TITLE: Harry and the Love Tutor
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.
BETA: The Ne Plus Ultra, N, the Devilish Detefabula, and all further mistakes are mine.
SUMMARY: Harry/Blaise, Harry/Colin. Harry wants to know how to tell if someone is gay. Blaise is happy to show him. Colin, on the other hand, isn't so happy about Blaise—or the lessons.

Harry and the Love Tutor

"Or we could go to Scrivenshaft's," Ron suggested to Hermione. "I know you've been wanting a new quill.

Hermione tittered. And blushed.

What was worse was that Harry wasn't even surprised. Over the summer, Ron and Hermione's constant arguing had unaccountably morphed into something much more appalling—'True Love.' They had now spent the last forty-two days making cow eyes at each other and now, on Hermione's birthday, they were ready to take that next big leap in their relationship.

Ron, God bless him, was going with Hermione to buy her something she actually wanted.

Harry wasn't certain how this was a big deal, but apparently it was; Hermione announced that if a boy had genuine feelings for a girl, he'd know her interests, her likes, and her dislikes. In other words, he'd know her, and be able to choose an appropriate gift.

Harry gave her some chocolate frogs and was grateful to be done with it. Ron would be out all day, being goaded from shop to shop, trying to prove his worth as a boyfriend. Harry thought it probably wasn't worth the hassle, but what would he know? He hadn't been out with a girl since Cho Chang last year.

"I'll see you guys later, all right?" he said. He hoped he sounded nonchalant, but it wasn't exactly fun being left out. This shopping excursion was a 'couple thing'—a RonandHermione thing, one of those new terrors that Harry had to get used to.

He watched them mosey down the street, hand in hand, and sighed desolately. He was pretty sure he could get a girlfriend if he really wanted to, but would he feel the same way about her that Ron did about Hermione? Just thinking about it made him feel empty and achy inside. He was starting to suspect that something was wrong.

He worried it might have something to do with girls, and his recent lack of interest in them. Harry thought back to the incident in Madam Malkin's last summer, when he'd run into Oliver Wood trying on new robes.

Oliver was standing on the stool, shirtless. His torso was tan and muscled, and dusted with russet hair. He had grinned and waved, but Harry stood stock-still, mouth slightly open, unable to move. Then Oliver had ducked his head for the robe to slip over, and the spell was broken.

Harry wasn't certain what it meant, but he had his suspicions—and a lot of questions, too. Was he gay? What would people do if he were? How could he find out? Should he ask someone? Should he approach a boy and see where things went?

"Hiya Harry!" Colin Creevey sang out as he passed by.

Harry stared. He had a powerful impulse to grab Colin and snog him, just to see what he'd do. After all, of all the blokes in the school, surely Colin Creevey would be the most likely to return Harry's feelings. He'd also be the least likely to use it against Harry.

Just thinking about it made Harry's heart rate increase, and feel as though he couldn't catch his breath.

"C—Colin!" Harry trotted over to the youth, watching how Colin's eyes lit up. "Would you—um. I—that is—Ron and Hermione sort of ditched me, so I was wondering—maybe you'd want to hang about with me?"

A smile spread across Colin's face like the dawning of a new morning. "Sure, Harry!" he said eagerly. He turned to his brother. "I can catch up with you later, right, Dennis?"

Dennis grinned broadly and nodded. "Yeah. No worries—I'll be around if you need me."

Harry was really pleased—now he'd be alone with Colin. "Where do you want to go?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. How could he make this into a date? Should he make this into a date?

Colin shrugged airily. "Wherever you want to go, Harry!"

Harry shifted from one foot to the other. He only knew one place that couples frequented. "Er…Madam Puddifoot's?" he suggested, half hopeful, half terrified.

If Colin was nonplussed by this, he didn't say so. "All right," he said, nearly skipping down the street. "That sounds like fun," he added enthusiastically. Harry reflected that Colin was really weird, but nice, and brave and cheerful. Harry envied that. He couldn't remember the last time he felt cheerful about anything.

They were seated at a tiny table in Madam Puddifoot's, and Harry had to wince at all the lace. He might be gay, he reflected, but he wasn't a fairy. He looked around uncomfortably. Every single other pair of people there was a couple. He swallowed, wondering how badly they stood out.

"Gosh, this is nice," Colin commented.

Madam Puddifoot came over and handed Colin a pink slip of paper. "We have some new items," she informed them, "but I'm afraid I've run out of menus. That's the last one left."

"That's okay!" Colin said brightly. "We'll just share!"

Harry smiled a little as Colin scooted closer to him so that they could both read the menu. Harry became acutely aware of the shape of Colin, how the top of his head just reached Harry's cheekbone, his hair tickling the side of Harry's face, how he smelt of bubble gum, and how the warmth radiated from his body. Harry squirmed in his seat, and discovered he was becoming aroused.

