and forget about it.

He wondered if this was what death was really like, or if it was worse than this, and all you did when you really died was remember the past.

"Wish you could visit, but my mom and dad probably don't want the first boy I bring home to be in his thirties," and Harry gave him a cheeky smile.

Doka's smile turned into a sour face, and he made to flick Harry's face, but Harry jumped back, still grinning. Doka wasn't impressed.

"You have got a set of lungs in you, little fox! Go run off home! Give mommy a kiss!"

Harry saw his chance - as he was more than a step out of reach and out of earshot of anyone, plus, he was high spirited and had nothing to lose - and said, "Do you really want to hang out with me? Aren't you afraid of your girlfriend?"

"She's possessive," Doka warned, "but she's hot. It's you who has to worry. Better keep this to ourselves."

Harry shrugged, then reminded Doka of the reasons he had listed that disqualified Harry from being datable.

"I'm just a boy, and I'm just a teenager. What do I have to worry about? And could I really try something on you, with all your professional Quidditch skills?" He weighed a bit of mockery with those words.

"What would you try on me?" Doka wondered.

Harry kept grinning, thinking of what he was encouraged to do earlier that evening.

"I could try to kiss you."

That made Doka briefly speechless, but then a spirited smile crossed his features.

"Fucking try it, little gay boy. You'll never get the chance!"

Harry started pulling away, walking backwards towards the exit and giving off a wave goodbye.

"That feels like a challenge, Doka!"

"Go home!" Doka was trying to stifle a smile.

"It was nice playing with you, because you went easy on me!"

He didn't really go easy on Harry. Honestly, Harry knew he gave Doka a run for his money, but he didn't want to sound arrogant. It maybe peeved Doka to know he had struggled a few times to stop Harry from getting the better of him.

"Go home!" Doka repeated, his deep baritone voice tinged with some humor.

Harry turned and trotted away, completely happy with himself.

It was on this night that Harry went out to a Muggle shop and bought himself something - yeah - something unusual. Something not very magical. Something kinky. He walked into a XXX shop, and walked out with - no...it's Harry's slippery little secret what he really bought. It was used gently and never past his limits, let's just say that. He found it as educational as he did enjoyable.

Still summer, 1998.

It was starting to be quite warm during the day, with May passing into July.

As a B-2 level flyer, Harry wasn't transporting anything too terribly valuable or too terribly far from the beaten path, but even as a B-2, a few times Harry had hopped suddenly on his broom and took off over - or in some cases under - a magical throng to get quickly away from a suspicious character who he felt picked him out of the crowd. While he usually found himself in magical parts hidden from Muggles, traveling in the Muggle world was by-far safer than walking through a street where everyone could cast a quick spell to waylay him.

He had yet to get into a magical fight in public, hoping he wouldn't have to for fear of drawing attention from authorities. He relied on speedy deliveries and alertness to keep him moving in safe directions. It was the uniform, of course, that mostly deferred interest in messing with him, but other times it made him a target. The uniform worn by the Herbology Institute transporters was well known in these parts. The black vest that went high on the neck and wrapped around his head as a cap was blaringly unique.

After work he would Apparate directly home to lessen the chances of being followed back like he might if he Flooed to Blūesoul Alley. Back when he didn't have this job, he felt okay with walking through the Muggle city to get to his home by the beach, but now he had a rather daring job and decided to take more precautions.

He would change out of his uniform before meeting up with Doka. The two of them had quickly taken to the idea of flying at Jimualt's Flying Arena. He loved it there - like last summer as he flew with Draco - but this time he had much harsher competition that he was rarely close to beating. But it was so, so very cool. What would Ron, or Hermione, or even Draco think of him being trained by a Quidditch professional? They would be jealous beyond belief.

But he had no one to share this with.

Like Narcissa taught him - like the Oblivious Unction converted his mind to understand - he didn't need the assurances of the people in his old life...he had to remember he was dead for a reason. Anything that he lived for now he lived wholly for himself.

The indoor wizards sports stadium was for public use, so Doka had the chance of being spotted for his fame while there. For this reason, they often met up for their races later in the later evening, when very few showed up. They'd fly an hour of circuits then take a break and make it to the showers soon after, usually by the time everyone else had left. They'd come a dozen times already, neither expecting this day to be different than any other.

Doka was in casual clothes, as was Harry, so that meant shorts and shirts, socks and simple shoes. Doka was stretching out one of his legs as he sat on the benches after their circuits, and was also watching the other three flyers in the air. He was as if sneeshing, derisively enjoying spotting flaws in the flying patterns of the strangers. Harry was enjoying watching Doka watch and criticize the others.

At last, it seemed Doka felt Harry's stare. He looked over and caught sight of the blaring obvious feelings in the young man next to him, feelings that Harry wasn't embarrassed about. Feelings that Doka already knew about.

Doka didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked back at Harry. Then, he smiled.

"You haven't got her eyes today," he said, sounding disappointed that Harry's spell had produced more brown eyes than blue. Harry felt hurt for a moment that he let Doka down, but then Doka reached over and took hold of Harry's chin, tilting his head to the side, stretching his long and tanned neck out. "But today she wore her hair up, too."

Harry let himself be handled, liking the touch.

He knew in asking it would be an infringement of the law of platonic friendship Doka injected between the two of them, but he still asked, "Did you kiss her goodbye today?"

"Yes I did. Why do you want to know?"

"You can kiss me goodbye, too," Harry offered.

It hurt a little when Doka roughly let his face go.

Doka rolled his eyes like Harry was just some deriving reporter and changed the subject.

"You know, you see that flyer with the yellow shoes? You do that with your ankles, too, and you should stop."

Harry was drawn to the flyer, taking in the sight of his form and how he turned his ankles inwards.

"If you stop being so lax with your legs, straighten your ankles, you'll keep your knees when you get older. That's something I only started correcting the past few years. Don't slack off, fox."

His warning was received and noted. But now Harry was paying attention to Doka still rubbing out his one leg.

"Here, let me help," Harry said.

Harry made the instinctive decision to reach over with both hands and wrap them around that knee firmly. He let on a naturally gentle pressure while taking over the massage.

Doka allowed it because he could lean back a bit and straighten out his sore leg. Harry carried his hands a small ways above the bare knee, then a small ways down to the calf. He repeated it again, not moving fast or pressing too hard. He focused on the task at hand.

He looked up at Doka, who was holding an expression a bit between a wince and a relieved sigh.

Harry slowed his movements, then stopped with his hands wrapped around just above the warm and muscular knee.

His mind was thinking.

If he was truthful with himself - like, if he really looked in on himself - he would have to say that he wasn't together at first. It took months to get his head back. He was gone before - gone from reality, gone from logic, gone from hope. And now, he wasn't the same as he was before, either. But with being dead to all those he once knew and with no need of being beholden to anyone at all but himself at the end of each day, he could act on his truths and desires and thoughts. Yes, those things often had to do with fantasies with male bodies, but no one else lived in his head so he wasn't hurting anyone by thinking this way. If he stayed who he was - stayed that boy whom so many people had expectations from - he would still be keeping to himself these feelings. If he had lived, they'd probably have never let him go.

But he was Alderbaron. He was here holding Doka Bandar's bare leg. The pit of his stomach was filling with butterflies thanks to this moment, and he was so very, very thankful for being alive right now to have this.

"I want to let you know," Harry said honestly, with Doka's full attention, "I really like you. And I'd like the things you would do to me while you kissed me."

Honesty wasn't always the best. Doka batted his hands away, looking angry for a split second as he grabbed Harry by the ear and pulled him down. Harry gave off a rueful gasp as he was tortured nearly onto the floor.

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop!"

Doka still held on, leaning in and whispering in his ear, "You never quit. Here I am just helping out a gifted young flyer and all you do all day is eye me up like I'm a chocolate mousse cake you are aching for a bite of. You're going to remain disappointed, pretty boy, because I'm not ever going to kiss you."

But his breath was hot, and it brought heat and tingling to Harry's body. His mind went a bit into overload with all this closeness. This game they played was less like cat and mouse and more like cat and cat.

Harry cheekily said, "Even if you just lick me, I wouldn't be disappointed."

It was a repined response Harry received. Doka quickly let go and was up, marching with his Firebolt and his gym bag over to the - probably empty at this hour - shower rooms. Harry rubbed his sore ear, taking a moment to gather his wits again, but was soon following after his pray.

Doka's rules in the shower room at Jimualt's was clear: you look at the wall, not at the other people in the showers. Harry was thus told directly by Doka to do this on his first day. In fact, Doka stood cattycorner to him, within reach to flick his face if he even hinted at turning for a peek while they showered after each match. Therefore, the two showers in the corner of the room were the spot they had been chosen to repeat the use of these past weeks.

There was another rule, but this one was personal to Harry: apply tanning lotion everywhere.

It was an expensive regime that he now had a stockpile of. One tube would barely last a month, whereas before it could last up to three months if he used it only on his face, hands, and legs. He never had to worry before about having all his clothes taken off.

He'd learned the spell for spreading lotion over his whole body evenly. Ureginerub.

Normal soap wouldn't take it off, only special magical soap, so Harry kept a simple bar soap with him for use in these public showers. He was quite eager to try Narcissa's changes to the Beautification potion whenever she brought a sample to him to try, in hopes it would have the same effects as his current influences. So far they were close to something promising, but none of the new batches could conceal his scars as well as the strong store-bought version.

Outside the shower room were the lockers. Harry found Doka here, shoving his Firebolt and gym bag into the locker, taking off his shirt and tossing that in as well. Now with his mind still like a volcano, Harry was baring witness to Doka's bare wide shoulders, knowing that the shorts were coming next. But Doka took a seat and starting untying his shoes.

He hadn't seen Doka acting this way since that match all those weeks ago, when Harry had given him his gift and he was aloof. He immediately stepped up by the benches and apologized.

"Sorry, Doka. Lost my mind for a second," this was probably the first apology shared between them since Doka apologized for what happened when they first met.

Harry received an acerbic glare as Doka passed him by to shove his shoes into the locker, taking out his large white towel now. He had a method of wrapping it around his waist before shimming out of his shorts.

Harry looked quickly away before the shimming started, tilting his head straight back and staring at the ceiling.

"Sorry!" he said again urgently, then slammed his eyes shut. "Look, no tricks! I crossed a line!"

He heard Doka's locker door slam and felt him brush by as he went for the showers. Without compunction for how it affected Harry, Doka bumped his naked, muscular body into him maybe every time they showered. This time - like all the others - Harry shivered. Harry looked behind and saw him walking into the showers holding a bottle of soap and his wand in the same hand, towel around his waist, broad expanse of skin disappearing into the shower room.

Harry couldn't see his face to guess if this was another ploy at getting Harry riled up or not.

Harry quickly shoved his bag and broom into a locker, repeated Doka's actions, and also entered the shower room with a towel around his waist. It was just Doka in there; the rest of the stalls were empty.

He felt the weight of his apology not arriving at its destination. As a delivery man, that weighed a lot. Even more so, Harry hated that he wasn't being given any mercy. He had only said a little thing about licking...Doka had to suffer worse innuendo before and didn't have this reaction.

Harry was walking up just in time to see Doka remove his towel and start the shower water. His eyes widened in shock - this was the first time seeing Doka naked! It was from behind, and it was everything and more: clear skin, shimmering water cascading down over twin buttocks, the hint of something more just there...

He snapped his eyes closed and tilted his head back again. He used the water sounds to make it over with a hand reaching out in front of him. There was mugginess from the showers, the scents of soaps. His hand touched the cold tile wall and he felt about, finding the handle of the shower he usually went to. He slipped his towel off, tucking it into a safe dry space in the wall, and turned the tap on so it landed on his chest, missing his face.

He hadn't seen Doka watching him closely while he did all this.

"I'm sorry. I went too far," Harry continued to say. "I found the edge, and I'm sorry I crossed it. You're with Foxy..."

There wasn't anything replied to yet. Just the sound of water. His eyes closed, he turned to Doka and beseeched, "Ug! Doka! So what if you're with her, though! I'm not asking for you to leave her! Just kiss me from time to time!"

His insubordination earned him a slap across the mouth, with Doka's palm hard and strong as it clamped his mouth shut and held. Harry's eyes flung open and there was Doka, right in his face again.

"Shh!" Doka commanded, looking around.

Fear had him at what Harry said. Still, though, the room was empty. Harry wouldn't have said the like if it wasn't.

"You - " anger for a moment, but Doka cut himself off. His head was shaking from side to side, but he was lost for words.

Harry's eyes had his attention again. Doka then looked over at the soap sitting on the edge near Harry's towel, and he grabbed it. He wrapped his hand around the back of Harry's head and lunged his face into the streaming water, then he lathered his hand in bar soap and tossed it aside.

"Keep your eyes shut!" He demanded as he landed his soapy hand all over Harry's face and rubbed it over his eyes. The bad taste got in his mouth, but quickly washed away from the jet of water. The taste made Harry struggle for a moment to breathe, but then Doka had pulled him out of the water stream. Harry blinked, only to have his towel shoved into his face and dry it up.

As his face was now dry but still smothered in the towel, that's when he knew what Doka was doing.

At last his face was free, but he kept his eyes clamped shut.

"Open!" Doka demanded, an illiberal tone lacing his words.

"No!"

"Now!"

Harry said firmly, knowing now was his chance to get it his way.

"Kiss me! Kiss me and I will show you!"

Nothing. The darkness, the sound of showers, the feeling of knowing Doka was naked in the empty room...Harry wanted to open up and see all of this, but he kept his eyes screwed shut.

He reached forward and his hand landed on Doka's flesh. He slowly slid up over his wet and powerfully built chest, finding his strong neck. With his other hand he held Doka's face and upturned his own. He didn't feel resistance.

What would Doka do?

Harry took half a step forward, not touching with his body, but close. He raised himself on his toes, using his hands to guide him to his destination.

Doka's hands came up to block him, pushing his chest and pushing him away. Then Harry heard the other shower being turned off and footsteps slapping on the tiled floor. Harry opened his green eyes and saw Doka's back as he was leaving, towel wrapped around his waist.

Doka had tried to see what color his real eyes were by washing off the magic that concealed it. Nothing had happened.

The next day.

While progression forward in life is a necessary thing, looking back on events sometimes are more fun than actually living them at the time. Some even lament of the glory days gone by - this was such an event for Harry. Every time he retold it to himself, the story had a chance to change from its original. What Harry remembered of it - or perhaps wanted to forever remember of it - was that he almost kissed Doka Bandar while naked in the shower. In some versions he had kissed him, in others it was just as it had been, but always it was a bet that he wasn't sure if he lost or won.

That next day, Harry tried the eye color changing powder three times until it was Doka's favorite color blue. Narcissa had warned that the variations might be the cause of intrigue, and she was right: Doka was picky, but making these the right color would loosen him up.

It was a hot day, so he was dressed as light as he dared with work in mind, with his hair pulled back in a ponytail; wisps of hair hanging out. Harry dressed in shorts just above his knees and his boots just below them, and a red collared shirt with sleeves that just barely peeked out from his black vest. His bare arms were a sight to see, even he knew this. He flaunted a bit in front of the mirror after all was said and done to get ready for work, and was glad no one was there to see him admiring himself.

Still a teenager, but with such an active job, his arms were toned more than they ever were at Hogwarts. He was happy with the result.

He then Apparated to work with his Firebolt tucked into the holster strapped to his back.

The first early hours of work were the busiest. He'd been at this job for only four months, but it felt familiar now. For some potioneers, they needed fresh herbs cut that day for their potions, so Harry always found himself busy with those orders. This was a hectic morning for delivering such ingredients. Harry found his way all the way out to Klaipėda on the opposite coast, in a magical street called Pentel Alley, which was half the size of Blūesoul Alley (which was almost as big as Diagon Alley) and there he picked up a bag of sweet and powdered Šimtalapis, a many-layered pastry, as an offering to Doka. He stood in the entry arch, thinking he would be here to give this to Doka, to apologize again, to sweeten the deal with the pastry. Doka would be back to loving him in no time.

The idea that Foxy would be there never crossed his mind, and neither did it cross hers that he would be standing there when she walked onto the grass. But then suddenly there was a heavy, claw-like hand clamped on his bare upper arm and she spun him around.

Foxy was in full viper mode, fuming at the sight of Harry. She wore a summer mini dress and flat shoes today, so she stood a bit lower than last time. Her hair made up for it, pulled high onto her head. There was one woman and one man behind her, looking like they were business people rather than just entourage; not only their outfits were more professional, but one had a file of papers and the other had a quill and parchment. The man writing also had a camera around his neck. But they were hanging back a few steps.

"What are you doing here?!" she shouted, voice layered in acid and echoing all around. She took in his appearance, hands now on hips as she scrutinized him. She tisked as her eyes roved. "You're really stupid, you know that? And what's in this?! More gifts for my boyfriend!"

She grabbed the bag from him, but he wasn't really trying to stop her. He was watching, figuring her out. Doka wanted to be with her - with all her sass and suddenness - but he grew angry when Harry did the same...Clearly there was a chasm he had to leap over to reach Doka's side. It really was a competition, in which Harry kept having to take the long way around.

She opened and looked into the bag, then sneered. It was full with three pastries, and she reached in an took one, holding it up.

Harry said calmly, "Don't waste it. At least try it. Tell me if he'd like it."

Powdered sugar sprinkled off of it onto the lush grass, and the smell was delicious. Foxy was gripping it hard. She glared at him and shoved the pastry back in the bag.

"Why so many of them? No one needs this many!"

She brought a smile to Harry's lips. "You've never tried one. They used cinnamon; you won't want to stop after just one. There's enough in there to share, though. You should really not miss out."

She huffed and then pushed him aside, stepping forward with the bag. The whistle blew just then for a break. Doka came right for them, with the others not far behind, seeming interested in the train wreck. Captain Quintius was with them, because it was his business when people from the papers showed up like this.

