A/N: Chapter two, up and ready.
Now, nearly a month and a half later, he had reached a point where his tolerance hung by a thread. Sick of being Harry Potter, the problem solver with a thousand unsolvable problems of his own—and now he had another.
Because Harry realized he was gay.
He liked Ian, and it wasn't platonic. Dudley's gang had been chasing Ian that day because of the rumor floating about that there was a fag in the neighborhood. It hadn't taken them long to figure out who, and they had sprung out at the poor boy while he was on his way to the store. Maybe Harry was imagining it, but Ian seemed to flirt with him frequently, and, far from being bothered by it, he flirted back. A relationship was just what he didn't need, but he found he craved it. Ian's smile, his laugh, the lightest of touches between them—it all haunted his dreams, driving him insane, making him miserable. He couldn't be gay. But he was. He thought his life couldn't get any harder; but once again, the great Harry Potter had been proven wrong.
He tried to convince himself otherwise desperately, for more than a month. He thought of Cho and his crush on her; but in comparison to what he felt for Ian, it seemed paltry, stupid, and more of what was expected of him than what he actually wanted. He thought of Fleur, the girl with Veela blood, and remembered admiring, but not lusting after, her ethereal beauty. He pictured Hermione, sleek and beautiful at the Yule Ball, but could only think of her warmly as his best friend.
And when he thought of Ian—dreamt of him—his heart pounded, and his blood burned with desire.
Ian didn't know, of course.
Ian didn't know about a lot of things: the wizarding world, Harry's infatuation with him, the way Harry was treated at the Dursleys. As far as Harry was concerned, it would stay that way.
He felt a little sick, and very alone. The glowing face of Dudley's old digital watch told him it was two in the morning, and that he should be in bed, but he rarely slept these days. After debating with himself for several pointless minutes, he crept out of the room and downstairs, closing the front door behind him with barely a click.
Ian lived several blocks away, in a well-to-do section of the sub division. He lived with his mother, a prominent lawyer. His father lived in the States, because his parents were divorced. This hadn't affected him much, and he and his mother had an easy going, open relationship. She knew he was gay, and supported him wholeheartedly.
The glow of the television screen illuminated Ian's room, as Harry saw from outside the boy's window. Ian himself was lying half-propped on his bed, watching whatever was showing intently, idly chewing on one black lacquered fingernail. Harry rapped hard on the window, and sniggered when Ian cried out and tumbled onto the floor. Relieved to see his friend and not a mass murderer, but a little peeved nonetheless, Ian crawled to the window and unlatched it. Harry climbed in, smiling a little.
"What the hell, Harry!" Ian hissed, but he seemed pleased to see him.
Harry shrugged, not wanting to tell the truth. Not wanting to tell Ian that all he'd been doing night after night was laying awake, thinking about him. "I'm bored," he said instead, not a lie, "so I thought I'd pop on over. Not like you sleep much anyway."
Ian shrugged. "Good point." He gestured toward the TV screen. "I'm watching The Ring and nearly pissing myself. That girl is creepy. Care to watch it with me?" He climbed back onto his futon and patted a space next to him invitingly. Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous. What had possessed him to visit Ian at two A.M.?
"O-okay," he answered, straining to sound casual. He perched tensely next to Ian and focused with ridiculous intensity on the movie.
After a few minutes, during which a dead girl clawed her way up a well, slid from a telly screen, and killed a man, Harry realized Ian had not been exaggerating when he'd said the movie was piss-your-pants scary. Without really paying attention, he scooted closer to Ian, and it barely registered when Ian slid his arm around Harry's small waist, tugging him closer.
"Oh, Merlin," Harry whispered, as the dead girl appeared on screen again, "this is freaky…" He jumped and gasped, digging his nails into Ian's arm unintentionally as the background music suddenly reached a spectacular crescendo. Blushing, and thankful for the darkness of the room, he turned to Ian to apologize, startled to find his pale, lovely face mere inches away from his own. "Uh…sorry, mate, didn't mean to hurt--"
"S'okay," Ian murmured. The light from the telly danced off his features, a fascinating play of muted color and shadow that Harry could not seem to look away from. "Harry, I…" Ian began, but Harry cut him off by closing the distance, and when their lips touched, ever so gently, they were lost.
They did not think; they only felt, and the morning sun crept in to find them lying entwined together on Ian's bed, small smiles on their sleeping faces.
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Harry had never been so reluctant to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to stay on Privet Drive, Dursleys be damned, and spend every hour of every day with Ian. Their relationship had solidified and strengthened into love in a matter of weeks, and Harry's quiet, insensible rage had tucked itself away somewhere deep within him, where he didn't have to deal with it. He loved Ian, and was happier than he had been in years.
The Dursleys refused to take him to Platform 9 and ¾ this year—"You're old enough to have found your own way by now, boy!" Uncle Vernon said smarmily--and Harry had not heard from Ron and Hermione all summer (whether that was on Dumbledore's orders, or his friends' own decision, he had not yet decided). By the time he received his letter, he realized he would have to take care of himself this year, and made plans to catch the Night Bus for Diagon Alley for school shopping a few days before Hogwarts was back in session.
He put it off for as long as he could, but finally, the day came that he had to lie to Ian again.
"Ian…" he began, not meeting his boyfriend's eyes, "I'll be leaving tonight."
Ian looked surprised and dismayed. "So early? But Harry, you said school didn't start until another week!"
"The Dursleys won't take me this year," Harry explained, trying to instill as much truth as he could in the lie. "And normally, by now, I'm staying with my friends, so it's not much of a problem. But this year, my friends haven't contacted me, so I have to go a little early to get school supplies. I'll be staying in an inn until it's time for school to start again." Harry had led Ian to believe he attended a small, expensive private school in Sweden (A/N: I know that's stupid, but I couldn't think of anything else!), and Ian hadn't questioned it. "I'm sorry, love; I wish I could stay and spend more time with you." He leaned forward, cupping Ian's slender hand in both of his and kissing it softly.