"Look at all these exotic names!" Colin was chattering excitedly. "Tuscan Tirimisu Tea, Tibetan Saffron Tao Tea, Coloradoan Cream Cappuccino. They all sound wonderful!"

Harry chuckled softly. "Well, I think they sound kind of goofy."

"I think it's neat that they're trying new things," his companion argued.

Harry liked the way Colin's lower lip jutted out, plump and peach. "Yeah," he said in a distracted voice. "Yeah. All right."

"My, my," a drawling voice said loudly. "Will you look at the darling couple? Aren't they just made for each other?"

Harry's head jerked up. Draco Malfoy was standing right behind them, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. Pansy Parkinson was with him, giggling shrilly. Harry started to say something, but stopped, uncertain.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy!" Colin rejoined loudly. "Harry would never do something like that! Don't ever talk about him that way again, or—"

"Or what, you twisted little zealot?" Draco responded in a bored voice.

"I'll challenge you to a duel!" Colin snapped angrily. "I'm not afraid of you—you great—"

"That's enough, Colin! Stop making a scene!" Harry hissed desperately.

Madam Puddifoot was already making her way toward them. "Boys!" she admonished. "Stop that at once! If you want to behave like hooligans, you won't do it in here. Out, all of you. Out!"

Harry tried to walk away as quickly as possible. He knew his face was bright red, and Colin was scampering alongside him, going on about how unfair it was, and how wrong Draco had been.

"Look, Colin, I've changed my mind. I think I'm going to go back to the castle, all right?"

The boy's face fell. "You are?"

Harry shut his eyes, feeling his insides twist with an unpleasant mixture of hurt and confusion. "Yeah," he muttered. "All this noise has given me a headache. See you." Ignoring the injured look on his classmate's face, Harry scurried away.

OoOoOoOoO

Back at the castle, Harry roamed aimlessly. He didn't particularly want to go back to the dorm, but he didn't have any place he'd rather be, either. He walked around the lake a bit, trying to sort things out in his head. The squid flipped a tentacle lazily out of the water, and he unwrapped a jelly slug and tossed it into the water. The tentacle curled around it and disappeared back into the black ripples.

Why was it quite so painful to hear Colin say such things? It didn't matter…it shouldn't matter, but…Harry had been so sure that if any bloke liked him that way, it was Colin. Harry didn't even know anyone who was gay. No one at Hogwarts was gay.

Except—

He stopped suddenly, eyes wide. There was at least one gay bloke at Hogwarts, and Harry knew where to find him. Harry turned and made his way back toward the castle. The guy might not want to talk to him, but at least it was worth a try. Besides, he was the only person Harry knew that might have some answers.

OoOoOoOoO

Blaise Zabini wasn't merely gay; he was a flamer. He was well known for being willing to try anything once, and with anybody, as well. When Harry found him in the dungeons, he was being pressed back against a wall by Theodore Nott, having his tonsils examined.

Harry turned bright red. He hadn't considered Blaise might be…otherwise occupied. He knew he should leave, but at the same time, he found it hard to tear his eyes away. One of Zabini's hands raked through Nott's hair, and Nott seemed to be grinding himself against the boy. There were muffled moans, and—oh Merlin, not now—Harry's body was beginning to respond.

He was backing away when Blaise caught sight of him over Nott's shoulder. "Well, well," he said, his eyebrows shooting up. "What's Gryffindor's Golden Boy doing down on the naughtier side of town?" He nudged Theodore, who was sucking on his neck. "Knock it off for a moment." Nott subsided, turning to give Harry a nasty look.

Harry fidgeted, feeling panicked. "I—well—I—it's just that—um—I wanted to talk to you," he stammered.

Blaise tilted his head. "All right. You've intrigued me. Get lost, Nott."

Theodore looked furious, whirling to face Zabini. "What! Listen, you little prick, you can't just fuck about with me and then—"

Harry jabbed his wand in the middle of Nott's back. "Yes. He can," Harry assured him.

Nott stiffened, then slowly raised his hands a little, showing he was unarmed. "Fine. I'm leaving already," he said tightly.

Blaise watched him go, a slight smirk playing across his features. "My hero," he told Harry dryly. "You wanted to chat with me?"

Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Er. Yeah." He suddenly thought that maybe he was making a terrible mistake. Sure, Zabini had mostly ignored him in the past, but he was a Slytherin. Harry wasn't about to tell Blaise his deepest, darkest secret, was he? "Um. How do you tell if someone's gay?" he asked bluntly.

Blaise's eyes lit up. "Well, I generally do something like this," he responded cheekily, grabbing a fistful of Harry's robe. He yanked Harry forward, kissing him soundly on the lips.