Doka landed a few paces away from her and walked up, only to receive the white bag and a fist right into his chest; the hit wasn't hard, but it probably dislodged quite a bit of the sugar powder from the contents within.

"Your stalker brought this for you, Doka," she griped.

Doka pursed his lips and took the bag, giving Harry a look that couldn't be fully read. Harry tilted his head to the side, a pensive expression. He was trying to say he was sorry with his blue eyes, but he wasn't about to bring up his actions yesterday at Jimualt's.

Doka narrowed his eyes upon seeing how Harry still hid behind the magic makeup. He opened the bag and reached in, pinching a pastry and taking it out for a bite. He chewed for a moment, then nodded his head in approval. Harry was happy at least for that.

"It's good."

That was all he said. Then he turned to leave.

Not even the other Quidditch players had gone in yet; they were nearer the door, but were still blatantly watching the three of them for the blow-up that they expected to come.

Foxy wasn't satisfied. She pulled him to a stop and swore.

"Tell him to stop! Isn't he out of hand? He caused you so much trouble before!"

Doka replied, "You get gifts delivered from fans all the time. Mine are from a delivery boy, so he delivers them himself."

"Fans! Not clingy little - "

Captain Quintius interrupted just then, stepping forward and into the fray.

"What are you writing over there? And what are you here for?"

Harry wasn't watching them, but now he turned to the two people Foxy had come with. The woman with the papers was looking over the shoulder of the man writing, but now she stepped forward, pulling a manila folder out of the cluster of pages she held, then handed it over to the Captain.

"We're here for an interview with your Chaser. It of course concerns this..."

All onlookers saw the Captain's expression degrade into shock when he saw what was in the manila folder. Harry was curious.

The Captain looked up directly at Doka and then over to Harry. At last, he looked back at her.

"You've shown people this already?" he asked.

She nodded, her smirk growing.

"We've already got writers on it. I'm just an errand's girl, here for a little leg work for the magazine. We're sort of the...first phase. We're here to schedule what time Mr. Bandar will want his interview with the reporter."

Harry hadn't ever heard of this method of coverage before. The woman was of the mind that Doka would want to 'schedule' an interview. What sort of dirt did they have that they'd get a person to schedule to talk to a reporter?

With little hesitation, Doka went over and took the folder from the Captain, pulling out what seemed to be photos that had so far been kept within. Doka blanched at what he saw.

Foxy shouted indignantly.

"You can see why I'm here, Doka! How do you think this looks?! You're hanging around a boy who looks like me, accepting gifts from him, and now you're throwing yourself at him! They're all over this! It won't be going away!"

Harry, and of course the rest of the Quidditch team, were quite curious about what was on those pages that Doka was holding. He took a step forward, only to have Doka hide the pages away, meeting his gaze with a bit of fire to his own.

Quintius interrupted quickly and loudly. "I don't think you should be here, Alderbaron."

Harry held. He suddenly felt exposed.

"No, let him see," remarked the woman. "We were going to call him into our office soon enough, too."

Harry tilted his head to the side, wondering what sort of leverage this woman really had.

Quintius shook his head and stepped forward, pressing Harry's resistant body away. He leaned in and quickly whispered, "Go get Emidee. Get her to come over here."

And didn't that create quite the unease with Harry.

However, Doka wasn't as shocked as his Captain was. He maneuvered around Foxy and went up to Harry, wrapping an arm around him and turning him away for the exit from the field.

"Doka!" Scolded Foxy.

"This is all just a misunderstanding!" He huffed at her, still pulling Harry along. He walked him to the arch exit, saying, "Better get going."

Harry said quietly, "Doka, I'm sorry -"

Doka flicked his chin and smiled a little.

"Forget it, fox. Go. Just lay low."

He pushed him gently away at the door.

Now out of the stadium and headed to get Emidee at the Captain's request, he missed out on what happened with Foxy.

When Doka returned to her, she declared, "You'll make it worse for Tallhorn United if you keep up with him! I've already been interviewed about it; they know everything!"

"What is there to know, Foxy? He just stops by for a minute now and again," Doka replied coolly.

But wasn't that just not true? He was flying with Doka for weeks now, a few hours a week. Why had he not told Foxy this? A warmth was coming to his chest...he pushed it down again.

Doka reached back into the pastries bag, taking out another and taking a big bite.

Foxy frowned at him. "Those are so fattening!"

He nodded in agreement. "Taste good, though."

Her eyes were on fire.

Summer, 1998.

With a call to get into some detail, once the scandalous articles started coming out, summer in Lithuania lit on fire. There were meetings with Harry's bosses, press conferences with Tallhorn United, Harry had to stand silent and still as he was put down by the people who he wanted a promotion from. He was supported by Emidee and Talia who stayed on his side in a wicked way, pulling strings and convincing people above them to let this slide. His unwavering professionalism spurred them on. But then - just to keep himself out of the spotlight - Emidee suggested Harry take unpaid leave for two weeks. It was sort of like being a little kid and having nothing to do but sit there and listen to how wrong you had been over something you didn't understand.

The only author on his side, the reporter Danska, took the stance that there was nothing founded on a need for a scandal just because he befriended Doka.

They all kept insisting it was nothing. But those photos were a real bother.

They had so many, as someone had discovered Harry's pattern and was keeping their eye on him. It was clear evidence of how handsy Doka really was, too.

Harry couldn't keep it from Narcissa.

And on a personal note from Narcissa Malfoy, it belied a chance that Harry was too comfortable with his station in life, putting every sacrifice Narcissa made for him at risk because he couldn't keep his head down. She was focused on his mental health, although at no point did Harry teeter. He never yelled, never cried, never shook...

He would skim an article and then set the paper down, then get out his wand and a book and start practicing some magic. She watched him closely, talked a lot with him, but she was impressed.

Or maybe worried?

Once again, she tried to recall all that she had muttered to him while he was in the throes of the Oblivious Unction. Surely she had mentioned not being riled up by what people thought and said. This issue was remarkably immaterial for him...as if he knew it was temporary and was already living in the future where it wasn't on anyone's mind anymore.

Narcissa, however, was seized by her emotions every time she read some new twist, or when a new spread was published in the Lithuanian magazine Raganų Savaitė that had another salty jibe from Foxy in it. She hated Foxy. It wasn't what Harry had done that angered her in the end, it was what that model had done. And it wasn't like she could barge in and demand they shut down their witch hunt. Harry was just caught up in Foxy's scandal and a magazine trying to get sales. She understood this, but it was infuriating.

Harry had made the mistake early on of trying to defend himself, using the phrase, 'He didn't seem to mind' to describe all his flirtations to Doka. She took out a few of her frustrations on him, although apologized for it later. She didn't exactly like the information that he was an early-thirties popular professional Chaser with the Quidditch team Tallhorn United, with a girlfriend like Foxy, and that Harry really fancied him.

Her rant went something like, "'He didn't seem to mind,' hmm? 'He didn't seem to mind?!' His girlfriend minded! You have to avoid people in the spotlight, Harry! You really are not allowed a public appearance like this with people like Foxy!"

Narcissa stayed for eight days and nights in June - at her Unplottable cottage by the sea - mostly because she wanted to be there to read the articles on the morning they started coming in strong. In London, it was hard to get the papers before afternoon. The scandal reached England shores, but not in any huge way; London had its own problems that rarely concerned this part of the world. They simply covered the fact that Doka was sitting out another two games.

Harry liked having her over. She brought a house elf with her who made really good food.

She was on Harry's side, yes, but she was thrown by the simple fact that if anyone discovered his identity, that her family would be in the pit. Those first days while he was still going to work and keeping this scandal from her, he took all his potions regularly and accurately before he ventured out. After knowing what danger he placed himself in, she swore to find the perfect Beautification potion that would tan his skin all over and remain as potent to cover the scars, just in case he be discovered because of some irregularity in combining so many sources.

She was feeling powerless to promise anything else.

"We shouldn't have started with it! You were so pale, though! Brits look that way, but people in Lithuania are just warmer toned..."

Harry consoled her. "I'm not complaining, Narcissa. Even if I have to use it for the rest of my life, it'll be okay."

She wasn't convinced.

She paced the length of Harry's kitchen - her kitchen, really - berating him about the potential outcomes of this. It was one thing to have been a ghost featured last fall as the gay victim to Doka Bandar, but it was another to now have the magazine people know who he was and where he worked.

Luckily, they had it all wrong, as nothing had really happened between the two of them, anyway.

They portrayed Harry like some flirtatious and insatiable fanboy begging for Doka's attention. Some articles painted Doka like a god run afoul of a simple little problem, others like a villain for cheating on Foxy, and yet others pretended he was a dog after any devil with their face and a fit body; no matter the gender. They laughed at the idea that Harry was innocently befriending Doka. None understood how very much Harry loved to see Doka happy.

The good part of this was that even the jerks at work knew this was wrong. They had seen him with Doka (some even staging themselves near their meeting place to have a look at his interaction with Doka). They knew how little Harry spoke, how little he reacted to Doka, how little of a scene he made. It was very clear the articles were blown up because of Foxy.

Just take a second look at any of those photos: they were quick touches, nothing lingered, it was all in jest!

The Quidditch team had to once again open some old wounds, but for the most part took an impartial stance, as in their eyes this was simply a popular girlfriend pitching a fit that she believed her boyfriend cheating. He wasn't. Obviously.

Obviously he wasn't.

An excerpt from one of the only voices of reason left in the city - Danska Lee's - from an article that severely slowed down the hot trail went like this:

"Doka Bandar has been benched again this week due to another uprising between the question of who we can be friends with. To capture the rebel spirit while also acknowledging that we are gay-okay!, we're going to feature Doka as heard in an interview with me early yesterday. He spoke about that kissable gay flyboy he met late last year (you know the one!), and the progression of their enmity into friendship - JUST friendship.

We know his name as A. Gravewatcher, a teenage boy with great flying skill, who took third place at the famous Jimualt's Flying Arena in summer of '97. He was praised by three Tallhorn United top players who had swept first, second, and fourth place, and it could have been left at that, but Doka chased him down for further broom banter, only to discover a celebration kiss between A.G. and a close male friend. Doka was not surprised by the alternate lifestyle choices of these two boys, he just treated them as grotesquely as the cheeky man treats anyone! But that spiraled out of control because of miscommunication, as we all well know.

Part Quidditch fanboys, part friendship, Doka and A.G. became close through mutual similarity. So close it disturbed his relationship with long-term partner Foxy Von Süss, who was featured earlier this week claiming A.G. of stalking Doka. To clear the air and try and navigate the uplifting social landscape of straight men and gay men being friends, we'll look to Doka and A.G. who have found such a medium. Doka came clean about their friendship, and we all could learn a thing or two about adults being just friends from him!"

The article went on for six pages, ending in a torrent of desire for Quidditch to open its doors to allow openly gay witches and wizards on the teams, stating that even a gifted flyer like "A.G." could only get a job delivering herbology items instead of trying out for professional Quidditch, a line of work much more suited to his skills.

Harry was left befuddled by the end of it; she was hardly capable of discrete phrasing, that Danska Lee.

The local public was thrilled by the sneaky photos that portrayed the relationship between Harry and Doka as being more than friendly, and thrilled also to discover the likenesses between "fox" and Foxy. The photos were all taken candidly as Harry refused all photo shoots and interviews. None were particularly close-up so they relied mainly on words to describe the physical likeness.

The publishing house had a dozen writers on it. They always made room for Danska's story, loving the parallels she expressed. She took the stance that Harry and Doka were just obvious friends. She was instrumental in returning the world from a state of normal flux.

Foxy was more than helpful to keep the chaos, though. She wore the hat of deep jealousy to the point of riding it through the break-up articles. She allowed photos of herself crying in the arms of friends and said things like, "I don't know how this happened! Right under my nose!"

It broke up Doka and Foxy before the end. Her scandalous ways and jealousy she wore deep. The ride through the interviews made her a tidy amount of money by the end, though.

But to backup a little, it was hard on Doka and Harry most. They lost out on work, and Harry lost out on an early promotion. No matter the help he received from his Coordinator or the hiring witch, and no matter how he kept cool about it all, he was disappointed that he couldn't convince the others at the Herbology Institute that he was still deserving of a fast promotion.

Meanwhile, on the last day of June, 1998.

Hogwarts let out its students from Harry's starting year. Whereas forty students had been sorted by the magical Sorting Hat when Harry first started, only thirty-nine graduated. He was trying to distract himself from the importance of today by working hard.

Harry had returned to work some weeks before and did what he could to remain in hallways without people. It wasn't embarrassment, it was just good judgment to lay low. He didn't make any friends over this escapade in the papers, except Doka appeared to have put aside that embarrassing situation in the showers for simple support of an underdog. Doka was half the subject on trial and in a precarious place with the Quidditch League, but he had his own ally with Danska Lee who really settled things down.

Before even the sun had come up, Harry was out on a delivery. He landed in Čiobiškis for an elderly couple who ordered sixty pounds of imbued red moss for their fairy hutches. He had a look around at their request and was gifted a sampling of the honey buns they made and sold with the bees that drank the pollen from the fairy's flowers. He was comfortable with the old witch and wizard because they didn't seem to recognize him from the papers. During sunlight hours, he'd taken to keeping his glasses tinted, hood pulled up, collar high on his neck, trying to hide even more of himself. He liked the night because it offered its own shadows.

He ate a honey bun on sight and loved it. Before reconsidering his next thought, he asked politely, "Ar galiu nusipirkti bandelę savo draugui?" Could I buy one for a friend of mine?

"Turi du," replied the woman, putting two in a bag and refusing his knut.

The morning was busy, and mostly he was flying on his broom. He watched the sun rise to a clear blue day; it was going to be a hot one. As he was coming in from his sixth delivery, the Quidditch team had arrived and was beginning practice. He only just glanced into the pitch, then went back to the Coordinator for another delivery. He stayed patient as he was elbowed hard in the ribs by a rude coworker as they passed while he entered her office. Truth be told he didn't really have many feelings one way or another when something like this happened; he didn't feel any kinship to the brazen types with inflated egos.

He was use to their eventual departure from his life. Time had a way of naturally changing things. He had nothing from his old life, after all; so he was familiar with change occurring eventually.

He spent a brief moment with her as he waited for his paperwork to be filed, then took another job. He'd fly off after a quick break though; it was about time for Doka and the Quidditch team to show up for work. He didn't usually meet him around this time, but then - it had been awhile anyway since seeing him.

He hadn't been over for a visit yet. Since he came back to work after they told him to take time off for the public eye to turn away, he had been told by his bosses to stay away from Doka. It wasn't like he was purposefully breaking a rule just now by deciding to go find Doka, as really there was nothing banning him from going to see him; it was just a suggestion, really.

But those honey buns were delicious and he'd kept them warm with a spell, and Doka would probably like one.

It had been a long time since he felt his heart flitter like this. As he walked up to the Quidditch training pitch he was going through several stages of exploration and fear.

He entered the archway and saw they were still on the ground, with half the team yet to come out of the locker room. But Doka was already out.

The sun was just coming up and Harry was bathed in the early light as he stood there, bag in hand, broom latched into place on his back, his chest sweaty after coming in from his last delivery.

Little did Harry know that Captain Quintius had seen him standing there and said to Doka, "Look who came for a visit. I hope you go easy on him."

Doka looked at Harry standing all that ways away, just thinking for a time. At last he looked back at Quintius. One who knew him a little could see the fear in his eyes, and one - like Quintius - who knew him a lot, would also see the relief that swam there, too.

"First time he's come back," he stated.

Quintius smiled. He knew Doka missed the boy.

By the doorway, Harry set himself up for disappointment, but then Doka mounted his broom and made a straight flight towards him.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

Doka's booted feet landed in the freshly cut grass. Harry's day was usually dictated by Doka's enthusiasm for what gift he had brought. It had been over a month since any such gift was given, so this morning it would mean more one way or the other.

Doka stood there for a long moment, studying him. Then a smile broke.

"What did you bring me?" he asked.

The bag was held out and Doka came forward to get it. He smelled the buns before he saw them, signing at the sweet aroma. As he reached in.

It didn't go amiss that Harry never once took his eyes away, that they bore into his face with intensity. Doka took a lovely bite and smiled in appreciation of the honey bun. Of Harry, too.

"Thanks...Alderbaron!" Doka declared.

Harry bit his lip, still smiling. "Glad you like them. They're made from fairy flower honey. Home made by a grandma in Čiobiškis."

He didn't expect Doka to know where that was.

"Your grandma?!" he wondered suddenly, brows raising.

Harry shook his head. "No! Just someone's."

There were so many pictures of children on the walls in that shop that it was probably true that she was a grandma of someone.

"Do you have to hurry back?" Doka asked. And wasn't that a turn of events? It was usually Harry asking that.

"No. I have the paperwork for a delivery, but it's not due in a rush and I haven't even picked it up from the greenhouse yet."

Their eyes were locked still. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable about it, Harry blinked and lowered his gaze to Doka's neck. He remembered the water droplets from the shower that once made that flesh there glisten.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

It was long overdue for an in-person apology. For everything. For the articles. For earlier; for coming onto him so strongly in the showers. Harry didn't say why; it was known he was sorry for a lot of things.

He loved the sight of Doka's neck, of glistening skin. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, looking down at the grass where his thoughts would remain hidden.

Doka couldn't read minds, but he was considering Harry's blush as being more than just a human warm from the sun. It made him smile.

Yes, it was uncomfortable all these weeks to have to deal with half the country reading about his relationship with Harry, but was a bit worse to have to be separated from the kid. He was a friend. He was fun. He was open. He was adventurous. He missed their flights at Jimualt's and he missed his bravery. He missed him sitting in the stands while he played Quidditch. He missed it when Harry was within reach to touch...

Doka reached out and cupped the side of Harry's face, bringing it back up to look again at him.

