Chapter Five: Camel Walking

In typical Harry fashion, he'd forgotten to turn on the bathroom fan. Steam billowed out the top of the shower to fill the small room and just about everything in there was damp.  On the bathroom counter, the muggle radio crackled dangerously from time to time, though somehow Harry's favourite radio station kept pumping out the speakers at top volume.

Completely oblivious to the mess he was making in the bathroom, Harry alternated between washing and dancing under the waters spray. The shower screen was made of a cloudy glass, dark in colour and Harry always felt as though he'd entered his own private little world, where he could do anything. Unlike his ability on the dance floor, his shower time moves were jerky and exaggerated. Reminiscent of the tragic dancing he'd seen over the years in eighties video clips. Harry found it very liberating and had the shower been a little bigger, he just might have started doing the running man. But perhaps that would be taking things too far…

Half way through rubbing shampoo into his hair a song he loved started to play on the radio and Harry gave a great whoop of delight. He hadn't heard the song in ages and it was just thing he needed to send him in full party mode.

Dancing with renewed exuberance, Harry sang loudly into the shampoo bottle come microphone, "…Let us walk through this very desert, in search of truth and some pointy boots; and maybe a few snap crackers." He thought he did an excellent job mimicking the voice of the American singer until Mattias, the magical bathroom mirror, burst his bubble.

"Harry, you're killing me here," Mattias groaned from above the sink.

Far too happy to let Mattias' sarcastic comments get to him, Harry ignored the surly mirror in favour of dancing and singing more boisterously. When the song reached its silly chorus, Harry adopted his best southern twang and sang along with feeling, "Baby… you make me want to walk… like a camel." A picture of Oliver quickly sprang to mind and Harry sniggered, imaging himself doing a bizarre walk as he circled around Oliver.

He couldn't remember exactly how it was that camels walked but he knew that if anyone could get him to walk like one it would be Oliver Wood. The man was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome and with (what Harry imagined was) the most amazing body, Oliver had featured in all of Harry's fantasies over the last week. No matter how hard he tried to keep Oliver out of his mind, the boy was never very far from his thoughts. Even when he was doing something as fantastically mind numbing as playing the Playstation, Oliver was there at the back of his mind. All it would take for Oliver to shoot to center stage was for some random character with brown hair to appear on screen.

From there it was all down hill, albeit with a pleasurable descent. He would remember how they had danced together on the podium and how Oliver could bring his senses to red alert with the simplest of touches. While reminiscing, Harry would become so hot and bothered he would have to nip off to his bedroom to fix the problem. And at this rate he was in serious danger of getting wrister of the year…

Needless to say, Harry was very excited at the prospect of seeing Oliver again. All day he'd been counting down the hours till he got to leave. Not that Harry was expecting anything to happen with the older boy. He grudgingly accepted Oliver had a girlfriend and a very beautiful on at that. But he was prepared to enjoy the simple pleasure of looking at Oliver. Sure a (rather large) part of him hoped he would be able to enact one of the many fantasies he'd concocted over the last week. However, he was willing to settle for looking.

And that had a whole unique charm of its own, Harry thought, smiling to himself as he set about cleaning his body. With Oliver not far from his mind, Harry couldn't help lingering a little longer on some of his more sensitive body parts.

When the hot water started to run out, Harry switched off the taps and slid open the shower screen. Seeing how steamy the bathroom was, he giggled and made a mental note to switch the fan on the next time he showered. As he toweled himself dry, Harry did his best to ignore Mattias' catcalls. However, once he was done he couldn't resist grinning into the mirror as he tied the towel around his waist.

"Spoil sport," Mattias muttered grumpily.

 'Perverted mirror', Harry thought back as he sprayed deodorant under his arms. After he finished brushing his teeth Harry quickly put on some cologne and then took a step towards the mirror. Ordinarily his 'beauty' regime would have ended with the cologne but Harry was excited about the party and he felt he should at least attempt to make an effort.

Leaning over the bathroom counter, Harry stared at his reflection thoughtfully. "Hmm," Harry mumbled, "What to do, what to do." Feeling a little poncy, Harry smoothed out his eyebrows until they were neat lines. He then ran a hand along his jaw. Nothing. Good, Harry thought; he hated shaving.

