Notes: Ooo, are you gonna be mad at me when you see where I left off on this chapter! Whahaha!
He is silent for a moment before answering. "Harry… I adore you." My heart skips a beat. "But some things are none of your damn business."
I feel as if he slapped me in the face. Gently, I hug Fort to my chest and stare fixedly at the floor. "I'm sorry," I murmur, trying hard to keep the tears from my voice. "I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't." His voice is very soft and close; I can feel his breath on my ear. "But it's not a good topic, Harry. Really, it's not." I feel one arm slide around my shoulder and he embraces me stiffly, mindful of the living creature between us. We stay that way for a moment, uncomfortable but unwilling to move. My face is buried in his shoulder and I can smell the spice of his deodorant, the sweetness of the soap he uses. It's calming.
Before I can stop myself, I'm blurting it out to him. "I want to tell you something, I really want to tell you something, but I don't want you to think I'm…" I pull away from his arms and look at him with helpless eyes, shocked at my sudden bravado. He nods.
"Harry, I very much doubt that anything you do or say could make me stop caring for you." He reaches out one hand and brushes his fingertips over my cheek. "You're… you're like the son I'll never have," he chokes, "You mean so much to me."
That statement just made everything so much worse; I want to bolt out the door and run as fast as I can away from him, away from Hogwarts. But I've already started it; my pride will not let me leave until I've finished it. I take a deep breath through pursed lips and squeeze Fort gently for reassurance. He makes a tinny chittering noise and then falls silent.
"Then I… I, um…" I've made the unconscious decision to begin with the easiest facts and work my way to the hardest. "I think I might be… you know… gay."
His face remains blank for a moment, causing me to fidget. Then, before I can say another word, he is giggling, laughing so hard he's practically doubled over. I scowl. "What's so funny?"
"Oh Harry!" He gasps and shakes his head. "Nothing. You just… love whomever you want to." He gives a final chuckle, sighs, and leans back into the couch cushions. "It would be significantly hypocritical of me to scold you for something so simple."
I nod, not entirely understanding, but knowing that he didn't disapprove. "Ok, but… there's more." He nods and I take another deep breath. "Um… I have these weird dreams a lot. Dreams where I'm… er…" I'm trying to think of a socially acceptable euphemism for it. "Taken advantage of?" He stares at me, uncomprehending. "Um… Sexually assaulted?" His brow furrows, and I give in. "Raped."
"Oh…" If he felt uncomfortable before, then I shudder to think how he's feeling now. His eyes shift left and right very quickly, as if he was thinking or trying to avoid my stare. One finger is twirling thoughtlessly in a lock of his hair. "Well… rape is a very…odd… thing, when you come to think about it." He shifts his position on the couch slightly, putting one knee up on the cushions and tucking the rest of his leg beneath his body. We are now facing. "Yes… um… I'm sure you've heard people say that rape is not a crime about sex?" I nod. Yes, I have… and I don't believe it for a second. "And that's… accurate, to a certain extent."
We stare at each other for a moment, both of us uncomfortable. I refuse to speak. Finally, he coughs politely and continues. "Well… Rape is about sex, of course. I won't deny it. But there's also a great deal of power struggle and violent emotion involved. The desire to… control… something you shouldn't be able to." He hesitates, and I think I can see sadness in his eyes. "But dreams are not always meant to be taken literally. Perhaps you feel as if too many things in this world depend upon you? Perhaps you wish subconsciously for less responsibility…?"
"No," I say quietly, but firmly. "No, that's not right." He gives me a look of pure curiosity.
"Why are you so sure?" He's not challenging me, just asking. And, just for a moment, I allow my eyes to meet his. They are so warm, so filled with concern and love, that I cannot help but take the plunge.
"Because I don't just dream about it." He opens his mouth as if to reply, but I continue before he can get a word in. "I think about it, sometimes during the day… but mostly at night. I think about it and I get, you know… excited." I blush, but he doesn't seem to see anything wrong or embarrassing about this statement. "It's just that… well, I know it's really wrong, but I can't stop-" I run a hand through my hair. "You know."
Again he opens his mouth, but I don't want to give him a chance to reassure me. I feel so horrible and dirty at the moment that I just want to revel in it. "And the worst part… the worst part is that I always imagine someone I know as the attacker." I pause a moment to see how he'll take this statement; he doesn't flinch. "And then it's hard to… um… be normal. 'Cause I feel sort of scared of them even though they've never laid a finger on me."
"The mind is a powerful thing," he says quietly, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch and resting his head in his hand. "Harry, have you ever considered acting on your desires? Trying to make your fantasies come true?"
"No," I reply hoarsely, lying through my teeth. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, as if he is thinking very hard about this difficult problem.
"Well… perhaps you ought to." That was not the response I was expecting; my eyes go wide. "If you can find a consenting and trustworthy partner, I think the experience would be quite good for you." He leans closer and places on hand on my bare knee. "Obviously this really bothers you, Harry. And it shouldn't. Rape fantasies, while not exactly common, are not wrong in any way. So long as they remain fantasies." He smiles wanly. "Don't go walking in any dark alleys in the middle of the night looking for trouble."
My voice cracks when I try to speak. "You think I should… do this?" He nods.
"Harry, you are a sexual being… whether you like it or not. And even though we label you as children and try to repress any desires you have… well, the fact is that you aren't really children anymore. And you shouldn't have to be ashamed or embarrassed because of something that is perfectly natural."
His hand is warm on my skin, and I've stopped listening to what he's saying because our eyes have met and all I can see is amber, all I can feel is love. He falls silent and we stare unashamedly at each other. I put my hand over top of his and lean forward; he does not move. My nose brushes his, our lips touch, my eyelashes flutter, and we are kissing.