He didn't say anything as he soaked in the hot feel of him. Harry seemed to pulsate in his grasp. He was such a strong young man.

They were just friends, right? No. Something else.

What was this feeling inside of him?

"I don't know..." Doka started to say, feeling like the words were hard to come by. He'd been needing to say this for weeks. May as well say it out on this Quidditch Pitch where no one stood around; his teammates had gone off into the air - including Quintius, who was casually turning loops while watching them from afar.

Doka tried again, feelings the start of perspiring before even starting training. "I don't know what this is. It's not...a love affair, though. Okay? You understand?"

Harry nodded. He adjusted his collar. Doka helped relieve some of Harry's sudden claustrophobia and pushed off his hood. Harry's light brown hair had matted with sweat under there. It was pulled back in a high ponytail. Doka ran his hand up the back of Harry's sweaty neck to it, letting the short tail slide through his hand and thus pulling back Harry's head slightly by the action. Harry shivered and that didn't go unnoticed or unwanted.

These games Doka played with him were tortuous sometimes. Doka rested his hand on Harry's shoulder next.

Harry felt he was swallowing excessively. "Keep talking, Doka. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm just telling you that I missed you," he sighed at the end of saying that.

Harry pressed his lips together and smiled, trying not to grin.

"You missed messing with me?" He asked.

Doka nodded.

"You missed the things I brought you?"

Doka nodded again.

"You missed me, too?"

Doka pulled him into a hug when he asked that. It was a tight, full hug. It was strong. Doka squeezed him close and breathed in his scent. Maybe...maybe he pressed his lips against Harry's head? Maybe that happened, maybe it was just the angle of the hug.

It lasted.

"It's not a love affair," Harry agreed, not talking too loudly; not needing to. "But I care about you, Doka. I want you even if it was a love affair we could have."

Doka slowly released Harry, but kept both hands on his shoulders now and at arm's length. He looked at the lust in Harry's eyes; the lust that came every time he messed with him. Doka knew how to make it be there. He was a smart man; he was a player, too.

Harry's voice was weaker as he said, "Do you want to know what I want?"

Doka couldn't speak. He was a grown man and was lost for words.

"I still want something more from you."

Doka let his thumbs play a circle on Harry's throat. He was clear headed as he did it. He looked at Harry's lips and saw something that he could kiss. He looked at his eyes and saw something he didn't have to fear. He looked at his body and wondered what was under there...and he knew he wasn't afraid anymore.

Time changed minds.

"But for now..." Harry let his words linger, and he took a step away. He stood rigid and strong; he stood this way for Doka. "Let's get the timing right. Come find me, Doka. When you're ready. You know what I'm offering."

Doka swallowed hard. He nodded.

Harry turned and left the Quidditch field and his friend, not looking back for fear and for the sake of dignity. He was messing with fire still. He was going against Narcissa. He was making trouble.

But Doka had his hands all over him. He pressed their bodies together and Harry was set astir. He wanted more.

It was probably due to a combination of "what-ifs," but Harry was distracted for the rest of the day.

What if he had told Ron Weasley a truth along these lines? Offered him the request for more than friendship? What then?

What if he was brave like this from the start? Hadn't denied his feelings or desires back then?

But he had. He'd lost out on a whole life before.

This was his second chance.

He wondered if Doka would call on him anytime soon.

But how could he ponder this forever today, as today there was something else to think about also: Hogwart's graduation. In fact, the graduation of a whole new generation. Harry's generation.

Harry was busily delivering parcels from the capital city of Vilinus all the way to Riga in Latvia. He by now was known to be competent with his job and the rigorous of time management; it was only his unfortunate luck that nearly spun his career off track.

By the time he went home to the hidden cottage by the sea, at Jūtėars 4a in Palanga, his mind was consumed with thoughts of his old friends and his old life. He sat on his porch outside and drank some bottles of beer he'd picked up from the Muggle shops. He didn't drink Calming Drought, which would have done what ten beers could do in one sip. He wanted the slow fall into the realm of sadness and solitude.

The hours of sunlight soon turned to darkness, and then Harry got a surprise visitor.

"Hello?" Called out a voice from within Harry's house. Draco Malfoy's voice.

Harry looked in the open door into his dark house from his place still on the porch. A light was suddenly lit, and Draco was standing there looking around. Harry took a moment to take in his grown-up form. Months without seeing him and the changes were clear: longer hair, taller, sharper features.

"Out here," Harry said, his voice not needing to carry too far, as it wasn't a terribly large cottage.

Draco smiled as he walked out. He was dressed down and looked tired. He'd probably had a long day.

"Hey, are you drinking beer?" He asked.

Harry offered one of the few remaining bottles. "Congratulations on graduating. What were your final scores?"

"My N.E.W.T.s? Four Outstanding and two Exceeds Expectations. Mother and father are proud. Your little friend Hermione was the only one to get all Outstanding."

Draco finally took the offered drink and leaned against the banister Harry had his leg splayed out on. Harry was still wearing his work gear, to which Draco was examining closely. A black leather vest that went up his neck, a red shirt underneath. His pants were loosened because he'd by now undone all the clasps that held the material tight while he flew. His tall boots he'd kicked off and were laying about on the sandy floorboards of the deck; black equestrian boots with lace ups on the back.

"Where have you been?" Draco asked.

Harry proceeded to tell him about his job, of which he knew nothing of; clearly his parents were being careful to keep him out of the loop. In reply, Draco told him about his own prospects. Professor Snape had indeed given Draco a recommendation letter to The Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting, Potions Division, which was in England not far from Cambridge or his parent's home.

Harry heard about Narcissa's desire to have him work there. It was her desire for him to brew for the hospitals, make a name up the ranks through that field.

Harry was a bit sloshed and tired, but found the willingness to celebrate Draco's excitement.

"You'll for sure get in. Never mind all those things I said about you at Hogwarts - you were good at potions."

Draco smirked at his beer. "All those things you said about me? What? You didn't like me?"

Harry nudged him with his foot, which was closer to him. A smirk of his own was growing.

Draco looked seriously at Harry.

"I thought you were just lounging around here, not making a living with a new job. Mother didn't tell me anything before I left to come visit. You look good - Al -" Draco cleared his throat. "Sorry, mother gave me a potion awhile back that..."

Draco suddenly looked nervous.

"That makes it so you can't say my name," Harry clarified, feeling a pang of misery knowing that he had to keep his mouth shut because he was surrounded by people who Harry knew, people who thought him dead. It was jealousy and anger, but these feelings were addled by drunkenness.

Draco nodded.

"I can only call you Alderbaron."

"Well, then call me fucking Alderbaron. I'm used to it. Only your mum calls me Harry anymore. Your dad writes to me. 'Mr. Gravewatcher,' he begins each letter."

Draco smirked. "'Mum' and 'dad?' That's so barbaric," he mused.

Harry pursed his lips and adjusted himself where he sat, but the motion made him lose his balance and drop his empty bottle.

Draco quickly was by his side, holding him off the floor with arms around his waist. The blur of motion was a surprise for Harry, and it took a moment for his mind to catch up.

"Drunk Gryffindor," Draco scolded.

"Drunk Slytherin," Harry scolded back, and added in a miserable tone, "I'm not a Gryffindor. I didn't graduate. I died."

Draco couldn't urge Harry up, so instead they both fell down to their knees. Draco kept his arms around Harry, whose head was bowed and slowly shaking back and forth. Draco hesitated, but his position as being the only one here who could help Harry weighed on him. He rubbed Harry's back in soothing circles and ran his hand through Harry's long brown hair, pushing it back out of his face.

"Let me tell you about the year. Would that make you happy? Want to hear about Ron?"

Harry chuckled humorlessly, surprised that Draco would say 'Ron' and not 'Weasley.'

He whispered, "Go ahead."

Draco prepared his thoughts, keeping his arms around the lonely boy.

"First off, I was nice to him again this year. He even started being a little civil back to me, although it was like watching polyps being popped. He even said goodbye to me as we got off the train."

"Really?"

Harry was suddenly feeling a little better and wholly interested in what Draco was saying. It was like a life elixir for Harry's soul. Harry lifted his head to look at Draco as he kept talking.

"He's going to be an Auror, and said he'd be happy to arrest me if I ever crossed him, and I think that was part of the reason he worked so hard on his studies. He made the N.E.W.T.s for it, he told me. I told him, 'Congratulations, Ronald. Don't let anyone down.' Do you think that was too nice?"

Harry smiled at Draco, softly this time.

"I don't think you can be 'too nice.'"

Draco wiped at Harry's cheek, and only then did Harry realize that he was crying.

Harry gripped Draco's hand, stopping it against his cheek. The hunger in his stomach for knowledge about his old life grew.

"What about Hermione?"

Draco went on.

"She and Ron are still friends, but you know what? They aren't a happy little couple anymore. They were gooey in sixth year, like you know. But she was constantly just babying him, cleaning up after him when he started yelling at people for talking about you. No one knows who broke up with who. And...I don't actually believe she knows about what you did to get Ron out of my house last year. I think he's not telling her."

Draco was only speculating, because he really just didn't know if Ron told her about Clouse Malfoy.

Harry reflexively shut his eyes and turned away, turned into Draco's warm palm. Draco glided his other hand into Harry's hair again, knotting his fingers in the tangled strands. Unlike Doka, Draco had thin fingers and a light tough. Draco reflexively moved forward, pressing his cheek against Harry's head. His breath was warm against Harry's neck and - in that moment - both wanted nothing more than to get closer for comfort.

Draco said softly, compassionately, "I think he's mostly done crying about it, though. Now he's just angry and determined to stop bad people from doing bad things. He's not being as dumb as he used to. He used to skip classes. But after mother's spell on the garden, after Clouse was caught and sent to Azkaban, Ron really turned around. What do you think? Do you think it's okay that he's getting better? Took you long enough; took him longer."

Draco's voice caressed his ear. When Harry looked up, Draco captured his lips in a sudden kiss. Smooth, breathy, Harry wasted away because he needed someone to touch; he was so lonely. Before not too long, Draco was laying over Harry on the damp sandy planks, pillaging Harry's mouth the same way he had back at Hogwarts in the hospital room. Harry keened when their matching arousals met through the clothe of their trousers. Harry invariable knew what could come next.

He begged, "No - stop, please!"

Draco moved away.

Below him, Harry curled away, hiding his face behind his hands. Draco knew the moment was over and sat up, leaning over Harry's addled form.

His bloodstream was littered with the knives of alcohol and his feelings bled over the sand. He wondered if Draco knew that the blood that poured from his body into his erection was making him even more light-headed. The world was so heavy.

"Are you okay?" Draco whispered, afraid to touch him.

"I don't want to do this again," Harry confessed truthfully. "I know you're not going to visit. I know you're still dating girls. I know you don't want someone as messed up as me. I don't want to be toyed with."

Harry rolled back onto his back, looking up with teary eyes at Draco.

Draco nodded at last, seeming to understand the truth of Harry's predictions. All Harry said was true, but still, Draco's eyes glittered for Harry, showing how much Draco did care.

"You can't even say my name, even though you know it. If I am to keep going on like this...I can't be with you. I need to be new. I need to be fake through and through."

Earlier this morning, Harry had offered himself to Doka, but that was different. Doka could be with the living Alderbaron, while Draco could only be with the darkness of a life left better dead. It was twisted how love worked and time changed people. It made Harry into a workaholic and a secret keeper; it seemed to be more friendly to Draco, though.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, then amended, "I like you, even now. But you're right. It probably wouldn't work out. I want you to..." Draco sought the end of that sentence. "...find someone. I don't want to be the only experience you have."

Harry nodded, believing it was true that he would.

"Thank you for coming here."

Draco licked his lips, caressing his fingertips down Harry's cheek, picking up a few fallen tears.

"I'll see you again. Don't think too bad of me when you do."

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

Draco didn't stick around. Selfish, but true to himself, he picked himself up off the planks slowly, then walked away, leaving Harry there on his back with the stars and nothing else.

Summer continued, 1998.

Draco started work at the Potions Division later that week. He staunchly avoided his mother's questions about Harry, preferring to pack and prepare for his move to an apartment in Cambridge shortly after getting the job. But Draco couldn't avoid her forever; she was insistent that she get Draco's opinion of Harry now that he had a visit again.

She was over at Draco's new residence after he had settled in. His loft was furnished with things from her and Lucius's storage room. Draco seemed to like his choice in furnishings: it was a mixture of dark and ostentatious. Clearly his tastes took from Lucius's side of the family more than her own. She sat now on Lucius's grandmother's couch made of niffler coats that use to be in their parlor room. She thought she'd be rid of this somber seating once she got Lucius to agree to part with it. She wondered if Lucius kept it for Draco's sake, knowing he had liked it.

But the view of the city of London was outside Draco's window, along with the tops of a dozen trees. This building was Muggle-built but she suspected Draco wasn't the first wizard to occupy a room. It was an accommodating apartment for privacy.

"Will you believe me if I told you he just doesn't want me?" Draco wondered aloud.

Narcissa sighed, but nodded.

"So you don't believe he is desiring his old life?"

"Where would you get that idea? He left them all, and for good reasons! Dumbledore was trying to use him, his best friend was utterly without a clue about how he felt, his other best friend was kind enough to date his crush -"

"I'm not talking about school gossip," Narcissa clarified. "I want to know if we need to keep you around his old friends so you can keep updating him on their activities. He tells me he really likes knowing about them from time to time."

Draco's nostrils flared.

"Don't tell me I have to keep doing that! They're repulsive, Mother! Ron's going to be an Auror and the lava monster is going into politics to raise awareness for equal rights for house elves! They're both so goody-two-shoed it makes me sick!"

"You're going into medicine," Narcissa smirked, arching an eyebrow. "How are you not also going into a selfless profession?"

Draco slumped in his chair.

"How do you expect me to keep in touch with them? I won't be going out for drinks or writing letters. Not even the Dark Lord could make me do that."

She scolded him with her eyes for making such a comment. In the back of her mind, though, she was happy: Draco had forgotten some of the fear the Dark Lord had instilled...but she had seen what Lord Voldemort had done to Harry the night Harry killed him. She saw - too - his scars from time to time just to remind her of it. Voldemort could make anyone do anything.

"You know where they work. Find out where they live. If possible, shop at their grocery store. Draco, I don't want you to completely leave him behind..." Narcissa took another long look out the window, thinking deeply about Harry. "...I feel that he still needs you."

Draco wasn't rushed off his feet to help, but he was part of this family and therefore part of the family secrets. He agreed to do what he could.

Meanwhile, while Draco was settling into a new job with the Eight Companies of Enchanting, so was another of Hogwart's more recently graduated.

Some leagues away, at the Herbology Division, a few new-hires were in attendance and getting a group tour of the building while Draco and his mother finished their get-together. Harry caught sight of the group at the end of the hall as he made his way to the Coordinator.

Should he have looked closer, he would have seen a familiar face and might have been more prepared for what happened next.

He walked in to see Talia Visicala eating a slice of cake. He once got Doka such a gift, but cake never went over as well as nutty bread.

Doka had yet to call upon Harry. It had been just over a week.

Harry greeted her.

"Good morning."

"Ah! Alderbaron! I've got a job for you right away. Pickup a supply of syrups from the Tropical Greenhouse. Drop-off is in Kaunas' magical street. Here's the address; their shop has a purple door. They've made the order for fresh syrups, so you may have to wait for the Greenhouse to finish collecting them."

Just then there was a knock on the door and a cheery young witch poked her head in.

"Hello? Can I introduce the new Herbologists that are just starting with us? I'm giving them the tour."

The Coordinator quickly put her forkful of cake back onto the plate and settled it out of sight behind her desk. Harry smirked at his boss's quick action. He was effectively one of her favorites, as she was quite proud to have such a young talented body in her services, and so she humored him with a wink.

"Come on in. Let's see them!" She said welcomingly, although didn't stand up.

The room was large, filled with six other workers' stations, and a whole lot of pictures of the plants that grew here. The only visitors really were just the delivery crew like Harry. They were scolded when they came in with muddy boots, soaking uniforms, or worse: if they came in without an air of business about them. The Coordinator had given Harry a list of magical spells of cleanliness some time ago, and after witnessing her cold demeanor to one of his workmates, Harry had taken to coming here in full and clean uniform only.

Even now, Harry wore his hood up and his Firebolt in the ready position over his shoulder, the golden emblazonment 'Firebolt' gleamed for all to know what it was. He even got use to the tight fitting collar of his vest just for the professional effect he knew his boss liked, and lost his embarrassment at the tight way the straps on his pants and torso hugged his skin. His badge around his neck he never forgot.

So as the room filled with ten extra bodies, Harry was perhaps the most unique thing to look at.

And this is when Harry's life became a whole lot more complicated, because in with the new group of Herbologists came Neville Longbottom.

Neville looked the same, if not taller. He wasn't smiling as so many others were; in fact, he had tired shadows under his eyes. He was near the back of the crowd coming into the room. Harry's eyes hit Neville's before he noticed Harry at all; Neville was looking around the room first. Harry had that moment - but only just a moment - to correct his composure...yeah right, like he could do that in such a short space of time.

Instantly he felt his throat clench and his cheeks flare.

Embarrassment, fear, excitement...whatever it was, the feeling left him nonfunctional.

He hadn't planned for this...he was so detached from his old life that the odds of running into his roommate from Hogwarts was...well, it was a herbology company; Neville's top subject.

Why hadn't he thought of this?

Harry's whole body was stiff, straightened, and it was all he could to keep a limpid face. He made an avid point to give no other person a look longer than a second - wait, wait, no. That made him dizzy.

Okay, he made an avid point to just not look anyone in the eyes, and especially to just not look again at Neville. In fact, he decided to just look only purposefully at the tour guide, listening as she spoke with more attention than she deserved. And what was she even talking about?

Harry could only hear the rushing of blood in his ears and hardly made out one word.