When he shifted his gaze to his hair, Harry groaned. It was worse than usual. His dark locks stuck out at such peculiar angles, Harry wondered if his hair had some how managed to defy gravity.  He cast a drying charm and, with some trepidation, picked up the brush from the counter. Gingerly, Harry started brushing his hair, trying to put it into some sort of order.

"Oh that will never work," Mattias informed him unhelpfully.

"Shut up," Harry grumbled. The mirror was right though, Harry realised belatedly, when his hair insisted on springing back to its original position almost as soon as he took the brush away. "Stupid hair," Harry muttered, banging the brush down on the bathroom counter.

Harry heard Mattias' quietly say "I told you so" but chose to ignore it; really what did it matter if his hair didn't sit neatly? He'd had messy hair his entire life; everyone knew that and some people had even mentioned they thought it sexy. Hoping Oliver was one such person, he turned his attention to the clothes he'd left in a neat pile on top of the laundry hamper.

They were all new and sad though it was, he'd bought them especially for the party. He pulled off the tags and dropped them carelessly onto the floor and after letting go of his towel, Harry quickly pulled on the new silk boxer shorts. Unfortunately he wasn't quickly enough for the bane of the bathroom…

"You're a bit smaller than Ron, you know?"

Strangely, Harry hadn't known, nor had he ever wanted to know, about the size of Ron's appendage. He couldn't help the mental image that sprang to mind and he glared at the mirror in retaliation. Harry decided to relocate Mattias somewhere more out of the way, like the garden shed, the next time he had five minutes to spare.

Once he'd struggled into his jeans and t-shirt, Harry looked at himself in the full-length mirror, stuck on the back of the bathroom door. Thankfully, it was a simple muggle mirror so he didn't have to listen to any witty comments. Harry spun around, checking himself out from all angles. He wouldn't go so far as to say he looked amazing and he seriously doubted his outfit would blow Oliver's mind but he did look nice.

The jeans rode low on his hips, fitting snugly at the thighs before gradually loosening out towards the ends. They were boot cut, the shop assistant had told him but Harry liked to think of them as mini flares. His simple t-shirt, was a rich red colour with a simple image on the front in white. Of a comfortable fit, it hung to the top of his jeans and the sleeves were shorter than normal, showing off his arms rather nicely he decided.

"You're being unusually vain, you know?" Mattias chuckled from across the room. "Do you have a date?"

Ignoring Mattias, Harry whipped open the door and exited the bathroom. He stopped briefly in the laundry to pick up some clean socks and then headed out to the kitchen in search of his black runners. He found one under the kitchen table and after retrieving it he quickly pulled in on.  The other one was a little harder to uncover but he eventually managed to find it hiding under the fridge.

As he bent over to try and get it out, Harry heard the warning siren that indicated someone was flooing into the house. As the floo system automatically blocked anyone not authorized to enter, Harry continued trying to get his runner. He managed to catch a hold of the laces and was just pulling it out when Fred tumbled inelegantly out of the fireplace.

"Hey Fred," Harry chuckled as he watched Fred get up off the floor. He heard Fred grunt something that sounded more like an obscenity than a greeting but he let it slip.

When Fred finally finished dusting himself off, he looked up at Harry and his face sank in disappointment. "Damn Harry, you're dressed. I was hoping to get here in time to pick your outfit," Fred said, running his gaze critically over Harry.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing? These clothes are new! I bought them yesterday," Harry said defensively.

"Calm down," Fred said, holding up his hand apologetically. "There's nothing 'wrong' with what you're wearing. Its not what I would have picked, mind you, but…" Fred trailed off shrugging his shoulders.   

"Sorry," Harry grinned, feeling like a bit of an idiot for getting defensive over something so unimportant.

Noticing Fred was staring at him with a thoughtful expression on his face, Harry couldn't help snapping, "What?"

"Did you say those were new clothes, Harry?" When Harry nodded Fred's face broke out in a big, knowing grin. "Why would that be I wonder?" Fred teased, "Hmm, let me think…. It wouldn't have anything to do with Oliver, would it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry lied and he could feel his cheeks turning red as a result, "I just saw them while I was out, so I bought them." One look at Fred and Harry knew he'd failed to convince his friend.