Harry was so shocked that he couldn't move at first. Then some nagging little voice pointed out Great, Potter. Stand there like a great lump. It's like Cho Chang all over again, and he tentatively kissed back. Blaise rewarded this by snaking one arm around Harry's waist, pulling their bodies flush together.

Blaise pulled away, leaving Harry's lips feeling oddly lonely. "Wow. Do you have anything less confrontational? I mean, I'm sure it works for you, but I just can't see myself waltzing through the school and snogging blokes left and right, just to see what they'd do. Probably, they'd deck me."

Blaise grinned, looking just slightly impressed with Harry's composure. "You mean you didn't mind my doing it?"

"No," Harry said honestly. "Would you mind if I asked you to do it again?"

Blaise laughed. "I knew you were queer."

Harry felt inexplicably frustrated by Zabini's flippant attitude. "But how?" he asked. "Do I walk funny or something?" Not that he was about to say it, but he'd noticed before that Zabini sort of minced.

Blaise blinked, though he was still smiling. "You're serious." Harry nodded. The smile began to fade. "Potter, there isn't any sure-fire way of telling whether or not a bloke is bent—except for asking him straight out—no pun intended. And then they immediately wonder about you."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Oh."

"You…er, have a bit of an interest in someone?"

Harry shrugged. "Not exactly. I'd just like to be able to tell. I mean, you say you knew that I was, but I've never looked at a bloke and said, 'Oh, he's a pouf.'. Does that make me straight, or just inept?"

Blaise raised a hand to brush Harry's wayward hair back from his face. "It doesn't mean anything, luv," he assured him. "Some people have it, some don't. But like I said, there's no sure way of telling, anyway. You want to catch a boy that badly?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know what I want. How do I even know if I'm really queer?"

Blaise shook his head sympathetically. "It doesn't matter. It's just a label, anyway. There are plenty of wizards that muck about when they're young, and then get married and have kids when they're older. Why not? Don't feel like you have to choose." Blaise looked at him thoughtfully. "You really want to learn how to tell if a bloke likes you?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I really do. Can you help me?"

A sly smile spread across the Slytherin's face. "Meet me in the Room of Requirement tomorrow at eight in the evening."

"What for?"

"We're doing a tutorial. Blaise Zabini's Flirting 101."

OoOoOoOoO

All the way back to the tower, Harry kept imagining Blaise's lips against his. He wondered if they would do it again. He wondered if setting up a class about flirting was, in fact, Blaise's way of flirting. He wondered if Blaise had enjoyed kissing him as much as he'd enjoyed kissing Blaise.

He wandered amongst the returning students in a bit of a daze.

"Hey mate, what's got you smiling like that?" Ron asked curiously. Harry had been about to walk right past him.

Harry shrugged. He didn't suppose Ron would take to his newfound gayness very well. Hermione—permanently attached to Ron by the arm, it seemed—was looking at him curiously, as well.

"I'm pretty sure I've just found out about something that will destroy my life even worse than Voldemort, but I feels strangely good about it, on the whole," he told them casually. He ignored the looks of consternation he received, continuing up to his bed. It had been an eventful day. He had a lot to think about.

OoOoOoOoO

"Sit beside me," Blaise directed, patting the sofa. Harry shuffled forward, wiping his hands on his robes before taking a seat. Blaise gave him an encouraging smile. "Now, you want to learn how to approach a likely lad, right?"

"Yeah. Um. And how to tell if he's a really likely lad. I mean…aren't there signs?" Harry asked desperately. Surely there had to be some way of telling whether a boy was a homosexual.

Blaise sighed. "Look, unless he speaks with a pronounced lisp, sways his hips when he walks, and flails his hands about, limp-wristed, I'm afraid not. And even that might not be enough. Harry, the truth is, if you fancy a bloke enough, everything he does will seem gay. He'll wear a nice outfit, and you'll tell yourself that he cares enough about his appearance that he must be queer. Or he'll dress scroungy and scruffy, and you'll tell yourself that he's trying so hard to look normal, he's got to be in the closet. Finding other males' quirks and interpreting them that way is just inevitable."

Harry groaned, dropping his face in his hands. "Why does it always have to be me?"

Blaise swatted him. "None of that. You aren't afflicted with some sort of disease, nor cursed by a vengeful God. You're just gay. There's no need to be a drama queen about it."

"Right," Harry said with a sigh. "Sorry."

"Anyway, you can at least approach a bloke on the subject of homosexuality to see where he stands. For instance, you could quote a figure, like, 'They say one in ten blokes play for the other team. In a family with six boys, you'd think there might be a chance—"

"Ew!" Harry interrupted, making a face. "I don't fancy Ron. That's just gross."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Look, this is make-believe time, all right? We're just pretending. Even the ten percent figure is likely skewed, so—"

"Can we skip the statistics and talk about the good stuff?"