"This is the Coordinator's office, everyone. She oversees the making of the catalogue and the distribution of the purchases. Here even is one of her Transportation Officials who one day will deliver your plants to the potioneers who will brew with them."

Just hand me those papers, Harry thought urgently, glancing at Talia's desk where she had set the order form.

Right about then, he swore he could feel Neville staring at him. His legs went numb.

One of these new hires raised their hand, asking a question as if they were in school. The motion and the girl's nervous voice caught a line in Harry, and he focused on her.

"Why do you need Transportation Officials to be so - so...um...dressed up?"

The young witch had been eyeing Harry up and down, but when he drove his severe gaze into her, she quailed and stumbled at the end of her sentence.

It was spooky how hard of a shiver was thumbing down his spine. Harry looked at the young woman and barely took in her features, as Neville was stood next to her, gazing avidly at him with a slightly open-mouth.

It could have been recognition, but surely it was something else!

He tore his eyes away from the desire to look at Neville and turned his chin inward, looking down at his own body. It gave him a reason to look away, that was enough for him. He dressed well knowing the Malfoy's believed the impression it left was lasting, and it felt good to be different than how he use to be.

His body was pumping with alarm, though. He tried to remember what Calming Drought did to him, and tried to created a false sense of calm that way: foggy head, lax movements, no fear... He barely held it together and barely heard the Coordinator's reply.

Harry refused to breach his composure and looked firmly at Talia now.

"Good question. Often times there is the risk of thievery of our valuable and regulated harvests. Potion brewing is a regulated field all its own, but what is really regulated about it are the substances used in those potions. We have high security here at the Herbology Institute, and we hire only capable and reliable Transportation Officials. Alderbaron is dressed in a uniform that both protects him from wayward spells as well as is equipped with a broom that he can carry with him even openly in Muggle places. Such is the importance of protecting the harvests and hiring only trustworthy individuals who will take discretion to continue to protect the secrecy of wizard kind."

The tour guide witch came up to Harry, standing about to his shoulder.

"You'll meet people from all over the world here, so there is sometimes a language barrier. But Alderbaron speaks English," she turned to Harry. "I've never asked, where are you from?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. He had practice by now answering this, and he almost could believe himself usually, but today his voice was stiff.

"Canada, mostly. My mother is from England but my dad is from Kaunas. We moved back here awhile ago."

The witch smiled and related to him, "My grandmother's in Kaunas. Well, you've been working here awhile. Are you happy here?"

Let me get out of this room.

"Very," Harry said simply, although that statement was overkill, as he was having such trouble with his coworkers and the bosses about his ordeal with the magazine articles.

"And, are you happy to see these new Herbologists?"

Harry got the feeling he was meant to be. He nodded.

"It's nice to meet all of them. But I have some syrups to deliver..."

Don't look. Don't look.

"Right you are. Be safe," Talia said from behind him, only now passing over the order form.

Harry took the paper and left by way of how everyone had just come in. As he passed them all, he found himself closer to Neville than he in any way desired...he stood below his old classmate, who must have sprung up in his last year at Hogwarts. Harry found himself unable to resist a glance right at Neville as he past in front of him. Neville had the barest hint of a beard starting. Extra years were accented around his eyes, which looked worried at the corners as he sought to consume Harry's face with his gaze. But he looked nearly just the same: a little pudgy, a little soft, totally friendly.

"Hey," Neville said breathlessly, almost not of his own volition but out of some identification of a truth of familiarity. For Neville, it was like seeing a ghost; he was thrilled and devastated at the same time to recognize features of his old friend in this new part of the world.

Everyone has a doppelganger, he'd once heard.

Harry tried to give a lackluster acknowledgment, barely a twitch of his features, keeping it simple and safe. This was a complication, as Neville had lived in the same room as him for over five years and knew him well enough to see all the similarities outside the changes to his hair, skin and eyes.

Harry hoped his behavior was considered something else from the famous boy Neville once knew, and was out of there with an urgent stride of business, but his steps wavered and he found a quiet alcove quickly.

He had a Calming Drought on him. It wasn't a regulated potion and he kept it secure in an unbreakable vial in an inner pocket. He tore at his vest to get to it, uncorking it and - as it came to his lips for him to take a sip - he got a deep breath of the fragrance of it with his nose just over the opening.

He smelled the bitterness, the floral and the mushrooms that floated aromatically from the drought. With his eyes closed, he was taken back in time years, back to Hogwarts and to the hospital ward, where he had this potion shoved into his mouth by Madam Pomfrey to calm him down after his encounter with Draco wearing Ron's flesh.

Next, the episodes that had flared and receded while he was in Narcissa's care jangled through his mind...he felt helpless.

He felt alone.

He couldn't go through with it. He couldn't sip.

He was probably doing himself a disservice by not drinking, but the smell of the drought turned his stomach. It was because of Neville...seeing his face was just too harsh a reminder of his old self, and too harsh a reminder of how little he really was.

He was nothing.

He was alone.

Hogwart's hospital ward was a taboo place for him, and he never wanted to go back. So many awful things had happened to make him return there again and again...He hadn't realized how much he remembered from those days, but Neville was quite the trigger.

He may have been alone here, but had he stayed at Hogwarts, how many more trips to that hospital ward would he have made?

Would one of those trips have been his last?

The syrups waited for him in the tropical greenhouse, but his heart was suffering, so they could wait until his breathing was back in order.

Two weeks later. The week before his 18th birthday...

Harry felt this sort of endless trepidation, like he was walking on eggshells. He spent less time with anyone than ever before and more time coming to terms with his loneliness. He even stopped lingering around the Quidditch training field in hopes Doka would come out...he had no mind for that right now.

He knew which Greenhouse Neville worked in and knew at some point he'd be given an assignment that would walk him through those doors. But worse was seeing him in the distance, walking with colleagues and sitting around with books. Harry stayed far away.

He mixing it up with the Apparation pads upon his arrival to work now. There were four on the premises, if one included the one mainly used by the Quidditch players. He tried to make it all seem natural, like he wasn't afraid of something. Like he wasn't avoiding anyone.

The trouble with hiding his identity by magical means was that there were many more magical means of one day someone finding him. For this reason, Narcissa and Lucius had given special orders for Harry for many types of possible dangerous situations. One top no-no was that he should never send them a letter or try to get in contact with them at all. There was no telling - as Lucius was under house arrest by the Ministry of Magic for being an ex-Death Eater - if their house was being monitored. One letter was all it might take to open suspicions to who it was who wrote it. Narcissa hand delivered Lucius's letters, and precautions were made for the contents should someone happen to read one.

So, while Harry wanted to speak to Narcissa and let her know this turn of events, he had no choice but to wait for her to visit. It was just the safest way for all of them.

She had slowed her visits down recently because she was brewing at home. She was avidly trying to create a potion for him that would keep the affects of his current Beautification potion while tanning his skin to the level he was at with the lotions. A simple enough idea, and overall overrated because Harry didn't mind applying the lotion. But Narcissa seemed to think it would help things.

He expected her for his birthday at least. Another week and he'd get to see her.

He had just finished work and Apparated home, then unexpectedly he heard her voice calling from the kitchen.

"Welcome home," she said.

Harry instantly perked up in that direction and went over. She was standing over a brewing cauldron of happily bubbling white foam. Harry may have looked desperate as he rushed in. He didn't usually hug her, but this time he swooped around her and took her waste, squeezing her to his side - knowing he couldn't stop her in her progress of stirring, so he even tried to be gentle. She felt fragile to him. But overall, he needed her these past weeks and was so glad she was here now.

"What's this about?" she wondered. She took his chin into her grip, holding his face still for her to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Neville Longbottom's working at the Herbology Institute," Harry confessed dourly. "We shared the same dorm at Hogwarts. His plants were the ones that I had that reaction to back then."

Narcissa held her tongue for a moment, taking in the gravity of the situation. She looked back down at her cauldron, thinking seriously. Harry stepped back and sat at one of the chairs by the small table.

"Have you spoken?"

"No. I haven't seen him at all since he started. Draco probably started at the Potion Institute when Neville started here at my work. I've just been keeping my head down."

She pressed her lips together and glared daggers at him now.

Her second question: "Have you been acting strange to anyone?"

Harry took his time answering. He knew she'd not appreciate a wrong answer at this point in time.

Harry shook his head.

"I've been less consistent with how I arrive and leave, but I don't talk to anyone anyway, so that hasn't changed. I spend most of my time traveling...I only really need to talk to the Coordinator. Neville...I think he's waiting around to see me, but he was always indirect about getting the things he wanted. Back at school, he'd never just seek me out when he wanted to talk, and I always had to chase him down if I needed to see him. It's been easy to avoid him."

"Okay, okay," she liked his answer.

She needed to think.

Narcissa went back to brewing for another moment. Harry saw there was a hand-written potion on a page on the counter and pulled it closer. She was brewing another version of the Beatification potion and was nearing its final steps. She must have been here a few hours already.

"Does this mean you're getting close?" Harry asked her nonchalantly.

"It means I think I've thought of a way to have it tan your skin with a sip, rather than having to keep applying the tanning lotion."

"Really? At long last?"

She smiled.

"I tried it on Lucius and myself. We don't have your scars, though. Your potion usually fades an hour after you get home, right?"

He nodded. "About an hour after, yeah."

"This one should last for six hours, or so it did on us."

It was true about the scars, though. Even on days when he just stayed home, Harry still drank a sip of potion to conceal the scars left by Lord Voldemort. They were smaller and thinner now, but when he tortured Harry and inserted his hooks, he left a dozen obvious wounds that just didn't heal nicely and Harry hated looking at.

Harry took a sudden interest in the handwritten potion on the page she'd brought. It had two extra ingredients he hadn't seen before, but was familiar with from work. It would make the potion more expensive to make if it worked with these.

He deduced the step she was on when he read, Stir forty-seven times to the right, adding the crush loleir grimweasel pods, as the red pods were on the table next to her, uncrushed yet.

As he read, he'd rested his head on his hand and got a big whiff of persikas wood off his palm. He'd had need to use his wand a lot that day, and in his sweaty palm it had rubbed the sweet peach smell all over him. From time to time he'd smell his wand and was reminded at how different his world was. He sighed now, relaxed by the smell.

"And it's not just a transfiguration potion?" He wondered.

She smiled. "It's charmed only, so you don't have to worry about - what would you be worried about? Sprouting gills?"

Harry smiled. She was trying to be funny for his sake.

Also sitting on the table was a letter from Lucius. Harry picked that up.

Narcissa suddenly reached out and pressed her hand over his, flattening his hand with the letter down to the table. It brought Harry's attention back to her.

"I believe you are physically different enough to not be found out, Harry. But it is up to you to keep up your behavior. You can't be found out, you know this. It would hurt a lot of people, mainly you."

Harry nodded.

"I don't want to be found out. It's too late for that."

It had been a year and a half.

She had a reassuring way of allowing him time to think when she asked him hard questions. Yes, he had a delicate mind some months ago, but with nourishment he became strong. She looked at him and she saw something no one else could see: she saw a victorious boy, one who survived Lord Voldemort and allowed her family to stay together. His death meant a casual life for all those who sacrificed something (life, money, or freedom; for him all three) during the war. And because of how much he lost, she had a level of respect when she approached him.

"Harry," she said. "Lucius and I were hoping you could answer a question for us..."

"Yes?" Harry prodded.

He let the letter go. She took back her hand and kept pace stirring the potion.

She furrowed her brow, pausing for a moment while looking deep into his magicked eyes.

"He hasn't mentioned it in the letters yet, but we've been talking a lot about this... Let me start by saying that we know you are a very confident young man. Your resilience to all of this has been tremendous."

"Thanks," Harry said honestly.

"Now, though, we'd like to know how far you can take it. How many societal rules you're willing to break. For instance, Lucius did a few illegal things while in his post at the Ministry, thus getting you your new birth certificate. He chose to place a few precautionary measures that were entirely illegal...but he never questioned the potential uses of them."

Harry digested her words.

She continued, "We'd like to know if you're willing to place some precautionary measures of your own."

"Is this to do with the articles?" Harry wondered.

She shook her head.

"No. This is entirely how you feel. You won't be wrong, no matter what you say."

"Is this about..." he looked down at Lucius's letter. "Something to do with the Herbology Institute?"

He was still trying to understand her open question.

She nodded in agreement at last.

"I thought you were entirely against me making a potential spectacle of myself?" Harry had a cheeky tone to his voice now.

She shrugged.

"It's not about making a spectacle of yourself. We wouldn't ask that. In fact, we'd ask that you stay just as away from the spotlight as ever. Lucius didn't start at the top of his field at the Ministry, you know, and he never took to the spotlight...that was how he was able to get so much done. He was inspired by many of the authors of the books in this house...and they offer really good advice for those willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead in life. I came here to brew this potion, and to hear your ideas about breaking these rules that built our society," and then she added, "because it worked for our family."

Harry chewed that over quietly for a time, then wondered, "Do you have some specific rules you want me to break?"

Without answering directly, Narcissa picked up a knife and started to smash the small red pods.

She said, "I do. We'll go to the utmost lengths to keep you from being caught. This potion is one of those lengths."

Harry looked again at the brew.

He hadn't realized she had ulterior motives for brewing this concealment potion for him.

Narcissa waved the knife casually through the air.

"Harry, please do me a favor and go shower? I'd like you to take all the magic potions off that you have on. This potion is almost ready, and I'd like to see you try it. Take your time, read Lucius's letter even. It still will be about an hour until finished."

"What if the potion really works?" Harry said softly. "Will that mean you'll tell me what you have planned for me?"

She hesitated.

"I've been wanting to talk to you about it for some time...it's been a dream of mine since before you were even born to - " she stopped herself. She looked at him and smiled calmly. "Go shower, Harry Potter. Come back when you're ready."

Harry felt the day's worry not wash away as the magical tanning lotion did. Similarly, the powder he dabbed around his eyes washed off, too, and he came out paler and with his natural green eyes. The scars were still hidden, with a short time to go before his morning sip wore off.

He looked at his rather clear reflection in the large pane window as he dried off. He had a body with just a little bit to be proud of; with as active of a job as he had, there was tone and definition now. He looked down and made a decision then to try a bit harder, though. He figured if Quidditch players looked as good as they did, he'd probably like the idea of looking the same.

Harry dressed in casual clothes that he could roll the sleeves up and see the scars on his arms when they reappeared. He sat on his bed where he'd left Lucius's letter and opened it up. He nonchalantly gathered one of the hefty lifting rods he'd transfigured some weeks ago and started to weight lift it in one hand as he read the letter, holding it in the other hand.

Mr. Gravewatcher, no doubt you have questions now, but keep in mind your skills and instincts, and know that we have faith in your abilities. I wish I could say more.

On another note, not long ago I read in the paper about an event you may have seen. DP3 of the 18th. I'm happy to see life moving forward for you younger people.

Furthermore, a day is coming up I hope you to spend well. We've gotten you a gift and hope you like it.

I've begun to read 'Anger and Peace,' a new autobiography by the late Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. You are welcome to laugh at it as much as I have.

Enjoy yourself, sincerely, Lucius

DP3 meant The Daily Prophet, page 3. It was their way of communicating secretly. They never dated any of their letters, and there were some still laying around that now Harry couldn't have told anyone what the article was in reference to because he didn't know what month the letter was sent. Harry stopped his narcissist behavior with the lifting weight and went out into the living room to see what article Lucius was referring to.

He'd been keeping up with the Daily Prophet, but couldn't honestly say he read anything of note lately. He was a collector of the local papers as well as tried every day he went out to get a copy. He hoped he had the issue Lucius spoke about; he usually kept a month's worth of papers at a time. He ruffled around on the many littered surfaces in the living room - the coffee table, the end tables, the desk in the corner, and finally he found it: issued July 18th, the Daily Prophet from last week.

Opening to page 3, Harry got the surprise of a lifetime: there was a picture of Ron Weasley.

How had he missed this?!

The pale, creamy skin with dabbles of freckles that only a natural redhead possessed. His hair was neat and short - not at all like Harry remembered. Harry recalled that Ron rarely cared at all about his appearance, even going with bed-head all day long. Now it was combed and only wild at the edges where the wind had probably gotten it.

A figure in a black duster coat was not as imposing when they smiled for the camera. Ron stood taller than Mad Eye Moody and Nymphadora Tonks by either of his sides. He stood taller by a head. He had his wand hand clasped across his chest in a formal way. He was so clearly older than the bony teen Harry once knew, his sideburns were lowering along his cheeks but he was giving his face a close shave - for what little that did, as his beard had yet to fully bloom.

Harry gripped the paper hard and pulled it so close to his face he could smell the ink.

Narcissa asked for an hour, and thank god for that, because Harry spent thirty minutes just standing there looking.

There was a short article about an arrest.

Confessed Slayer of House Elf Arrested: by Alden Minko. A three-day search of the homes in the magical town of Picket Henden, where it was rumored that Harvey Slayer was hiding out, has ended. Fresh recruit for the Auror office, Ronald Weasley (featured above center), only seventeen and in his first month of duty assisted in the arrest. When Aurors surprised Slayer he made to escape, but Weasley had flung himself over a banister, catching his feet with a Slow spell moments before impact, then chased Slayer out of the house and caught him with a Petrifying spell. The quick thinking, brave, and agile new recruit showed promise to begin with, but this clearly is the start to a long and exciting career. More on the Slayer case, and the Ministry of Magic's new Auror recruits as the days unfold.

Harry's heart slammed in his chest as he took the paper into the kitchen.

"Narcissa!" Harry gasped at last, eyes wide as he saw her sitting at the high table with a cooling potion before her, leafing through a magazine of her own. "I never knew! An Auror? He's more than qualified!"

Narcissa figured out immediately when he came in what he was excited about, having read that article about Harry's friend and heart-break some time back.

"Well, if you read Lucius's letter, then you know we bought you a birthday present, too."