Fred was pretending his fingers were puppets and getting them to kiss while he made sound effects. It was hard to believe he was actually the older of the two when he acted that way.

Frowning at Fred's display, Harry said, "He has a girlfriend anyway."

Fred stopped what he was doing and looked at Harry with a confused expression on his face, "I don't think so, Harry," he said in a serious tone of voice, "These days I doubt he goes out with anyone long enough for them to reach the girlfriend status."

Harry thought it very strange that Fred didn't sound proud of Oliver's roguish ways. Fred was incredibly fond of living a foot loose existence and Harry couldn't really understand why Fred would disapprove of Oliver doing they same. 

"He hasn't been into commitment for a while now," Fred continued, "He had a bit of a bad experience two years ago."  Fred smiled at Harry sadly but didn't offer anything further.

Sensing Fred didn't feel comfortable talking about his friend behind his back, Harry resisted the urge to pump him for information.  Never having been very good a subtle conversation changes, Harry said rather lamely, "So does this look okay?"

"Like I said Harry, it's not what I had in mind, but it does look good. The jeans are especially nice." Fred smiled reassuringly.

"Thanks…"

"Oh," Fred cried suddenly as if he'd just remembered something important, "Did you get them a house warming present?"

"Yeah," Harry said, pointing to the wrapped present on the kitchen table, "We got them this Quidditch set from the 16th century."

"Shit, that must have cost a bit Harry," Fred muttered, staring at Harry as if he'd gone mad.

Harry shrugged. It had been a little pricey but he didn't really know Oliver or Jackson that well and after hours of searching he'd decided to go with something he was pretty sure they'd like. "Do you think they'll like it?"

"For sure. They have heaps of old Quidditch stuff… Oliver in particular," Fred said, wriggling his eyebrows at Harry.  "Can I put my name on the card?"

"Ron already put it on," Harry informed him dryly. They both knew how 'forgetful' Fred could be when it came to doing practical things.

"Ron knows me so well," Fred chuckled, "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," Harry shrugged, "You can carry it there in lieu of paying."  

"No problem," Fred muttered as he pulled out his wand. He shrunk the present to the size of a matchbox and slipped it into his pocket. "Now where's Ron?" Fred said, clapping his hands together, "We should probably get going, it's ten already."

"Hang on, I think he's in the lounge room," Harry said to Fred and then yelled out, "RON!" Turning his attention back to Fred, Harry grinned sheepishly, "He said he wanted to have some drinks before we left."

"You could have just gone into the lounge Harry…"

"Effort, Fred, effort," Harry shrugged. When he heard Ron yell something that sounded like 'what', Harry called out again, "Are you ready?"

He could hear Ron banging around in the lounge and he wondered what he was doing. Neither Fred nor Harry was expecting Ron to look quite as he did when he burst into the room and before he could stop himself, Harry burst out laughing.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Fred gasped disbelievingly.

"How do I look?" Ron said, sounding immensely proud of himself and he smiled at them, revealing a couple of blackened out teeth.

"Like an idiot?" Fred offered unhelpfully.

Harry tried to stifle his laughter as he struggled to think of a tactful reply. All the elements were certainly there, the patch over the eye, the hook for a hand, the peg leg and not to mention those 'missing' teeth. "You look like," Harry chuckled, "…a pirate."

"Funny, Harry, really funny," Ron muttered sarcastically before continuing in a whine. "Seriously how do I look?"

"You look fine, though…" Harry paused to select his next words carefully. "Are you sure you want to go dressed as a pirate?"

"Yeah, it said to on the invitation," Ron said exasperatedly.

"They were joking!" Fred said, shaking his head to indicate he didn't care anymore. "Let's just go."

"I'll just get my beer," Ron said quickly and he scampered out of the room before Fred could make another comment.

"He's a bit excited about this isn't he?" Fred said, staring off in the direction Ron had just left.

"A bit? That's got to be the understatement of the century… He bought a new autograph book for the occasion…"

"He didn't!" Fred said sounding scandalized.