Blaise's eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. "All right. If you've sort of felt him out on the subject of homosexuality, you might try flirting a bit. You can sit next to him and see if he moves away. You can try touching him—just a little—like on the hand or the shoulder. Like this: 'Hey, Harry! You had a really good game today!'" Blaise squeezed his shoulder gently, letting go quickly.

"So…you just see if it's okay to get close?"

"Well, yes. See how they respond. If they touch you back, or smile, they might be interested. Personally, that's when I think you should ask them. I wouldn't go as far as hugging them, or trying to steal a kiss or something without knowing they won't pound the piss out of you."

Harry watched him carefully. "Have you ever been…beat up for it?"

Blaise shrugged, but didn't quite meet Harry's eyes. "Once or twice. You learn to roll with the punches—rather literally. Plus, I've developed a mean Shrivelling Spell."

"Oh." Harry searched his mind for a way of changing the subject. "What if a bloke is gay? What do you do then?"

"If you know he is, you might step things up a bit. You know…compliment him on his clothes, make jokes, ask him if he'd like to go to Hogsmeade with you."

"Yeah? Right. Okay. What about kissing?"

"What about it?"

"Um. I still don't know if I'm even doing it properly. I've only tried it twice," Harry confessed.

Blaise's eyes widened. "My God, you are too noble for your own good. You could have tested the springs on every bed in Hogwarts by now." Blaise gave him a wicked smile. "Want to practice?"

Harry could tell his face was getting red. "Er. Yes, please?"

"With or without tongue?"

"Gblufum?" Harry swallowed. "I mean, ah, both, if we have time?"

"My lap or yours?" Blaise teased, laughing at the way the red on Harry's cheeks spread all the way to his hairline. "Merlin, but you're adorable when you blush like that."

"Um. Thanks," Harry muttered, ducking his head.

"Now, now, learn to accept a compliment gracefully, as well. What happens if you're interested in a boy and he compliments you and you react with brutish tongue?"

"Can we skip the talking about the tongue and get to doing something with it?" Harry asked desperately.

Several heated minutes passed, two boy-shapes writhing and converging on the sofa. Eventually Blaise turned his head, holding Harry off, hands on his shoulders. "You know, you're a bit sloppy, but your technique isn't bad," he said.

"Why'd you stop?" Harry demanded, aware to an edge of whine creeping into his voice.

"Potter, you are aware you're being graded, aren't you?"

"What—on this?"

"Um-hm. So let's stop using the tongue as weapon to subdue your opponent's, and concentrate on a softer touch, all right?" Blaise slipped his hand around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him gently down. "Try this," he suggested. He flicked his tongue against Harry's lips, cat-like, until he'd coaxed Harry's out. Pressing up just slightly, Blaise swirled his tongue against Harry's.

"Ooooh, I really like that," Harry murmured. Blaise kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Harry returned the favour eagerly, if without any great skill.

"Like I said, you're still rather sloppy," Blaise told him, amused. "But you make up for it in sheer enthusiasm for the lesson."

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, giving his tutor a brash grin. "I think I have a crush on the teacher," he responded. "Are we going to do this every day?"

"Mmph," Blaise agreed as Harry's head dipped down again, suction pulling his lower lip into Harry's mouth. "Or until you're adept at it." He grunted as Harry pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder, then nipped at it a little too roughly. "Which may take awhile," he added thoughtfully.

Harry hummed happily. Aside from having to kill Voldemort at some point, and finish his studies, he had all the time in the world. And really, there were priorities, and then there were…

Blaise tilted his head, demonstrating how to suck on someone's tongue by practicing on Harry.

…priorities.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry stared in the mirror, trying once again to flatten his hair. Blaise had said his sort of all-over cowlick was rather endearing, but he really wished he could look better. More impressive. More suave.

The door opened, and Harry spun on his heel, covering an impulsive grin up with a forced scowl. "You're fifteen minutes late," he accused.

Blaise heaved a sigh at him. "Sweetheart, as much as I love our clumsy snogging time, I do have other commitments, you know."

Harry dropped onto the sofa, gesturing for Blaise to sit. "I missed you," Harry confessed. "You have such beautiful eyes. They're so bright—and your eyelashes are so dark. I swear, if you weren't a boy no one would have a problem with calling you pretty."

Blaise blushed—prettily, but he really couldn't help that, Harry supposed. "Potter…" he said in a strangled voice.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"…Nothing." Blaise forced a smile. "You must be gaining proficiency with your lips, considering the kind of sappy doggerel that comes out of them."