"It's not for a few more days," Harry told her, still gushing with joy at Ron's accomplishment. He stared at the face and the name, Ronald Weasley, written there in black and white.

She pointed at a small box behind her, and bade him open it anyway.

Happy birthday, read the tag. Harry opened the box and looked in to find a set of pouches that looked familiar. He took one out and examined it closely, opening it by the drawstring and getting a shock. It was the large Wizard Space within that keyed him in: these were the finished product of that prototype Narcissa had brought over. The whole wizarding community were chatting about the potential regulation and banning of this particular set of black leather pouches with a simple golden drawstring, which were so perfectly formed that they might pose a risk in high-security facilities.

"Wow," Harry remarked in wonder at seeing the little pouches. Three of them, to be precise.

"Do you know what they are?" Narcissa asked, a touch of her own glee showing through.

Narcissa and Lucius liked the best things on the market, and this was very clearly the best transportation accessory for someone with secrets. There was quite a bit of chatter about it among people at his work; they had already banned them and threaten to fire anyone who was caught with one, as it was a high security threat.

Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she offered him an assured smile.

"You could hide a lot of things in these," she said.

It was a small little voice in the back of Harry's head that nagged him...this voice spoke about potion brewing. Illegal potions.

"The institute banned these," he told her seriously.

"I'm sure they did. Can they detect them with any of their security checks?"

Harry pursed his lips.

"They don't really do security checks. And I read that no one can detect these yet."

"Oh. Really."

She was vague but at the same time completely clear.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He walked around the table to stand across from her, giving her an inherent scolding.

"Narcissa? What are you thinking?"

She smiled, stirring the potion in the cup, making it shimmer.

"Harry, let us be honest. You've thought of it, too."

"Thought of what?"

He didn't give her an inch.

"Thought about all these books in this house. All these potion recipes that you know normal witches and wizards don't have access to. Lucius collected these novels through painstaking means. It took years to build this library. He keeps these here because this house is secure. A collection like this would probably earn us...oh, twenty years in Azkaban...fifteen, maybe."

Harry sat like a stone thrown into a pond.

"You're not kidding," Harry said, mortified at the prospect.

She started smiling in a forlorn way.

"I've always wanted to brew potions out here by the sea. And it is quite a lucrative business. The only thing really stopping me is the ingredients. They're regulated and just impossible to procure."

Harry had been to most of the Greenhouses in the Herbology Institute, and to that effect, he knew that there were wilting plants plucked and tossed from every batch. Especially those from the batches of new recruits...They kept the wilting plants in a bin, and he often contemplated them for the sake of passing one along to Narcissa to bring back to life with her green thumb; as a gift of sorts.

Harry could scoff about the absurdity of her ideas, but they weren't beyond his fathom.

"I'd visit more, naturally," she said, dangling that carrot that he found juicy despite himself.

Harry scoffed for a different reason, now. He became indignant.

"Am I that easy?"

She pushed the drink across to him and then walked around to Harry's side. Draco's mom gripped Harry by his chin again and made him look her in the eyes as she grew to be mere inches from his face. He stared up at the powerful witch.

"Harry, you aren't easy at all. You were a mess when I first saw you. When you think of the potions used to cure you, do you not believe they wouldn't be needed by others, too? Witches and wizards who don't want the Ministry of Magic incarcerating them in a psychiatrist's ward just for swallowing a life changing potion that they need? I don't think you'd really have a problem with that."

Harry shook his head in agreement, too nervous to speak.

"And nothing gives me the impression that you are too afraid to get away with a little bit of eretatc warsling and banesling from the institute."

Harry hesitated, worried to tell her the truth.

"I...don't really know what those are."

She then pulled a nearby book closer. There were a few bookmarked pages.

"These plants are the ones I'd like. Once you get them, I'll ask no more of you. They grow only in regulated places all over the wizarding world; it'd be impossible to get them all in a lifetime...except the institute you work at grows all of them."

Harry gathered the book now, flipping among the pages.

"You are serious..." he intoned sadly.

She smiled.

"You and your friend Ron grew up bravely together. Look at the lengths he went through to catch that killer, and he's only been working as an Auror trainee for a month. He's brave because of you."

Harry flinched.

"Don't say that."

Narcissa let him go gently.

"Of course I'm going to say it; it's the truth. You are a powerful wizard with so much skill. You bettered him by showing him that breaking rules and doing all you can do gets you results. Those Aurors were just going by the book and the routine, but they took your friend along with them and he followed his instincts; look what that got him."

"I didn't better Ron! He's always been better than me!"

Harry tried to explain more, but she held up a hand to silence him.

"One and the same. You better him, he betters you. Could you tell me you did nothing for him? Could you tell me you played no part in his ability to be an Auror?"

Harry felt breathless and could say no such thing. He'd always focused on Ron, as he'd always been in love with him.

"I...only tried to help."

Narcissa took hold of Harry's right arm then and turned it outward. He looked down at the flesh there, where scars showed long and raised. So, some time during all their chatting, his old potion had faded.

He pulled back from her and covered the arm in shame. Narcissa didn't think of those scars as shameful, though. She gave him a kiss against the side of his head.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm not asking you to take these plants if you don't want to."

That's when she offered the potion to him. Harry took the offered cup soon enough and sat there, large book on his lap, hair still wet from his shower, feeling the strain of hard work yet to come.

Late Summer, 1998.

If one wondered why Doka hadn't called on Harry yet, it was something Emidee Withers said privately to him before a meeting between the institute's board and Tallhorn United's board as they got together to discuss the mess Foxy put them in.

They were separated from the others in a hall and she had spoken quietly.

"We're hiring in the fall for the A-2 level delivery position he's been after. It comes with quite the pay bump, although I think he wants it because he can use more of his skills. I'm trying to get him in, but it's up to everyone on the board. He's looking to be in good standing, though. Really. He's impressing them. And if you just aren't seen with him before then, there's even a better chance of him making it in."

Captain Quintius, Nobel and Aykroyd were sensitive to Doka's situation. He was quiet, they noticed. He was most moody in the mornings, glancing at the door down below where Alderbaron use to wait. They kept encouraging him to keep his moods light and professional, and believe that things would return to normal.

He wondered what the new 'normal' with Alderbaron was going to be like.

Doing his part, he stayed away. Besides, he knew the kid was busy. He heard he was rushing around, picking up extra jobs so he'd be back in good standing for that promotion he was looking forward to. He was kept updated by Captain Quintius's fan girl, who came by for lunch from time to time.

Little did he know it was Harry's birthday, but Doka again was speaking to her in a hall, but this time in the familiar halls of Tallhorn United's training stadium, outside Quintius's office. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the window looking out at the field. He was seeking solace and information. What triggered this newfound interest in gaining information? Well, the season was almost over, so there was time for stuff like this.

Emidee was quite clued in to Alderbaron's current state, as she'd been meeting him regarding this.

"In general, his talent is what will keep him here. I couldn't say we've had such a defensive flyer since the odd retired Auror comes around. Usually it's only them who make it much farther than his level. The company would like to hire him; it would make him the youngest in awhile to hold that position."

"Do you still think he'll make it?" Doka wondered.

"I believe they are looking out for progression. They're quite prudential, though. They're afraid of more drama, considering he's had two occurrences with scandals so far. Luckily one of them happened before he came here. But as you can see, it's a double-edged sword: rules that bind you are..." she cleared her throat. "Don't let me put words into their mouth. They're thinking positively about this."

"Does he...?" Doka didn't know how to ask this.

Emidee blushed and looked away.

"Does he ask about you?"

That was exactly what Doka wanted to know.

She smiled.

"Yes. I hope you know he...really doesn't want to hurt you. He knows his level of responsibility in all this, and he's just trying to do what's right. He's more mature than most nineteen year olds."

"Wait," Doka said, surprised. "He's had a birthday?"

Emidee nodded, looking quite closely at Doka now, feeling that he was on a quest for something he wasn't mentioning, and she didn't know how to help.

"July 20th. Doka...I really encourage you to stand a neutral distance away from him. There are still eyes on you both who are pleased by your wide proximity from each other."

All true. But he wanted to lean in. It was starting to get to him...he was starting to feel a rising pressure in the pit of his stomach that was a burden. It was quite a lonely feeling.

He had always been in the magazines a lot, but when they published that first article that wasn't about his Chaser abilities - well...there wasn't anything Doka could do about it. He was tied by the stance that Foxy had taken: the image on the front page of a very angry Foxy Von Süss with the caption: Trouble in paradise? Foxy and Doka not for long? You won't believe who is disrupting their relationship: page 5! The only thing he could keep doing was tell her it wasn't true and to back off the publicity. Somehow that made her worse to deal with.

But when the lashing out benched him, that's when she really turned it on Alderbaron: he was a stalker, he was a nuisance, it was all his fault.

She didn't want this to affect Doka's career, but it had. When his agent with the Quidditch League basically told him that a break up with Foxy was about all that would salvage his career, he had to take it. He told her the reason for it, and it certainly made her leave Alderbaron alone after that, thinking she could keep them together in the background of it all.

Just like some of her other blowups, he was told that it was all an act. She started telling him this was too, but he didn't believe her. Maybe he was looking for a way out?

As September crawled on, he wasn't in contact with her and the magazines were starting to get fired up about his new bachelor status. He was offered enough money to have gone to one of their photo shoots, but how was he to know it'd be topless and they'd be slathering him oil and misting water onto his chest? Heck, when the photos came out in the magazines it was all sex appeal. But...well, he wondered what Alderbaron thought...maybe he even meant for him to see.

Stupid!

He was trying to forget that boy for now!

His agent had said, "It's all just ill timing, Doka. Get your personal life together in the winter, and just focus on work until after the League is shut down for the season. Don't let anything get to you until then."

He was just so...yeah. Attracted to the kid. Towards the end with Foxy, when they were in bed, it was just troublesome to be with her but have such desires for something else.

As for if - when - Doka would call on Alderbaron, he'd just have to wait and see. It was almost over...just a few meetings left and he'd have his freedom from commitments to the team. He still fell into bed exhausted nearly every night, but hardly slept.

September, 1998.

Narcissa's new hobby was making Harry's life...precarious. He played with simple spells that could gather lightweight items into the magical pouches, walking along the beach - alongside Muggles - and practicing covertly. He gauged their reactions, looking for ways in which they may have noticed things sliding across the beach in unfamiliar ways, or may have noticed his hand move to his side where his wand was.

The first time he used a spell to gather fallen seeds at the greenhouses, no one had noticed. He'd chosen a lasting Vortex charm to pull items together. He was spurred on from there. Little more needs to be said, other than several weeks in he was craftier than ever and had yet to raise any alarm. He had to take so many risks to just have a life in the first place, what were a few more?

Harry had been trying to make this not a big addition to his day-to-day, as there were spells in place to detect deceitful workers, finding those who might be stealing. It wasn't a common thing here, as the pay was good and the environment was nice, so people tended not to mess with a good thing. But he knew from the beginning that lying about who he was could get him identified by some of these spells. He worked hard for the promotion still, spent money on new magical items just as freely (this generating the same sense of elation as stealing did), as well as cover for requesting new jobs for added access to the greenhouses. He did it for Narcissa. He owed her something for saving his life. And it wasn't like it was terribly hard or conniving to take from the greenhouses; he had easy access and a safe getaway with those enchanted black pouches.

As for the things he bought, lots of it was consignment items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, brought here to these shops all the way from Diagon Alley. It was a little bit of the life he left behind, not to mention just really cool things. He purchased also a Sneakoscope, which had at one point been given to him by Ron ages back. It was still a cheap souvenir even now, but it sat at his home and whenever he saw it he thought of Ron.

He wasn't allowed to deliver rare ingredients like alihotsy or wolfsbane yet, but he'd picked up pieces of both and they were now sprouting on over half his counter space. These two were main ingredients in some quite valuable regulated potions. The Wolfsbane Potion was obvious, but also potions in the category of Everlasting Elixirs. Narcissa had six novels about such potions, a complete collection written by Sicile Lexife in the 1800's that could create permanent effects. Draco was learning such potions of the healing verities at work, as he was specializing in healing potions. He'd come by to practice brewing them to help his skills at work.

On one such occasion, the two were in the living room looking through the books, when Harry suddenly asked Draco, "Did you like your childhood?"

"Ooh, getting in deep, huh?" Draco smirked and turned a page in his book. "It was perfect. I got everything I wanted and had a great time."

"Spoiled brat," he hit Draco with one of the smaller cushions. "What I mean is…it was alright? Having parents for Death Eaters and all?"

Draco was surprised by the question, but shrugged after a moment.

"I didn't really know their connections were so close to the Dark Lord until my second year. Merlin! You want me to say they hit me or something? Well, they didn't. Father played Quidditch with me nearly every afternoon and Mother taught me how to be a proper pure-blood. Why would you want to know something as stupid as that, anyway?"

Draco couldn't really read Harry sometimes. Right now, at least he knew one thing: Harry's butterbeer was empty, because he'd just tried to take a sip and wound up with wounded expression.

"So, since you were rude and asked me about my childhood out of the blue like that, I'm going to ask the same. Was it like the rumors said? You grew up riding dragons and saving damsels in distress?"

Harry barked a laugh. "No! Fucking hell! Where did you hear that from?"

"I was just joking."

Draco looked seriously at him. Really, he was a bit curious. "So, you weren't…really, locked away and starved most of the time, were you? By those Muggles?"

Harry cringed. It was just as Draco thought.

Now, while Draco would never contest to he and Harry building anything more than stability in their relationship, it was obvious something still held them apart since it came to light that Draco had feelings for Harry. He wouldn't admit the true extent of damage the damn Gryffindor had done to him, but he would say - willingly - that Harry meant more to him than his relationship with his girlfriend Parkinson did back at Hogwarts.

"You were, then?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't pretty."

"Did they abuse you?"

"Is not letting me out of my room and not feeding me abuse?"

"You know what I mean, you Gryffindor dolt. Did they hit you, or..."

Harry took his time answering. Draco sure appreciated how much attention Harry paid to him these days. But he did hate him for the anxiety it caused while waiting to hear what he had to say sometimes.

"My aunt and uncle don't like magic, like I said before. They thought they could suppress it, so to speak. But I guess a few swipes here and there were given, sure."

Draco knew he was holding back, but decided he could live with that.

"Just so you know...if you want me to look in on them, I would. Or, if you want me to give them a little curse for the sake of it, I would do that, too."

Harry laughed, covering his mouth. Draco grinned back, but took out his wand and did a fantastic swipe of it through the air.

"I mean it. You just say the word and -!"

A stream of harmless red sparks shot out of his wand. Harry was illuminated in the red, and Draco decided it defiantly wasn't his color. The sparks turned to purple, then blue, and finally to a greenish blue, which was definitely his color. Draco put down his wand and just smiled lightly at Harry, who was still giggling a bit. They stayed like that for a time, just in the moment. Draco wasn't sure if Harry was just being nice, but he knew he needed these little talks; he knew Harry needed him.

As time went on, Harry got his hands on a few more easy pickings from work, also. Bouncing bulb, devil's snare, fanged geranium and the very rare mimbulus mimbletonia. His home became a makeshift nursery for reviving plants. All along the kitchen counter were pots with various mixes of soil, and books on magical plant care were strewn about, purchased at the dozens of magical book stores Harry had become familiar with throughout the country. He paid little attention to the contents of these books, preferring charms and defense spell books more, as well as Quidditch books, which he picked up as well.

Narcissa was proliferating the cuttings he'd come home with as much as possible, figuring already that brewing the Wolfsbane Potion was going to be a big seller, as Fenrir Greyback had cursed quite a few with the lycanthropy during the brief few months he was active with Lord Voldemort.

Harry's living expenses were minimal, and he wasn't really vying for a savings account, so money flowed freely in and out of him at the moment while he upped his theft capabilities.

What a new turn of events, he kept thinking.

Lucius's collection of rare and political novels was now mingled with Harry's and Narcissa's hobbies. While the accounts of herbology weren't needed in Harry's current line of work, he was considering the defensive books useful one day should he rise in the ranks. He wasn't like Ron, going off and becoming an Auror, but delivering valuable plants was a tedious job some days, and it would only get more complicated if the daily lives of the A-1s were anything to go by; they could spend a day delivering a single package, or a week out on an errand with a herbologist. It seemed exciting.

Ron was popular in the newspapers back in England. The Daily Profit had gotten wind of Ron's past friendship with Harry and had done another article about him because of that. Harry had to live with his name being thrown around, and it occurred to him that probably upset Ron. Ron had a habit - as the youngest boy with five older brothers - of feeling like he lived in the shadow of them. Harry hoped Ron didn't feel like he lived in Harry's shadow. Harry was dead, he didn't cast a shadow!

What a cruel thought.

It also featured another photo, so Harry now had two photos of Ron on his mantle next to the one of his family at the bank receiving his vault key and other assets. Behind the photos he kept secretly hidden the vial of memory he'd withdrawn from his head. It was the memory of sleeping with psudo-Ron in the hospital ward at Hogwarts. He didn't know what to do with it other than hide it there...really it was a therapeutically motivated memory: separated from his mind and therefore not connected to his body.

In a way, now that his mind was healed with the Oblivious Unction, that memory was almost a good one. It was his first time having sex, and he got to have it with a boy he liked and a boy who liked him, even though those were two different people. Draco liked him secretly, Harry had liked Ron secretly, so Draco used Ron's body to deliver to him both.

Only Ron was the real victim in it, really.

Gosh, how messed up in the head did he have to be to come to this conclusion?!

He couldn't forget that night, and he lived how he did out of necessity sometimes; with the memory safely in that jar, he felt better these past months.