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A little while later the boys apparated to Oliver and Jackson's house, landing in what appeared to be the main entrance hall. Directly in front of them stood a large staircase and a couple of people could be seen loitering on its steps. With a quick glance over his shoulder Harry confirmed that the front door was directly behind them. The doors positioned at intervals along the sides of the hall were open, inviting the guests to move freely about the house. Harry could hear the sound of people talking and the faint murmur of music that was playing somewhere in the house.

"Wow," Ron gasped in amazement as he looked about the hall eagerly.

Harry had to agree. The house, or rather the one room he'd seen, was very impressive. If he'd ever doubted that Quidditch players were well paid he had a definitive answer now.  Oliver and Jackson were loaded. Not for the first time, he wondered why they lived together… 

"Come on," Fred said as he walked towards the first open door.

Harry and Ron exchanged a shrug and then took off after Fred. They entered a room, that was packed full of people. They stood in groups all around the room, spilling out the open French doors and into the courtyard. In the corner of the room was a makeshift dance area where a few people could be seen dancing to the music thumping out the rather impressive stereo system. Although changes had obviously been made for the party, Harry could tell the room ordinarily served as Jackson and Oliver's lounge room.

Ron cleared his throat, "Has anybody else noticed that I'm the only person wearing pirate clothes?" He sounded very distressed.

"I tried to warn you," Harry said and he couldn't help chuckling when he looked at his friend. Ron, who merely half an hour ago had been so proud of his outfit, was nervously tugging at his pirate shirt.

"Shut it, Harry," Ron muttered. 

"Do you know what you need, little Ronniekins?" Fred said, grinning up at his baby brother with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"What?" Ron asked warily. He had been on the receiving end of far too many of his brother's pranks to treat a seemingly helpful Fred with anything less than suspicion. 

"You need more drinks," Fred grinned, "Once you're absolutely sloshed you wouldn't even care if you'd come wearing a pink fluffy bunny costume." His voice had that 'trust me I'd know' ring about it.

Just as Ron opened his mouth to reply a voice called out from behind them, "Harry! Fred!" All three boy's spun on there heels.

Recognising the man instantly, Harry smiled politely, "Hello, Jackson." 

"Harry, that's Jackson Byrne," Ron said excitedly, nudging Harry in the ribs.

As Harry watched Fred and Jackson greet each other like long lost friends he tried his best to shush his star struck friend. "You been here long?" Harry heard Jackson ask. He didn't hear what Fred said in reply because the music changed to a louder track and he wasn't standing close enough to hear.

They talked for a couple of minutes before Jackson leaned towards Harry and said in rather loud voice, "Wait here while I get Oliver. He told me to come and find him if I saw you first." Harry nodded and Jackson gave him a quick smile before walking off, presumably in search of Oliver.

"Ohhhh…." Fred cooed in his ear, sounding like a schoolgirl. "Its like I don't even exist to Oliver anymore…"

"Shut up Fred," Harry said, though he couldn't help smiling.

"Well he didn't care whether I got here or not did he?" Fred grinned, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Harry seriously doubted Fred's suspicions were correct but he did wonder why Oliver would tell Jackson to keep a look out. Perhaps Oliver had assumed he would come on his own and he hadn't wanted him to feel left out? Harry decided that was most likely, after all apart from his friends and Jackson he hadn't seen anyone he knew.

Still, a little part of him couldn't help hoping that Oliver was as excited at the prospect of seeing him as he was of seeing Oliver. Knowing this wouldn't help him in the long run, Harry forced himself to remember that he shouldn't get his hopes up. Girlfriend or not, Oliver wouldn't be interested.

"Will you be okay here if I take this idiot to get a drink?" Fred said, nodding his head in Ron's direction. When Harry nodded, Fred continued amusedly, "Well if you get bored, come and find me…" His tone suggested he thought it highly unlikely that Harry would tire of Oliver.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do…" Fred chuckled as he dragged Ron away.

(The song Harry was listening to in the bathroom is by Southern Culture on the Skids and it's called Camel Walk (I think), if anyone's interested. It's a great song. My all time favourite romance song in fact.)