"Oh, I am getting better with my lips," Harry assured him. "Here, let me show you."

With Blaise in his lap, Harry felt like his body was singing, like he had a choir full of angels in his blood, all striking some amazing, heavenly tone that made his heart thunder and skin prickle. Blaise squirmed, and Harry gave a choked cry.

"Merlin, you're amazing," he groaned.

"Practice makes perfect," Blaise informed him playfully.

"Holy fuck!" a voice yelped. "Sainted, virtuous Potter rutting with Blaise Zabini like one of the rest of us lowly sinners? Oh, I can't wait to tell the Prophet about this!"

Blaise hurriedly twisted off Harry's lap, and without the obstruction, Harry could see Theodore Nott standing in the doorway, a nasty smile on his face.

"Nott, don't," Blaise said, reaching out.

Theodore whipped around and was gone.

"No one will believe him, anyway," Blaise assured Harry.

Harry thought back to the days surrounding the Goblet of Fire, feeling daunted. "Yeah, maybe," he answered pensively.

OoOoOoOoO

Rumours were flying by the end of the day. No one had it quite right, but all versions seemed to involve Harry, and all were to the effect that Harry was seen doing something awful. Harry elbowed his way out of the Great Hall early, giving up on dinner in light of so many cold eyes.

On the way to the dorm, Colin popped out of nowhere—seemingly. Harry wondered if he'd been hiding in some alcove, behind some statue, waiting to pounce. "Someone said you were with another boy, Harry," he cried out, scurrying to get in front of Harry, to force Harry to face him. "That you were—you know—doing stuff. With another boy. Kissing. A boy. And—and—with another boy," he trilled, agitated.

"I'm tired," said Harry shortly. "I'm going to bed." He didn't meet Colin's eyes.

"But—it's ridiculous! I want to know why people would say something like that about you!"

Harry ignored him, trying to move past.

Colin grabbed his arm. "What are you going to do, Harry?"

Harry jerked his arm away. "It's none of your business, Colin. I don't want to talk about it." He noticed Colin was staring at his neck. One of Harry's hands rose of its own free will, covering the love bite Blaise had given him. Colin's expression seemed to morph into something like self-doubt. Harry couldn't understand why the boy was so upset.

"Harry…"

"Leave me alone, Colin." Harry hurried up to bed.

OoOoOoOoO

"Will it hurt you?" Harry asked. He and Blaise were stretched out on the couch in the Room of Requirement once more.

Blaise tilted his head. "Will what hurt me?"

Harry looked away. "This. Me. Being seen with me—with a Gryffindor. With Harry Potter. Won't the other Slytherins…" he trailed off unhappily. "Everyone's talking."

The Slytherin's lips quirked. "If I cared what people said, I wouldn't be flagrantly gay, failing Potions, or wearing a vivid purple shirt, would I?"

"There's going to be a cost, you know," Harry warned.

"It doesn't matter." Blaise shrugged. "I don't care if people know I've been with you—as long as you don't care."

Slowly, Harry smiled, the darkness in his eyes clearing. "Really? I—I'm glad you're not—ashamed, or something."

Blaise turned his head. "I've got to get going. Draco Malfoy is supposed to be tutoring me in Potions."

"I'll walk you back to the dungeons," Harry offered.

He thought his heart might pound out of his chest as they walked along, feeling the eyes on them. "This is my stop," Blaise noted, gesturing to the classroom door. "I'll see you later?"

Harry stood awkwardly for a moment. "Right. Um. Later." Then he leaned forward and touched his lips to Blaise's, and Blaise let him. Harry could hear the mutters break out all around them, but he was so happy, he didn't care a bit. Grinning dopily, he said, "Yeah. Yeah. Later."

Blaise laughed softly, gave a rueful shake of the head, and went in.

Harry headed back upstairs. He found Ron and Hermione were waiting outside the tower. Hermione's hands fluttered anxiously, and Ron's jaw was set. To judge by their faces, news had travelled fast. Harry took a deep breath.

"Hey," he said casually.

"Harry, why didn't you tell us?" Hermione asked.

"You're supposed to be our friend. We must have asked you about those rumours at least a dozen times, and you kept shrugging it off. What's going on? Is it true?" Ron asked. His honest blue eyes were uneasy.

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing his scar. "I'm sorry. I should have told you—"

"You're bent?" Ron yelped.

Harry frowned, irritated. "Yeah, I am. I'm sorry. That's just the way it is. I know I should have told you, but…I wasn't even sure, myself." With the two people he cared most about looking at him like he'd mutated into something horrible, Harry felt despair well up. He blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, pulling him into a hug. "You should've told us. You can tell us anything, you know that, don't you?" She stepped back, looking up at him earnestly.