Narcissa did visit a lot more, so much so that she got a Portkey to the house to keep her visits from being noticed by any official still interested in the Malfoys. The spell for it was in one of Lucius's books, and she'd become quite proficient with it. On a side note, Harry visited with Lucius again from time to time - using the Portkey to return to the Second Courtyard, the most hidden place in Malfoy Manor. The room hadn't been converted to a potion room like Harry's kitchen, but it was furnished a bit more comfortably for longer visits.

Spending more time at the cottage by the sea inevitably made her feel like less of a house guest of Harry's...this was how she came across the memory that sat behind that portrait.

It'd been there since the night Draco left to begin his Seventh year at Hogwarts...it just sat there collecting dust, on the verge of being forgotten. Narcissa had gone around dusting for a bit, for no particular reason other than to pass some time while a potion simmered. While Harry was out at work, she'd found the memory.

Narcissa was taught manners, but she was merely human. She wanted a look.

She took the little glowing vial to the kitchen and poured the memory into a basin. She let it fall slowly, swirl within the cupped edges of the bowl as she wondered what it could contain. Then she leaned in and let it suck her in.

Complete darkness slowly faded into shadows. Narcissa stood within the close confines of hospital curtains suspended by magic, wrapped around a white bed. She focused on the bed and a figure sleeping on his stomach, mark-less bare back exposed to the night. A tall figure was shaking that sleeping person awake.

Ron Weasley, the Auror that was in the photographs Harry had on the mantle, was a younger lad in this memory. He lifted a finger to his lip and hushed Harry as he opened his eyes. As Harry sat up, the memory became brighter, the moonlight shown more fully from the high windows.

"What're you doing here?" Harry whispered, sluggish from having just awoken.

"I wanted to tell you something…" Ron said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Harry asked, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

Ron licked his lips and looked down at Harry's stomach, then back up to his face.

"You can do it again - if you want."

Harry sat up a little higher. He was confused.

"What?"

Ron shrugged and moved a little closer, placing one hand on Harry's ribs, making Harry jump.

"You can kiss me. It's okay with me."

Narcissa took a step back from the memory, realizing now what this memory was. This was the night in the hospital ward that Harry had been raped. This was the memory he kept on the mantle?!

He really trusted the security of the house.

She turned to leave...but stopped. She knew as much as Harry had told her about this memory; as much as Draco knew, too. The culprit was unknown. She only knew he got close to Harry because he was addled by toxins that made him trust Ron. If she stuck around, she'd know the truth as much as Harry did...

She turned back to the memory.

Harry sat up quickly. He wavered, then slowly reached forward and cupped Ron's face, and Ron leaned into his caress. He brought their faces close, running his hands now through Ron's red hair that was nearly black in this lighting. He took a deep breath and slowly leaned in, and Ron closed his eyes. Their lips met softly.

"Is this okay?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded, letting his held-breath out.

"It's perfect…Harry."

She watched it until the end, turning away at the more private moments; she wasn't quite interested in the fumbling exploits of underage wizards, after all. She watched until Harry cried and was cuddled, until Ron stood, until their final kiss. She watched until Harry sprinted off the bed to get away from the person he now knew wasn't his friend.

"What have you done to me?!"

Harry whimpered, tears stinging his eyes, hands violently rubbing his cheeks and lips. Narcissa recognized the motion, often going to him when he did this with a Calming Drought in her hand to force him to drink. This was probably his first break...if it had been handled better he probably wouldn't have spiraled after this. One sip of Oblivious Unction would have set him right. Why had no one had thought to do this?

She was dismayed.

"Don't do that!" Ron said earnestly.

As he walked around to Harry's side of the bed, Harry shouted, "Stay away!"

Ron held still, thinking of what he could do. Narcissa and Harry watched as he started patting his hand around all the pockets on his body. Finally, it reached into his back pocket and pulled out something small and gold – a badge. He held it out and turned it so Harry could see the face. Narcissa walked closer and saw the Slytherin Prefect badge.

She gaped. Was it really? Could she guess at who it was? She saw the mannerisms...she saw it clearly, but was she sure?

"Look – closely…" Ron said hesitantly. His hand holding the badge was shaking.

Harry swallowed and leaned forward to see it that much closer.

Narcissa swallowed and leaned forward to see the face of the boy that much closer.

When he saw the words on the badge, he moaned and collapsed onto his knees, eyes far from present. Ron followed him down and touched a hand to Harry's shoulder. His touch was like a knife that plunged into Harry, and he suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"No!" Narcissa shouted, leaping back herself.

The last image she saw was of Ron sprinting for the door out of the hospital wing, with Harry's scream echoing.

Narcissa was thrust back to reality. She burst from it and reeled back, hitting the counter on the other side, knocking over a plant in a pot. She turned and righted it swiftly.

As she stared at the particles of soil spilled over the counter, she clenched her fists. Could it have been Draco? She wondered. The Slytherin Prefect badge...the mannerisms...

"Why did you look?"

That was Harry's voice.

Narcissa whirled to see him standing in the doorway. She felt the sweat on her brow, her heart raced. She'd just seen something so foreign, so irksome, she was lost for words. It might have been Draco. She had no idea how to tell Harry.

Harry was dressed in his work uniform, but his broom was left by the front door. He had unbuckled his vest, too, taken that off and was in only his short sleeved red shirt. He was leaning against the door frame. He looked almost...comfortable, like he'd been waiting for her to finish.

"How long have you been there?"

Harry glided a hand through his hair, which was down and long, curving around his face in waves. He rocked his head. "Long enough to have stopped you. But I don't see the point in hiding it. Once you knew what it was...why did you keep looking?"

She told him the truth as best she understood it herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She closed her eyes and turned away.

"I wanted to see...to get an idea...to see the person using the Polyjuice Potion."

"And what did you think?"

She faced away from him. She was mortified at what her suspicion was.

"Do you have any guesses yet?" She wondered, vying for time. "About who that was?"

The silence in the room built.

Behind her, Harry was contemplating telling her the truth. In the end, he did.

In a calm voice, he said, "It was Draco."

She whirled back around. Despite having magically enriched soil on her hands and under her nails, she covered her mouth in shock.

Harry stood there, still and silent while she came to grips with this.

"How do you know?" She asked in a shaking voice, needing assurance.

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised - really - that she was so torn up by this. She really thought she had a good son. She had no idea the bully he once was. No longer, sure. No longer was he like that. But it took a lot to turn him around.

"He told me. I had suspected him first and all along, but I didn't know how to process that information back then; it had thrown my mind off. He told me later on that he liked me back at school, I think you know that. He just went about it all wrong."

"It was my son!" she gasped, closing her eyes in fright once again. "He took such advantage of you! He knew how vulnerable you were! He took such advantage!"

Harry looked away. He appeared calm, all things considered. He took his time to respond to her, but then he nodded and confirmed, "Yeah. But he's forgiven now, Narcissa. He thought it was his only chance with me. But I can take care of myself now, and I don't feel any anger toward him."

How little she knew of his personal life...Harry was self-educated in the bedroom and had by now discovered activities he enjoyed (he had taken a few more quiet trips to that XXX shop). He'd not settled enough to categorize himself as either a "top" or a "bottom." Really, he was a dominant person; he'd always been a dominant person who knew what was good and what was evil. Well, getting over the evil deeds of his first desirer's actions took an age; getting over the evil deeds of his second took those potions that gave him his new life.

All in all, Harry decided he would like what he liked and hate what he hated. No more. No less.

Right now, he knew Narcissa was thinking of him as still that innocent boy who watered Neville's plants, but he knew that with time she would remember that he was more than that.

Narcissa just now saw the soil on her hands and went to the sink to wash them. While the water ran the dirt off, she felt relief to hear Harry wasn't angry with Draco and wanting to hurt her son, but overall she was just flabbergasted by it all.

"When did he tell you? How long have you known?"

Harry hadn't ever seen her so distraught. He went over to the memory and looked down on its swirling wisps.

"On my birthday when you both came by to give me the Firebolt. Um, Narcissa," he started speaking in a quieter voice. She turned the water off and turned back to him. "I'm not upset about it anymore. I guess I'm more...past it than anything. After Draco apologized and explained himself, I felt better, yeah - but it had already felt like it happened to another person. Your potions got me past a lot worse than this memory. If I had had your Oblivious Unction at that time, it wouldn't have been nearly as bad. I probably wouldn't have cared at all."

Narcissa had to agree with him.

She said, "If you had taken the Oblivious Unction after that happened, it would have left you believing you could have sex with any stranger without any consequences. The lasting affect would be that you wouldn't have any qualms about your emotional standing after sex again! You really wouldn't have wanted to take it! Oblivious Unction and other memory altering potions are regulated for apt reasons: so they aren't used haphazardly and leave the drinker in a worse and lasting mental state."

Harry nodded in understanding. He slightly considered his stability the result of the mind-altering potion, but knew he was a different person than before in little ways. What person he was today was the result of that.

He picked up the bowl and swirled the wisps of the memory, then set it down again.

"I guess you're right. It should be used after torture and proper rape scenarios. Not just when school boys Polyjuice into other school boys and break hearts."

Narcissa went over to Harry and turned him around to face her. She looked into his magically altered face, but she could see his defiance even through his melancholy.

"Don't belittle me or yourself. What Draco did was wrong. What happened to you the night you killed the Dark Lord was wrong! What Clouse did to you was wrong! You were young, not ready for sex, not in any fit state for it and my daft son must have known that!" She squeezed Harry's arms tightly, furious at Draco enough to hold him in contempt. "I can't believe what he did to you! I can't believe how stupid and cruel he was!"

Harry cringed in her tight grasp and admonished, "He was really sorry, you know. He's apologized. I've forgiven him. I forgave him even before you started giving me Oblivious Unction and Calming Droughts. I forgave him a long time before Voldemort took me."

She let Harry go and spun around. She braced herself on the counter, closing her eyes and trying to get the images out of her mind - they were images of the memory in the bowl, as well as images of watching Harry be tortured by the Dark Lord last year. So little time had passed since it all began...she was still getting use to it.

Harry started to rub small circles on her back, sensing her at her wits end.

"Narcissa? It's okay, okay? It was almost two years ago."

She needed a minute to calm down.

"I can tell you one thing," she said when she'd settled. "You're going to need to learn to hide things better."

Harry smiled.

"No one comes here. No one knows this place is here. Even if they did, they'd never find out it was Draco if they watched the memory. Anyone could have taken that badge and shown it to me."

"Anyone like who? Who could have snuck into Hogwarts and taken it?"

Harry said the obvious name.

"Wormtail. They haven't even found him yet, have they? They never will, either. He's probably with some rat colony living out the rest of his years."

She turned around and gathered Harry into her arms.

"I'm so sorry."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm glad it was Draco and not him."

She couldn't agree, but she couldn't disagree.

Interlude.

Narcissa was quite protective of Harry after that for awhile. She'd grown lax in those duties, believing him before when he said he was fine. But now she knew some more of the weight he carried, and it added to her own, because Narcissa had her own troubles coming to terms with her new lease on life.

She was taught by her family the importance of being pure-blood. With it, all was forgiven. So many gross deeds had been done and brushed away because the person doing them was pure-blooded. It wasn't an excuse she believed in anymore.

For instance, lycanthropy and other such cursed people had muddled purity, and by definition became less important people by pure-blood standards. Even to non-pure-bloods, and even to the Ministry of Magic, these people were considered less than desirable. Harry's father's friend, Remus Lupin, lived in the shadow of people knowing his curse. Harry was glad Narcissa had taken to the idea of the Wolfsbane Potion and other such remedies and helping potions, so as to help Remus's kind.

A life weighted down with the burden of having chosen the losing side of a war for pure-blood superiority had an up-side: she was a lot more willing to take morality more logically than her lessons during upbringing. Her dream to brew illegal potions and sell them on the black market to get them in the hands of people who didn't want to be constrained by the lists of the Ministry of Magic was not the most common dream for a once-actress, and for a Malfoy it was quite fanatical. Narcissa had grown so cynical of the Ministry of Magic that she was going to extremes to undermine them, but on a human level.

Harry, too, had lived with the cruelty of what being a victim entailed, and if it wasn't for the secrecy of allies like her he would have been gossiped about endlessly and lost so many chances at a scandal-free life. It wouldn't have stopped. If he had lived on as Harry Potter he wouldn't be known for much more than just being the Boy Who Lived. He was glad he didn't have that burden. He was glad for Narcissa.

October, 1998.

"Clip the smileclaws back just to - there - you see?" Said Neville's Herbologist lead, giving him the run of this well formed plant bed in one of the east wings of the Herbology Institute. "And after you've done that, propagate the clippings in those pots."

Neville was loving his new job, learning a lot about new plants from around the world, and rather loved the idea of doing this for a living.

"What potions are the smileclaws used in?" he asked.

"No potions," said Tetrus Green. "The plant's leaf produce an oil that is used to cure cast iron cauldrons. We sell it to cauldron manufacturers."

He was left to clip the plants as Tetrus went about giving orders to the other new recruits in the room. Each bed was a different plant that produced a different oil, he was coming to understand from listening in on her conversations with others. All ten of the new recruits were here, as well as five others who were going about business of producing the oil.

Neville started in on the clippings, knowing full well the uses of propagation versus growing from seedlings. He had on his gloves and was using a very sharp and precise pair of scissors. He was an hour into the bed, about a quarter of the way through, when he got a surprise.

A young man rushed into the open door of the greenhouse.

He hollered, "Here to collect a delivery of oil for Kaunas!"

Neville recognized him immediately, as he had been keeping his eyes open for the Transportation Official for some time. He was enchanted by the man's looks, which were so similar to that of his late friend. Even though Alderbaron stood half a room away from Neville and in full uniform - and even though Neville hadn't gotten to speak to him yet - he thought of him as charming. It brought a smile to Neville's lips to believe someone lived on who reminded him so easily of Harry Potter.

And then there was another rush as a second delivery person made it to the room, knocking into Alderbaron's back and shoving him forward. The newcomer's look was scolding, not pleased at all with Alderbaron.

For the trouble he caused he got an elbow shoved right back at him. It didn't look at all playful, truth be told.

The new deliveryman turned to the room as well and announced, "Here to collect delivery for Moka Valla Kool!"

"Is there some sort of competition for who could get here first? Or what's going on with you two?" Tetrus said as he way over to Alderbaron and his coworker.

The two gave each other narrowed looks.

"We're just being prompt," Alderbaron said, standing tall and lifting his chin.

Tetrus, like everyone, saw there was more than that going on. It was clear there was some animosity.

She put it aside, though, and asked, "I've got three packages ready. Which are you here for?"

"Katilo tiekimas. Raudona Žalia Parduotuvė," said Alderbaron quickly. He was referring to a cauldron suppler called The Red Green Shop.

Neville was impressed with his pronunciation. He'd been picking up Lithuanian words and could make out the two words that were colors: red and green. He assumed because Alderbaron's father was from here, that he knew a lot more of the language than most people with a British accent.

"Labai geras. Here it is," said Tetrus, thanking her delivery man without a kind look and handing over one of the prepared package kept on a counter by the door. "That package has one of the highest rankings this greenhouse can produce. Do be careful with it."

She was of course referring to the ranking of its level of regulation. All the plants in this institute had a ranking, and every Transportation Official had a ranking, too. Harry's ranking was determined by the accumulation of his speed, incident reports, and monthly training sessions. The more jobs he did, the better he got at them, the better his ranking. He'd been acutely aware of keeping his scores high.

Alderbaron took it and passed over a piece of paper, with Tetrus taking that and writing a few things on it. With the moment stalled, Alderbaron scanned the room, seeming to just be looking at all the work being done. When his eyes alighted on Neville, Neville smiled and waved with a gloved hand.

Alderbaron hesitated, then offered a small wave in return, also gloved.

Neville felt relived. The little response was quite encouraging. Alderbaron didn't seem to be having a great day, but Neville was happy to see he was trying to make something better of it.

Tetrus handed the paperwork back to Alderbaron just then, though, and he left.

"And Moka Valla Kool. Where is your paperwork?"

Tetrus started then on the other deliveryman's paperwork.

Next to Neville, a girl giggled, surprising him.

"I can't believe you did that," whispered Neville's neighboring plant bed propagator.

Neville frowned in question at the girl.

"Did what?"

She giggled again and looked bashful.

"Waved at that Transportation Official! That's Gravewatcher! Everyone stays away from him! Look at how the other flyer doesn't like him. My friend in deliveries says he's a loner. He doesn't have any friends because of the trouble he made for the Quidditch players in the stadium next door."

Knowing the gossip by now, Neville asked with seriousness, hoping she'd understand the true meaning of his question, "What trouble has he really caused?"

She rolled her eyes, clipping another of her plants.

"I can't believe you haven't heard. First of all, Gravewatcher is gay! Doka Bandar got into a fight with him for randomly kissing some other wizard in a public square, and it nearly got the professional Quidditch player expelled from the League! And then not long ago, Gravewatcher was accused of stalking! He has a reputation here, too. They say he's passing everyone over to become an A-1 level in a year. He doesn't care at all that he's causing trouble and breaking rules."

This was all quite wrong to Neville's ears, who had interpreted the articles and Alderbaron's behavior much differently.

"What rules are he breaking?"

"Well, he is annoying that Quidditch player and forced him to break up with his girlfriend. Also, he's delivering a lot more than usually people do, and is already getting paid more than some who have been here for years; they're complaining about that. And he's gay, which is quite different."

Neville turned fully to her, at last miffed fully by her spread of gossip.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay!" And he probably said that a little loudly. He was swollen with surprise at how careless she was spewing nonsense. "And hold on a second! You're telling me that he's getting paid a good wage for doing a good job, getting promoted quickly for his good work, and people have a problem with that just because he's gay and better than them?!"

Neville hadn't been trying to keep his voice level. He really was quite affronted by her point of view. The young woman was looking at him now but still clipped her branch, missing her target and taking off more than she should have. It fell to the floor and she quickly glanced down in horror. Neville shook his head at her display.