Ian's expression was suddenly strange, both anxious and tentatively happy. "Harry, I have to tell you something."
"Whoa, you sound serious," Harry replied, a little worried. "Is something wrong?"
Ian's hazel eyes darkened with an emotion Harry couldn't quite name…was that shame? "I…I've been lying to you, Harry. I'm not what you think I am."
"What do you mean?" Harry pulled his hands away from Ian's. "You've lied to me? About what?" He knew it was unfair to feel hurt—after all, he had been lying to Ian since the day they had met—but nevertheless, he felt an pang in his chest, and the quiet fury in his stomach stirred like a sleeping dragon. Ian hadn't answered, looking apprehensive. "What did you lie to me about?" Harry insisted.
"Love, please. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. I think I loved you the first time I saw you, standing up for me so bravely…wand tucked into your sleeve." Ian nodded as Harry's mouth went slack with realization. "I'm so sorry…I know everything. I know who you are to the wizarding world. I'm a wizard, too, Harry."
Ian braced himself, waiting for Harry's scream of anger, his broken sobs, anything. Anything but what Harry actually did.
The Boy Who Lived threw himself upon his partner and kissed him fiercely. "Yes, yes," he whispered, almost in tears. "Ian, baby, sweetie, thank you, thank you!"
Ian accepted the Harry's embrace, stiff with shock. "Harry…you aren't mad at me? Not that I'm complaining," he was quick to add when Harry pressed his lips feverishly against his own.
"Mad at you? This is what I've wished for, Ian! I don't know if I could have handled lying to you much longer; I can't imagine getting through the school year without you. I've…I've been going through a lot lately…" Harry was suddenly struck with a horrible thought. "You are going to Hogwarts, aren't you?"
Ian's heart ached for him. He nodded and pulled Harry closer, nuzzling his cheek. "I didn't tell you at first, because I wanted you to know that I liked you for you and not because you're the famous Potter boy. I wanted you to trust in my love and never doubt my feelings for you. Do you understand?"
And Harry did. He understood perfectly.
"Come with me," he told Ian, standing up. "Pack your trunk and whatever else you need, and come with me to Diagon Alley for the week. We'll get a room together, board the train together…what house are you in? Have you been sorted? Your mum's a witch, then?" His mouth couldn't keep up with his thoughts.
Ian laughed happily, so relieved to have Harry taking it all so well. "I'd love to come with you, Harry. I'll start packing right now. Mum's not a witch, Dad's a wizard. I haven't been sorted yet—Dumbledore's made arrangements to have it done privately after the first years are sorted. D'you think I'll be in Gryffindor, then?"
Harry grinned. "I think so. Merlin, Ian, this is going to be so wonderful…seeing you everyday, maybe even waking up next to you every morning, having classes together and holding hands in the ohmotherofMerlinshit!" Harry's face went slack, and he sat down, hard, on the floor.
"Harry!" said Ian, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"M-my house. My schoolmates…my friends. They don't know I'm gay."
Ian shrugged, biting his lip. "I figured as much, love. Rumors in the Daily Prophet and all have you fucking every girl within a ten mile radius. If even one student at Hogwarts knew, it'd be all over and everyone would know. I mean…I don't think even you realized it 'till this summer, right?"
Harry nodded, looking a little bitter. Ian was disturbed to see tightly controlled emotion swim into his eyes briefly. "The Golden Boy," he hissed. "The savior. That's all I am to them. A figurehead. Won't this be a shock!"
Ian felt a stab of worry. He slid a comforting arm about his partner's shoulders. "I understand, love. We'll be the best of friends when others are around, and lovers when they aren't, alright?" He held his breath, waiting.
To his delight and relief, Harry shook his head firmly. "No, Ian. I love you. It's not something to be ashamed of, and I won't hide it." He buried his head in the curve of Ian's throat, sighing. Ian cuddled him close.
"Turn me into something else," he demanded unexpectedly, pulling away from Ian to look him in the face. Ian looked at his partner, a question in his eyes.
"Something darker than golden," Harry elaborated. His fingertip traced the dark line of makeup smeared around Ian's eyes, and Ian shivered as Harry's finger slid down his cheek and brushed against his kohl-smeared mouth. "I don't want to be what they want me to be," Harry whispered. He touched the metal ring that graced Ian's nose, and Ian realized what he meant.
"You…you sure, Harry? I mean, that's a bit of a radical change, don't you think?"
Harry thought back to the nights he had stood in front of the mirror in his little bedroom, hating what he saw, hating this person they were pressuring him to be. He thought about Ian, about the strange, dark allure he carried, that beautiful aura of sexuality and rebellion. He nodded. "Yes. This is what I want. I want to shock them. I want to be someone else for a change." He stood up again, excitement coming back in a rush, and tugged Ian to his feet, as well. "Come on! I have plenty of money—I had some transferred to Muggle currency before I came home at the beginning of the summer—and we have plenty of time before we should flag down the Night Bus. Let's go to the mall!"
Ian's eyes lit up, met Harry's, and narrowed in speculation. "Let's see now…" He whooped with delight, clapping his hands together. "I am going to make you utterly gorgeous, baby…more so than you already are!"
A/N: I hate to do this, but I'm going to hold off on responding to my reviews for the time being. I promise that I'll do it in the next chapter, but for now, I'm exhausted from Christmas shopping, and I have to go out to do some more in a few moments. Thank you to those that reviewed, however, and I'm working on updating Stonewall High, as well.