He smiled gratefully, but then realized Ron was still staring. "Ron?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Harry. I just don't know what to think." Still shaking his head, he hurried downstairs, not looking back.

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other, not saying a word.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry went to look for Ron, to try to talk things out, to explain things, but he was nowhere to be found. After checking the Quidditch Pitch, Harry gave up and decided to head back in. Before he made it halfway back, Colin found him.

He seemed to be hysterical. "How could you do something like this?" he ranted, arms waving. "Oh, Harry, how could you? And with Blaise of all people, and he's a Slytherin, Harry, I thought you were really great, you know that, and I can't believe, I just can't—with that slut!"

Harry's hand shot out. Colin stopped, his cheek bright red from the slap. "Don't you dare," Harry said, feeling anger roar up, radiating from some tight place in his chest. "Don't ever talk about him that way again!"

Colin tentatively touched his hand to his face. A lone tear slipped down the side of his nose. "But Harry, he…"

"Shut up, Colin. Just shut up."

OoOoOoOoO

Harry tried to pay attention, but Professor Binn's voice just droned on and on. Harry glanced down at his book, his mind wandering. Ron hadn't spoken to him for two days. Colin was avoiding him, and most of his classmates seemed to give him dirty looks whenever he caught their eyes. He didn't know what to do.

"Harry, do you want help with your Charms homework?" Hermione asked. "I was going to the library anyway, and I thought…"

"Isn't Ron studying with you?"

Hermione gave an unhappy shrug. "He said he wants to be alone. He's been really quiet lately, and sort of—oh, I don't know. Who knows? Boys! Come on, let's get our homework out of the way."

In the library, Harry flipped through his books apathetically as Hermione chattered about their latest assignment. He wished Ron were there—he could really use a laugh, and Ron was so good at lightening things up. Except for lately, of course. Harry wondered whether their friendship would survive this, and if Ron was ever really a friend at all.

"Why aren't you with Blaise tonight?" Hermione inquired after a while.

Harry half shrugged. "He's getting tutoring in Potions. He's crap at them."

"But Snape passes all of the Slytherins. He even passes Crabbe and Goyle," Hermione pointed out. Harry glared, and she looked apologetically back at her book. "Anyway, don't worry too much about Ron," she said. "This whole thing just took him by surprise. He'll come around. Wizards are just—uptight about this. There are so few of them, and I think they worry about the gene pool."

"I'm going upstairs," Harry announced, jerking his chair back. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He didn't want to talk at all.

Hermione looked disappointed, but waved to him. "I'll come up after I've got my notes colour-coded," she told him.

Harry scrambled past the portrait of the fat lady, and keeping his eyes averted from everyone. He wasn't in the mood for it.

"So you take it up the arse?" a voice asked conversationally.

Harry looked up, flummoxed. Dean Thomas stood in front of him, jaw squared. Harry glanced about. Seamus Finnegan was there, too, looking at him curiously, Lavender's face was smudged with disgust, Euan Abercrombie hovered in the background, Neville—even Neville?—stood off to one side, and Colin Creevey was staring at him over the back of the couch.

Harry glared. "What is this? Some sort of intervention? You sit me down and tell me you've noticed I've had a problem with gayness, sort of thing? Tell me I need help?"

Dean's face was impassive. "I doubt it can be fixed," he said. "It's like your body is polluted or something. It's sick. And frankly, it makes me sick. You know you're going to hell, don't you?"

Harry's fingers bit into his wand. "Shove off, Thomas."

"You really are, Harry," Lavender said in a shrill voice. "You don't even know how wrong it is. You've made Gryffindor a laughingstock."

"That's not true," Neville said, his voice trembling. "Harry's done nothing but good things for our house. And the way he's come out and told people the truth—I admire his bravery."

"He's queer, Longbottom!" Abercrombie pointed out angrily. "Don't tell me you admire that!"

"We should cut him dead," Seamus suggested. His face was very pale. "I don't want to hang about with someone like that."

Harry glowered at him. "If you don't want my friendship, that's fine; I'm happy enough to stay away from all of you. If you don't want me hanging about with you, sleeping near you, touching you, or hell, even talking to you, I can accommodate you. I'm ashamed to be a Gryffindor right now; I thought we were supposed to be the good guys. I thought we were supposed to stand up to the bullies and bigots—like Voldemort." Harry looked each one in the eye, staring at them with furious calm, finally resting his gaze on Colin, who had seemed so cheerful—so nice. "And I have to say that I'm really hurt that people I thought were my friends ended up being so hateful," he added quietly.

Dean whipped out his wand. Harry stared at the tip of wood, which was glowing just slightly, seeming to anticipate the hex Dean was about to throw. "Wait a second—you're trying to turn this back on us? We're not the ones who are doing something wrong. We're good people."