"I have no problem with someone living up to their potential," he concluded to her. "All too soon we'll be at the end of our lives...we should embrace everything we can while we're still here and still can. Not all of us get the chance to live our dreams. If that guy is trying his hardest, well - well then I say that's good! And being gay has nothing to do with his job!"

"Here-here!" Agreed Tetrus, coming over and patting Neville on the shoulder. "That's the sort of good thinking that we like at the Herbology Institute! Plants grow best for kindhearted people, don't you know. Miss, get back to work and stop spreading cruel thoughts!"

The young woman nodded in agreement at her lesson for the day. Neville was happy to get the praise from his boss, and happy also to have the chance to defend Alderbaron, who didn't deserve the gossip. But still, when everyone went back to work, Neville spoke again to the girl he stood next to.

"I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way," he told her, trying to appease her with a calm voice.

"Stacy Periwinkle," she said back, voice solemn.

Neville noticed her lackluster look and tried a small smile at her.

"Stacy, maybe you're right, and maybe Gravewatcher deserves being disliked by his coworkers and us Herbologists, but I think I'll make my own mind up about him without believing gossip. Can we still get along even though this is my point of view?"

Stacy smiled despite herself.

"Sure. I'm too new here to be believing gossip, either. I should probably have not listened to those people and done the same as you."

"And just to let you know, one of my good friends was gay. There's nothing wrong with that in my opinion. Are you okay with my opinion?"

"I guess I never met someone who was gay. I should meet your friend. If he's as like-minded as you, he's probably not too bad. I should probably hold off making my opinion up so quickly..."

She smiled weakly, which made Neville relieved that he didn't hurt her too much.

Neville realized later that he had dropped a rather big clue as to his personal life. One of my good friends was gay. Was. Neville couldn't quite untie the connection he made from Alderbaron the deliveryman to his late friend Harry Potter. He wanted to get to know him, because the stranger filled an emptiness in Neville where he'd lost his old friend. Darkness had consumed a part of his heart since Harry's loss...but coming to work - with the chance to see Alderbaron - it made his nights easier.

Early November, 1998.

Neville got his chance to meet Alderbaron just after the seasons changed. Already the trees were past their wonderful color stage and the grass was browning up. Fall brought with it some extra spices, as now cinnamon and nutmeg were becoming popular coffee flavors. Neville had just ordered a large Muggle coffee from the shops nearby, and was walking back to work for the start of his shift.

Most people Flooed from far off, but Neville decided to make the change and just live nearby. Besides, there wasn't anything in England besides his folks in St. Mungo's.

This was his regular routine: wake up in his apartment a few blocks away, get ready with a light breakfast, and then the final step was have a coffee and walk to work. Usually he'd brew at home, but today he'd desired a café coffee with lots of added flavor.

Late teen years had amounted to loads of stress and missed meals, but now he splurged on the flavored drinks and planned meals. It kept him sane.

He lived alone. Little could be elaborated about that.

Neville fancied a few girls in is eighteen years of life, but he wasn't the type to reach out and ask for a date. He quite fancied little Ginny Weasley, but after she lost her crush Harry Potter, she wasn't in the mood for dating as far as Neville could see. She, like so many girls, had a crush on that famous boy, but little did they know of his preferences until Neville's plants had contaminated Harry into revealing his true desires. Neville had to take responsibility for that in so many ways...responsibility for that and for Harry's death, in effect.

He'd tried and tried to convince himself to not take responsibility for that outcome.

He tried, and he was alone in life because he'd yet to succeed at it.

He traveled the quiet urban sidewalks at that dark and early hour, sipping his drink, headed for the building that looked like an abandoned warehouse from the outside. The Herbology Institute was hidden from Muggle view by such a similar enchantment as Hogwarts had been under, but unlike Hogwarts, not even magical people could see this building for what it was until they passed onto the grounds. It was one more key feature to its security.

Having an invitation or visitor badges was another security feature, as well. One couldn't just walk in to this building. Neville spotted the first security guard a block away and nodded his head in greeting. This was Toby. He and Neville had talked a bit here and there. But Toby was across the street, so there wouldn't be any chitchat today. Besides, he was running a little late, as there had been a line at the coffee place.

Picking up speed, he was coming upon the side entry and about to round the corner through the arch and onto the premises, when he nearly bumped into a man in a striking uniform of black and red. It was the uniform of a Transportation Official. It was Alderbaron Gravewatcher.

Neville gasped, coming to a halt just as Alderbaron had.

They stood an arm's length away, eyes cast upon one another in surprise. The sun hadn't come up yet, street lights still on, and they illuminated this encounter with an orange glow.

Neville noticed Alderbaron always wore his long black boots over his pants, and on occasion on the warmer days he'd wear these shorts that would come up to just above his knees, revealing their knobbiness. Strong muscle disappeared under the red shorts, just as right now they were hidden under a warmer red jacket, which probably also hid a delivery package in one pocket or another. Like all Transportation Officials, Alderbaron tried to hide his delivery so he wouldn't be discovered to be coming to or going. It was just safer. By now Neville knew how dangerous their job was; people had died in this line of duty.

Embarrassment flaring as he'd been staring at his visage. He struggled to speak.

"Hi. Hi. I know who you are."

The young man before him bit his lip for a moment, but smiled a little.

"And I might know who you are. A new Herbologist."

His voice was so familiar. No - no that wasn't what it was. It was such a desire for it to be familiar, but it couldn't be. Neville looked down at his coffee and wiped away the drip that pooled by the sip slit, nodding but trying to get it together.

It's not a bad thing to make new friends, came a voice from within Neville. It was the voice of Professor Sprout as she consoled him after Harry's passing.

He built up his courage.

"Oh, yeah. My name is Neville."

He brought his eyes up to the older person, the teenager that was so much cooler than him. Alderbaron's reputation preceded him as being quite the capable person. Throughout the hubbub of the scandal with the papers that Neville couldn't help but hear about, he never once acted out of sorts. Neville figured that people from Lithuania were much less poignant about things here than they were in England, where everyone seemed to think they needed to scream their opinions.

He liked that Alderbaron took his time to greet him properly. He'd wiped his hand on his vest, and then he'd held it out. Neville took it. It was strong and calloused from his broom.

"I'm Alderbaron."

That's all he said. He wasn't much for talking, then. Neville smiled nervously.

How long was he going to shake his hand for? Neville quickly took his hand back.

"Sorry! I've got to go!"

Alderbaron stepped away as Neville rounded the corner fully, burning with embarrassment and nerves. He had been trying to meet him, and look at how he'd messed it up! His heart raced. He missed his old friend. He felt so responsible for his death! How stupid he was for trying to replace Harry with this similarly cool guy. No one could replace that old friend.

He was stupid for trying.

Behind him, Neville would be surprised if he knew that Harry fully understood Neville. Harry knew Neville had been trying to meet him for weeks now, that his avoidance was probably considered rude, but now that they had met, Harry realized that it wasn't an interrogation Neville wanted...Neville just wanted to greet him.

Sorrow filled Harry as he looked after Neville's retreating back. His old school friend was as alone as him in this world and in this life. Harry bit his lip again, considering opening up a bit more to Neville now that he knew it wasn't going to be a dangerous thing; Neville just wanted a connection.

Mid November, 1998.

"Do you find it hard learning these spells?" Harry had asked his "new" friend.

They stood by the Floo entry, Neville having waited for Harry on that day. Before, Harry was unpredictable and untimely, so Neville never could spot a pattern, but since meeting, Harry had forsaken his old ways. Usually they could only wave to each other, but today they got a moment as Neville had arrived a bit early to talk. It was still dark out, and quite cold.

Harry found it uncomfortable, as there was always the risk of getting to know Neville too much...he was standing stiffly and saying very little.

"Not really. I learnt a lot of them while back at Hogwarts. My Herbology teacher was really good. Professor Sprout. She taught every level of herbology, but allowed me some special lessons to advance my skill. She had told me to prepare for this job since my fourth year, knowing it was where I'd work best."

Harry nodded, remembering the teacher and how helpful she was for Neville.

"Did you always know you'd be working while, you know, flying on a broom?"

Neville didn't quite know how to phrase that best, and hadn't really succeeded at phrasing it even passably decent.

But the handsome, blue-eyed and chestnut brown haired young man he was with was nice enough to take the question with ease.

"No, I hadn't. I didn't fly much growing up. I just got the broom with some financial help from my parents and applied for the job. I learned everything working here."

Neville liked how Alderbaron opened up to him. He got the feeling Alderbaron had very few friends.

"Flying was never my strong suit. I really struggled while in school! I'll Floo anywhere, but I just won't fly on a broom. What do your parents do?"

It was an easy enough question to be dropped onto Harry. Neville was just trying to fill their time together productively, he assumed.

"They're Muggles, and they both work in accounting for small businesses in Kaunas."

Neville nodded. Harry recognized that far-away look in Neville's eyes as he spoke about his imaginary parents: Neville's parents lived in a ward at St. Mungo's, their minds lost.

Their conversations had so far been few and light. Neville held back revealing much about himself, but he'd always been quite a private person so Harry was use to it. Even Harry had his secrets, but as Alderbaron he had boatloads of them. Neville was nice enough not to dig too deep.

"Should we head in? You look cold."

Neville was nice to put it that way, but Harry wasn't cold; he was just nervous.

He nodded and they started the slow walk through the snow into work.

It was very pleasant to talk with Neville from time to time. Not so much other people, though. Harry found the language barrier the least of his worries as he'd begun to pick up a few phrases to get him by.

Harry's pro bono work for Narcissa flourished at his current rank, mainly because he was doing undervalued deliveries but had access to valuable facilities. There wasn't anything too taxing to it, really. His birthday gifts bypassed all spells done during any random inspection, and even if he was subject to a physical pat-down - which never happened even once - the little black leather pouches with their golden drawstrings couldn't be felt.

He'd gathered sixteen new plant species by now. They were healing in pots at home under heavy magical care, some of them flourishing whereas others would need a year just to see if they survived. He'd learned to cast a few organic spells that he heard the herbologists ranting on about in the sapling sections. Neville talked about them, too. While the place was crawling with herbologists, they were focused on the growing plants and not the dying ones. They had no real reason to watch too closely at the bins they threw their scraps for compost or incineration in.

Also, there were a few scattered seed pods here and there that would - thanks to a little undetectable magic - gather right into a pouch. Furthermore, clipped branches could be propagated. He'd collected about ten years worth of a sentence in Azkaban in October alone and no one was the wiser. All in all, though, Harry figured once Narcissa had her heart's content of illegal plants, then he would be off the hook.

He was more intrigued by his job, more so than he was her interest in planting and brewing.

He wanted to hear about that promotion soon, though.

There were only nine of the highest rank A-1 flyers employed, and Harry wanted to become part of them. These were top transporters, those who even acted like bodyguards because they would accompany members of staff to events for work. Events included public speaking functions or - less commonly - the need for a herbologist to collect plants from the wild to broaden the genealogy of a strain. Sometimes the location of a seminar would include the need to use Muggle transportation, and even if there weren't goods traveling with the A-1 and their affiliate, the witch or wizard often relied on the A-1 to get them through without getting lost in the Muggle world.

To become an A-1 seemed like an exciting prospect to Harry. It wouldn't be easy, as the next stage in his career was as the long abused A-2, a position where he'd have to deliver expensive and important goods longer distances and farther from the main Floo Networks. Basically, he'd be out in the country, delivering to rural villages where potion-brewers and craftsmen relied on professionals to deliver their regulated supplies because of the danger of flying across country. No more coming and going a dozen times a day to deliver syrups and dried herbs to easy-to-reach places; he'd have longer trips, taking hours in some cases.

Apart from work and from Narcissa, Harry had no one. Doka Bandar least of all...he'd yet to make contact. Tallhorn United, like all the Quidditch teams, had retired for the winter season at the end of September, just over a month ago. Harry didn't expect to even see him from afar until the spring.

That day passed uneventfully, but the next didn't.

That next day.

Harry was headed in for another day of work. He had been working for seven days in a row already, trying to squeeze in a higher ranking for an earlier promotion. He'd probably delivered a thousand parcels during this stretch and had gone even into Poland, which wasn't customary for a B-2 level deliveryman. But the Coordinator was swamped in orders and had seen a lot of promise with him, so she had given him the special assignment because they were needing the delivery to be made. She had been quite pleased with his help, and his ranking was going up quickly.

As Harry had awoken sore and tired, he decided to fly in to work to help wake himself up. It was in easy Apparation range and he could have done that, but he needed the flight. As tired as he was, he also didn't want to risk a splinching.

He had an easy time of the launch from his back porch, as it was winter by the sea so there wasn't anyone outside to see him takeoff. At a certain speed he'd be invisible to anyone who wasn't going a similar speed alongside him thanks to a charm he'd come across and knew other flyers were using. Similarly, he'd charmed his glasses to keep them from fogging up, and was wearing enchanted clothes to keep him warm under a few light layers. He flew the coastline and turned over the city thirty miles away, going inland a short ways until he spotted the magically concealed plot of land that hid his work as well as the training ground for Tallhorn United.

He landed easily in the landing zone that was lit by only a single torch. The dark morning was so very quiet now except for his work boots absorbing a bit of the impact and allowing him to transfer to a walk smoothly, crunching over the snow in his path. His breath was seen clearly as a white plume. He followed some footsteps in the snow up to the doors and entered.

Almost immediately he was accosted by a flying paper note that must have been waiting for him just inside. The damn little thing nearly slapped him in the face, but he'd snatched it before it had.

"Gotcha!" He muttered under his breath, opening the fluttering little thing and looking within, only to smile.

It was scrawled in Doka's handwriting: Morning, fox. Busy? The short note read. Harry's smile turned into a grin and he quickly turned away from his destination, mounting his broom now to hasten to the vacant Quidditch field, sure that was where he was meant to find the writer of the message.

He was surprised to see the note, surprised also at the thrill that went through his body, specifically a certain part of his body. It wasn't his fault he was a teenage boy with all these hormones, and not his fault either that Doka had been what his body seemed to latch onto.

Harry's head had been full of thoughts of danger and work, theft and life sentences and discoveries of his identity, that his body was pent up. He wanted to release it somehow - he worked hard to try to cover the feelings, but going to see Doka was doing more for making him feel better than even the Calming Drought he sipped the night before.

He flew over the snow-clad courtyard that was bathed in darkness from the early morning, with the chill air brushing his hair back, pulling strands of it from the knot he'd pulled it into that morning; he'd pushed his black hood off and hadn't pulled it up when he reentered the outdoors. He hardly felt the cold.

He swooped under the archway and the pitch came into view. He landed swiftly, shuffling his feet until he stood solid on the snowy ground once more. For some reason he was out of breath, heart pounding, flushed as if he'd just run a mile. He was excited to see Doka.

"Thanks for coming."

Doka's voice from behind. He'd been leaning against the archway just out of sight. Add the shadow of the predawn to the equation and Harry had missed him entirely. There weren't any torches lit around here, so Harry had flown by him without noticing.

But then Doka lit the tip of his wand and Harry could see him. He wore a thick black wool coat that went to his knees, with the collar pulled up and a hood pulled down. He had on brown gloves.

Harry turned and withheld his smile, wanting first to gauge what Doka wanted.

"I thought I wouldn't see you until next spring."

Doka shrugged, hardly noticeable in the darkness, but perceivable.

"You might not. I'm headed home to Wales for the winter soon. I just couldn't...well...I wanted to see you before I left."

Harry licked his lips and nodded, adverting his gaze for a moment. He looked about at the empty and dark stadium; no one was here but them and they were very alone. The place was caked in snow, nothing like the sunny field of yester-months. He turned back to Doka and wanted to say what was on his mind now that he had the chance to, but Doka had called this meeting.

He sheathed his Firebolt in the harness on his back and stood with his gloved hands empty at his sides.

"You finally called...but...why do want to see me?"

Doka looked him over, moving his wand where his gaze went. Harry was all straps and tight fabric. It was...yeah, Doka thought about his appearance with a weakening resolve...

"Things haven't been the same. You don't bring me gifts anymore, and Foxy thinks she's won by chasing you off, but..."

Harry tilted his head in question instead of asking. He was observing Doka, who looked quite a different person today than before. He was so very...careful. Cautious. He was being delicate. His voice was almost...sad.

"...but it was best I stay away until you got that promotion you were looking forward to. Everyone said that if people saw me with you, that they'd take it from you."

Harry felt a surge of delight. Doka had taken that into consideration? Harry had no idea he'd be so understanding. But he had to shake his head at the words, because Doka was a little erroneous.

"I haven't got any promotion," he said, confused for a moment.

It was odd to watch the stiff smile spread warmly over Doka's face.

"Well, they must not have offered it yet, but I was told yesterday by Emidee that it's yours."

What reason did Harry have not to believe him? A smile began to grow on him, and that's when Doka's face really lit up.

Harry took a step forward, grinning now.

"She told you I got it?"

Doka nodded.

"You thought you'd have to wait a whole other year, didn't you? You're too good to waste."

Really, he'd not had any private time with Doka since he'd botched it in the showers those months before. But Harry found himself walking forward until he was close to Doka, looking up into his eyes from down below like he'd done so many times before. His flush was rising.

"And it was with your help?" Harry wondered now. "Looks like I've really got to thank you..."

Doka smirked and then rolled his eyes extravagantly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder but - oddly - not pushing him back like Harry expected him to do.

"I thought you would give that up...?" Doka said, although the way he said it...hollow and hesitant, with another question under the words.

Yeah, those were butterflies in his stomach now.

"You think I would?" Harry said, letting lust creep into his voice. "I've got everyone telling me to...but I don't want to."

Harry trailed off, and then he took a new route in this conversation.

"When the first article came out, I was in Šiauliai dropping off a herbal anthology. I was stopped in the wizard's shop, and while he sorted through his order there was the article on the counter. I was upset because Foxy really laid it on thick. I thought for sure you'd be done with me after all the points she made that I was damaging your career... But I couldn't help also feeling pleased; she was jealous. She thought you wanted me; she probably knew I wanted you. I wondered if it would ever happen...or if you really took to me just because of how similar we looked and it didn't mean anything. If that...if I...had some real affect on you..."

Harry moved in again, daring to reach forward and wrap his hand around Doka's large bicep. He squeezed, feeling the solid muscle under the fabric that filled his hand. Doka didn't resist the touch.

Doka kept their eyes held together because he'd taken a hold of Harry's chin, in that way he'd use to. Harry stepped closer, forcing his own chin higher. He could feel Doka's breath.

Harry smiled. He thought of them as friends, but he'd never been so forward with a friend before. He'd never flirted, never battled, never tried to please anyone as much as he'd tried with Doka. He was such an insecure kid while he was lusting after his friend Ron. Narcissa was right: he wasn't ready back then for anything like this, but he was eighteen years old and ready now.

Doka was breathing deeply, long gusts of white breath misting into the darkness of the predawn.

Harry whispered, "I've not had any luck getting a guy to like me before. I tried pleasing you with nutty loaf bread and creamy pastries, but you like this the most, don't you?"

And Harry pressed his body against Doka, making sure to apply pressure between his legs with his hip. Doka's heavy coat caused such a barrier between them now.

Doka's brow furrowed in angst and his grip tightened on Harry's shoulder. He could have thrown Harry away right then because he was so much bigger, but he only held on.

"What are you..." ...going to do to me?

He sounded confused, but what really was left to be confused about?

Harry moved in and pulled away the layer of heavy wool by Doka's neckline, then laid his tongue onto Doka's neck, following the slick swipe with a soft kiss. Passion filled him, but he knew to be warred by Doka's braced posture.

"Can you hold still?" Harry whispered. He licked Doka's neck again, followed by a scrape of his teeth, followed by a suck of his lips. "You taste good...just stay there for me awhile..."

Doka followed his order for a few moments more, but then Harry had pressed his leg harder between Doka's and felt the rising pressure of his pleasure, and that was all Doka could take of that.

He snuffed his wand first, bringing back the darkness.

Harry then found himself spun and shoved back against the hardness of the stone wall Doka had been near. Now free of Harry's binds, Doka was out of breath. But the pleasure of Harry's silky kisses muddled his mind. The darkness - the visual impairments - let him do more.

Harry's hands caressed up and down the fabric on Doka's arms as he stared into his laden eyes, not needing much light while looking at him this closely. Harry ghosted his lips nearer to Doka's, a breath from touching. Then Doka gave in and shoved their mouths together. The wet kiss was heavy with wide tongues battling for dominance...Harry was winning.

Doka pulled away.

"Fuck!" he called, spinning around and stepping away from Harry, back turned and just a massive shadow in the night.

Harry could barely catch his breath.

"God yes!" Harry said, full of energy and ecstatic.

Doka's beard had chaffed his chin as they kissed; it was wonderful.

"Fuck, we can't do this!" Doka said clearly, angered by his own weakness that even the darkness couldn't really fight off.

Harry was smiling like he didn't even hear Doka's denial.

"Do it again, Doka. Kiss me. Come on!"

Doka turned around and huffed a laughed. He lit his wand again. At the sight of Harry, he was unable to fall prey to his own desires or weaknesses in the face of the youthful teen, the free spirited Alderbaron Gravewatcher who came from nowhere. He held Harry back with another paw on his shoulder.

"Are you fucking nuts? No, no. Right. I'm the one who's fucking nuts."

Harry smiled fetchingly.

"You liked it, though. It doesn't matter that I'm a guy. You like what I'll do to you."

Doka tilted his head and squinted his eyes. He pushed Harry back against the wall, looming over him.

He got the guts enough to ask, "What would you do to me?"

Harry reached up and ran his finely gloved hand over the side of Doka's face, fingers running down the hairline. Harry loved how course his beard was. He took a deep breath and slowly leaned in. Their lips almost met, but Harry left it at just the kindling of heat. He had to really sell it now. Nothing held him back.

"I'll lick you, Doka. In places you've never been licked. I'll not go fast. I'll make you come with my fingers inside of you. I'll bet you've never felt it that way before. That's all I want from you. I won't scare you with anything else."

Doka's face burst with the red color of embarrassment. He couldn't handle another whispered word and turned away, leaving Harry behind. Some steps away, he pressed his hand over his eyes, hiding from the scarlet mortification.

Harry bit his lip, hiding a smile. He walked up to and around him, taking his hand away from his eyes. Doka saw the seriousness in Harry's eyes in the gloom of his wand that was lax by his side.

"I promise I'll make you like it. I promise you'll like it a lot."

Doka looked panicked. Harry took his hand and with him he walked to the locker room that Doka disappeared into every day he came by earlier that summer. Doka turned them into the dark and empty locker room of Tallhorn United. No one was on premises, and the place was dark, but Harry still locked the door after them when they walked into the cold room full of empty lockers and silence.

He knew just the right spell needed to warm and light the place. He enchanted one of the benches first, then alighted six dimly glowing heat orbs that would float around them.

Then he turned to Doka.

First he unstrapped his Firebolt and leaned it against the wall. Doka was quiet, not smiling, not moving. Harry took his hand and walked him over to the warmed bench and bade him sit. Harry settled a leg over Doka, looming over him now. He looked down into his eyes as his fingers made slow work of Doka's buttons.

Once his coat was off and his shirt had fallen open, Harry pulled his gloves off. He let them fall to the floor carelessly and then spread his hands over the bare skin softly, slowly, then lowered his lips back to his neck. He wouldn't call it kissing, nor licking, it really was his desire to inflict as little touch as possible. He could feel Doka shaking as it was and didn't want to scare him.

He let his hands feather down and then he undid his belt, slipping his pants down with his underwear when Doka raised his hips. There hadn't been all that much light in the hospital ward with psudo-Ron, but here there was enough to see every inch of male body - something Harry had only seen in the mirror and naughty photos before. He hadn't looked yet, though, but he touched softly. Doka was big, full, and erect. Harry left Doka's neck and looked with lidded eyes into his. He ghosted over his lips with a slightly spread mouth, echoing the effect of a kiss without touch. Then he reached out with his tongue to meet Doka's similar movement, but Harry pulled away just barely missing contact. He smiled at his own teasing, but then let the first kiss fall. It was light, wet, and slow.

It was similar to what his hands were doing. His first touch was silken, caressed up the shaft, touched the wet tip with his fingertip, trailed the wetness down. He barely pushed but Doka leaned halfway back onto his hands on the bench, pants down to his knees, breathing hard as he watched Harry, fully clothed, go down to take a closer look.

First thing he noted was the fragrant soap left on Doka's skin when he had showered morning. Then, just as he'd done with his lips to Doka's mouth, Harry opened his mouth but didn't touch down there. He smiled, tongue emerging wet and glistening to lick, but didn't do the deed. Doka moaned. Harry closed his eyes when finally he took it lightly into his mouth. It was his first time doing so and he savored it. He let it go and toyed again, slowly licking up the whole length. He was breathing deeply, memorizing everything his five senses could take in.

Doka moaned again, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

His knees were locked almost together thanks to his pants, but he'd made a struggling motion and shimmied out of his shoes and Harry helped them off. Legs now free to spread, one pulled up onto the bench he laid out on, and the other stayed on the floor, knees now wide. Harry had wicked memories of what psudo-Ron did to him with hands, mouth, and...everything. And the desire was intense to perform the same activities and more - much more - on Doka. Harry hadn't been idle; he'd laid eyes on some porn in his travels. Balls pulled up tightly, and with one hand holding his shaft, Harry went under and spread him apart. He wasn't so prepared as to have a bottle of liquid to make this next bit quick, so he had to go slow. With a large puddle of saliva on his tongue, he ghosted over Doka's ass, letting his warm and slippery tongue pull gasps and embarrassed flares of pleasure from Doka. He played circles around him, then into him.

There was no remorse, no embarrassment, no hesitation on Harry's part. Wherever all those feelings were they weren't here in the sex quadrant of Harry's persona.

He dripped so much saliva onto Doka's opening and caught a lot of the excess with his thumb. When it was a puddle so slick, and Doka was so relaxed from the play of it all, that's when he licked his balls and pressed his thumb slowly into him. It was free of any resistance, so use to the play of tongue that the transition was easy. Harry pressed his thumb fully in without difficulty, then started to beat it rhythmically upwards, knowing what he was doing.

"Oh god!" Doka moaned, twitching and shaking now more than ever as he was touched in that very sensitive place inside.

Harry licked his shaft, slobbering over the head as he sucked that in. Doka lay on his back while Harry did what he promised he'd do. Harry used his own experience to focus on the two places he enjoyed the most himself: inside and the tip. He felt Doka tighten, harden, and then he came in Harry's mouth. It was Harry's first time having that happen to him; the liquid was thick, stronger than he realized, but welcome. His thumb was caught in a tight grasp as spasms carried Doka through.

It was never really over, even as the minute finished. He kept twitching.

Doka sighed eventually, though, then indicated to Harry to come closer. He released Doka's body from his care and went up to face him. He looked down on the man as he braced a knee on the bench. In seeing his lustful expression, Harry finally swallowed the cum that was still in his mouth, then licked his lips. Doka saw the remains of the sticky and gluey substance that left a spider web in Harry's mouth. He reached forward and opened Harry's mouth wider, slipping a finger in and rubbing just to feel the residue on his tongue; it was lustrous and silken in his mouth.

"God. Merlin. You are...sexy," Doka's voice was husky.

Harry couldn't reply until his mouth was free. Doka pulled his finger out, taking a glossy trail with it. The sight of it was nothing like he'd ever seen before.

"You tasted good," Harry said, then took a deep breath through his nose, eyes flitting shut. "You smell good, too. You were so soft, Doka. I could lick you whenever you wanted. You could come inside of me whenever to you want, too."

Harry licked his lips for effect.

Doka's heart skipped a beat at the vulgarity of the offer. He pushed him away, sitting up and beginning to sort his clothes out, getting the first garments on.

"How do you do it?" Doka asked quietly, maybe even a bit desolately.

Harry sat on the bench next to him, watching him get dressed.

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Get away with saying things like that. No one says things like that."

Not many had taken Narcissa's potions after such great suffering.

Before Doka put his shirt on, Harry pressed a kiss against his neck, licking and sucking the flesh softly, hardly bothered that he was different. Doka had to push him off again to get his shirt on. A moment later he was all done up again but still sitting there, blushing. He was now looking at Harry, then reaching out to cup his face in his hand.

"Little fox. How'd you do that to me? I'm not gay."

Harry smiled.

"I am, though. I'll do all the gay things if you let me."

Doka took a moment to himself, seriously thinking about the predicament he was in. He shook his head.

"You know how complicated this is for me? I had a girlfriend and I haven't ever - I'm not the sort of person who - you know - ever even thought about another bloke. Little fox, this can't be the way you want it to be. Nothing can really...be made out of this."

He closed his eyes in shame and worry.

Harry consoled his adult friend.

"I want it this way, Doka. Why would you think otherwise? Have I ever asked for more than just this? I want you like this."

Harry knew what his desires were, but he foremost knew he would always keep Doka a bit at arm's length to protect his secret. His security was on the line otherwise.

Doka snorted in derision. "Like a fucking mess?"

He swiped a hand over his face.

Harry grabbed it softly, pulling it down. He held it between them.

"No. I like you happy. Like when you're flying, or when you pull my hair. I like you the way you are with me. For me...it's not an obstacle that you're a guy."

Doka looked a bit more relaxed then. He reached out and swiped his hand across the side of Harry's face. Harry leaned in before the touch was gone. Then Doka sat up straighter and asked, "Wait. I'm supposed to get you off now."

Harry smiled, rocking his head.

"That would be nice, but you aren't gay. You'd have to put up with some gay things if you wanted to. You'd have to -"

Harry was interrupted as Doka reached between his legs and gripped him, sending a thrill through him. He also pulled Harry close and kissed the side of his mouth.

"What do you want?" Doka asked, lips moving against his skin.

Harry's eyes were shut. He didn't even have to ask, but his pants were undone and he was taken out bare. Doka stroked him firmly.

"God, like that is good," Harry gasped. He jolted when Doka started adding some thumb motion into it. "Would be nice if - ah! - you would pull my hair and - ah! - fuck me, too."

Doka didn't do all of that, but he pulled Harry into his lap to get a more familiar angle of attack, and with his free hand he gripped a handful of Harry's hair and pulled his head back to latch onto his neck. Surrounded by Doka's arms for about ten minutes was enough domination to make Harry focus purely on the moment and reach climax. He messed over Doka's hand and his shirt, liking how he felt Doka's arousal reprised in his pants where he sat.

"That enough for you?" Doka asked.

Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Enough. I liked it. Might even not like my own hand as much ever again."

Little did both of them know that it wasn't going to happen again that winter, but it was going to happen again. For Doka's part, he didn't want to say that he had run away to another country to hide, but he certainly needed to get his head clear, and a long vacation away was necessary for that.

Half an hour later, Harry was cleaned up and back to work already. Doka had left via the Apparation pad, but Harry went to the office for his first task of the day, with a new clarity he hadn't had before. Also, there was a smirk on his lips.

"Alderbaron! In a bit later today. Good! You deserve a lie-in! I've got something special for you today, though!"

Harry held his face neutral as he stood at the Coordinator's doorway, but his glee was bubbling within him. It wasn't because he was walking in to the news that he was promoted.

Behind Talia stood a delivery woman of the highest rank. Hao Buu was German-Chinese and as fit as the Quidditch players Harry had a thing for. Her arms were about as large as his, and her busty chest filled out her uniform in a remarkable way. She was tall and strong jawed and was perhaps the very best delivery person employed by the Herbology Institute. And she wore one of the coolest uniforms he'd ever seen: a black skullcap with a knot in the back, hanging down long. The tall collar was also very cool, trimmed in red.

"Morning, Hao Buu," Harry greeted, and she gave him a dower look.

Harry knew he was no one's fan.

What a morning this really was turning out to be.

"You'll be starting your A-2 training today. What do you think about that? You're moving up fast despite this summer's troubles!"

Harry nodded in respect to his boss, excitement forming but he kept it cool.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for this opportunity."

Talia rolled her eyes.

"You're so calm, but I knew you would be. You and Buu will be delivering stocks of gehsarb hareseed to a castle brewery in Dresden, Germany. She's got the information. You won't have any more close deliveries if you make it to A-2 status. Now, you understand that?"

Harry nodded. He rather liked the idea of long trips.

"I understand that," he assured her.

Talia smiled and handed him over a new badge, this one with a mark in the corner to indicate training status. A badge like this, if inspected, needed another person from the same office to verify the authenticity. A-2 flyers didn't often need to show their badge at the Floo network, as they often didn't use the Floo. They usually had to show it to patrolling Aurors in the air, and other officials they would run across while performing magic in dense Muggle areas.

"But you'll get the real thing soon enough. Now then! Let's get you started. You'll team up with Buu for the rest of the week. If you keep up with her and learn a lot, she'll assess you for the full A-2 status. You'll both start in the tropical greenhouse. Go see Marda about the gehsarb hareseed."

Buu led Harry out of the office and toward where the tropical plants grew. Harry kept up with her, although he noted the older woman's swift gate meant she was beyond any nonsense at this point, so he'd better keep up.

"This isn't going to be easy," she was stressing to him. "You'll be liable for any losses in the product. You're not delivering saps anymore; this stuff is valuable. Wait until you try for A-1 status; you'll be transporting some of the most regulated material out there. There will be routine inspections of your character to make sure you're not stealing the product, and if you ever let anyone or anything get hurt or lost, you may as well count your career gone!"

Harry couldn't help but enjoy her serious tone. This was what he'd been craving.

She suddenly stopped short.

"You think this is funny?!" Her voice echoed down the corridor.

Harry had smiled a little. He hadn't meant to make it seem like he was laughing.

Harry shrugged his shoulders as innocently as he could.

"No, I don't. Really, I get it! Thieves and black marketers are always after our stock. They'll kill me, bury my body, and maybe even harvest my organs."

Buu pushed him, then pushed him again so he was against the wall. She didn't like his tone of voice at all.

"That's right," she said fiercely, coming right up into his face and glairing. "All that and more. Fifty years ago, that's exactly what they did to the inexperienced transporters. Nowadays we fly on the best and fastest brooms and use caution like it's our middle names! I don't know where you come from, but you've never met anything like the low-lives that live on this Earth to steal potion ingredients to brew illegally!"

Harry saw it in her eyes then. He saw the truth.

"Did you ever fight in the war?" He asked.

Buu snarled and glared, then narrowed her eyes as she inspected him even more closely. She got right in his face as if to threaten him, but Harry saw his moment for reconciliation with her.

Harry spread his lips in not a smile, but a humorless understanding; his eyes didn't wrinkled at the edges as his cold stare pierced her. He had faced a lot in his life: the Triwizard Tournament, several kidnaps and bouts of torture, the responsibility of quite a few deaths on his shoulders - Cedric, his godfather, his parents - not to mention the reasons he had to be mentally rebuilt upon the sips of illegal potions and Calming Droughts. He wasn't at all afraid of the dark anymore, or some potential danger while delivering plants to potion-makers, or sex in locker rooms, as it turns out.

"I've got this," Harry said to her, tilting his head to the other side and keeping a bit of his good humor intact.

Buu pushed him one more time, but her next look she gave him from under her thick eyelashes couldn't belie a new bit of attraction toward Harry. She was checking him out now.

"Sex eyes - off!" Harry said, quoting Doka.

She rolled her head back and snorted, indulging him.

When she had done, she said, "You're too young for me. And I don't really think I'm your type, am I? Gossip speaks! But alright. Alright, Alderbaron. Fucking alright. Let's get to work."