"Then why don't you act like it?" a cold voice asked, and Dean half turned to see Ron standing on the stairs to the boys' dorm. "Because 'good people' don't attack others for no reason. 'Good people' don't decide that they're so squeaky clean that they can dole justice out as they see fit. No one's that clean. Everyone has flaws, Dean," he grated. He lifted his wand. "So if you want to fight Harry, you're going to have to fight me, too."

Neville stepped forward as well, his round face sweating. "And me, too. For what good it does," he added with frank lack of confidence.

"This is stupid," Seamus said suddenly. "We're not supposed to be fighting in the dorms. If McGonagall catches us, we'll be for it."

Dean slowly lowered his wand. "I wasn't looking for a fight," he insisted. "I was just saying my piece."

"Well, you've said it. Now let me alone," Harry told him.

Seamus led Dean away, and the group crumbled, drifting apart, muttering.

"All right, Harry?" Neville asked, still looking rather pale.

Harry smiled kindly. "Yeah. You were great, thanks. D'you mind doing something for me? If you could get my trunk and stuff, I think I'd be better off sleeping down here for a while. I don't want to be near Dean, and I doubt he wants to be near me."

"Sure, Harry." Neville hurried upstairs.

Colin clambered over the back of the sofa. "Harry, I—"

"And thanks, Ron," Harry added loudly, giving Colin the cold shoulder. "If there's anything good that came out of that confrontation, it's that at least it proved who my real friends are." He stuck out his hand, and Ron gave him a crooked smile, shaking it awkwardly.

Colin watched, his brow wrinkled. They turned their backs on him, talking about inconsequential things, about classes, and Quidditch, and Hermione. When it was clear Harry wasn't going to look at him, Colin left slowly, heading to his own dorm.

OoOoOoOoO

"…and that's why they're green!" Ron finished, and both he and Harry burst out laughing.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled tolerantly. "Honestly, the two of you have such childish ideas of what's funny."

"But it was funny," Harry argued loyally. He and Ron had worked through almost a week under an unspoken truce, and it was important to shore the friendship up occasionally.

"Idiots," said Hermione fondly.

"Swot," Ron returned, just as fondly. Ron put his arm around her, and Harry gave them a grin. "Want me to bugger off for awhile?" he asked Ron.

"Ha. You're just looking for an excuse to 'bugger off,'" Ron retorted, but his eyes were smiling. "Speaking of which; where is Blaise?"

"He should be just about finishing up his tutoring with Malfoy right now," Harry replied after looking at his watch. "Maybe I'll go down and rescue him from the git." He gave another grin and a wave, and set off to find his boyfriend.

Harry savoured the warm feeling suffusing his chest, relishing the idea that he had friends that stood by him, and a boyfriend waiting for him. He quickly trundled down the dungeon steps and rounded the corner.

He paused at the Potions classroom, steeling himself. He hoped he wouldn't run into Snape—but Snape wouldn't be there. Blaise had said Draco'd sweet-talked the Potions Master into letting them use the classroom for studying. And Snape trusted Draco. So—no need to worry about the slimy git descending like the wrath of god and taking points for no good reason.

Harry swung the Potions room door open and stared.

Blaise was bent over a desk, his dark hair sweaty, one lock falling into his eyes. His face was contorted—that odd twist of pleasure-pain—flushed with exertion, with lust. Draco was bent low over his back, hands pinching Blaise's hip and shoulder, his silvery hair wild. There were a few potions ingredients and tools scattered about, but they obviously weren't being used for much of anything.

Harry gaped at the tableau, which teetered in front of him for a long moment. He had time to take in little details, like the sweat on Malfoy's upper lip, the robes pooled like dark shadows at their feet, the whiteness of Blaise's knuckles where they bit into the edge of the desk.

Then time returned, movement returned, sound returned. "Oh, Draco, more," Blaise was panting, bucking back. Harry's eyes slid inexorably to Malfoy's hips, pistoning.

Harry shuddered, not knowing what to do. He wanted to run, but his legs were wobbily, and his feet wouldn't obey him. If it had been anyone but Malfoy…

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he screamed, startled by his own voice. He was almost embarrassed by his own vehemence, by his own presence, as though he had no right to be there, witnessing the act.

Malfoy jumped in fright, so bumbling and bowled over that it should have been funny. "Potter!" he croaked. He stumbled, trying to get hold of his robes, trying to cover his nudity. "What the hell is the matter with you? Get out of here. Get out!"

Blaise rested on one elbow, making no attempt to conceal himself. "Harry…what are you doing? Calm down; you don't need to get so angry."

This only made Harry angrier, until he was shivering, sputtering with rage. "You—you—d-don't—I—don't believe you. I come in here to find you f-f-fucking Malfoy, and I'm not supposed to get angry?" he demanded, his voice climbing.

"We're not married, Harry," Blaise told him, straightening and giving Harry an oddly McGonagall-like look—disapproving, sour. "The point of the whole flirting exercise was that you learn how to approach someone you really liked. We're not committed to each other. I thought you knew that," Blaise sighed, still not looking at all sorry, and Harry wanted to throttle him.

Harry was silent for a long moment, shame streaming through his anger, augmenting it. "WELL, OBVIOUSLY I FUCKING DIDN'T!" he screamed. "OR IT WOULDN'T HAVE SURPRISED ME TO FIND YOU WITH MALFOY!"

Finally, Harry's feet got the message that he didn't want to be there, and he tore from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

OoOoOoOoO

Colin sprinted into the empty room, rushing over to one of the desks. "There aren't any Defence classes this hour, so what are you doing here?" Harry asked resentfully. He felt some small, mean satisfaction when Colin froze.

"I—I forgot one of my books," Colin said, slowly scooping it up and dropping it in his bag. He blinked slowly, taking in Harry's appearance. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

Harry shrugged, scowling. "This is my best class," he said, aware he sounded somewhat pathetic.

"No doubt," Colin agreed. "That still doesn't explain why you're hanging out here when there aren't any classes, and—and…" he trailed off, obviously not sure how to bring attention to Harry's tears.

Harry wiped them angrily away with the back of his sleeve. He wasn't a pantywaist. He wasn't a nancy boy. He wasn't a girl, dammit. He was just angry. They weren't girly tears at all—they were—they were man-tears, he insisted stupidly in his head.

"Harry?" said Colin tremulously, breaking Harry out of his reflections.

"You'll be happy to know I got what I deserved," Harry replied coldly. "For being a freak. For being queer. For being with someone like Blaise Zabini. I just caught him taking it up the arse from Draco Malfoy down in the Potions lab, so—guess you were right. Aren't you proud of yourself?" he spat.

"Not really," Colin replied delicately. "I'm sorry he hurt you."

To Harry's humiliation, this caused another droplet to spill from the corner of his eye. Colin reached out as if to touch him, but pulled his hand back when Harry looked up. Harry gave him a bitter smile. "Afraid that I'm contagious?"

"No! I—thought you would hit me," the younger Gryffindor admitted, looking upset. "I care about you—I wish I could—do something, anything, to make you feel better."

"You were part of the mob that accosted me the other night," Harry pointed out.

"I wasn't! I was just there—in the common room. I didn't know they were planning anything. I would never do that. I would never hurt you."

"In spite of the fact that you're a homophobe?" Harry asked sceptically.

"I'm not!" Colin gasped, indignant.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy! Harry would never do something like that!" Harry mimicked in a squeaky voice. "Sound familiar?"

The other wizard went very red. "You don't understand," he protested. "I was defending you, and thought that you would be embarrassed if people teased you about being gay. And—and being with me. I was afraid you would be angry with him, or avoid me if people said things like that. You don't get it, do you?" he added wistfully. "You got everything backward, right from the very beginning."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"The only reason I was so upset about Blaise is that I was jealous," Colin told him in a rush. "Blaise is a Slytherin, and you still liked him better than me. And you wouldn't listen when I tried to tell you about Draco. You thought Blaise was so great. It just wasn't fair; I'd liked you for so long, and Blaise didn't care about you at all…"

Harry blinked in surprise. He'd never seen Colin Creevey—carefree Colin Creevey—look so miserable. He got to his feet, straightening his robes. "I—didn't know you were gay," he said slowly.

Colin dropped his eyes. "I—I don't really know for sure," he admitted uncomfortably. "I only know that I—really like you—I'm…you know, attracted to you. Since you 'came out,' it's made me do a lot of thinking. I've reassessed my feelings for you, and realized that it's not just a physical thing; I think I'm in love with you."

Harry was flummoxed. Ever since the scene in Madam Puddifoot's, he'd been so sure Colin didn't like him. Colin looked up. His eyes were a fresh blue, and made Harry think of Quidditch, and flying, and the exhilaration of having a roaring crowd beneath him and a cloudless sky above. He gave the boy a tentative smile. "You're taking the piss, right?

"No. I mean it. Really." Colin blushed brightly, his expression softening into that same adoring smile that Harry was so used to seeing. It turned Harry's pulse into something fierce and sure. "But Harry, how do you even know for sure if someone is gay?" he asked. "I've been wondering…"

Harry could feel his smile stretch. "There's only one sure-fire way that Blaise taught me," he replied.

"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing. Just close your eyes, and tell me if you like it." Colin did so obediently, and Harry pulled him forward, taking surprised lips into a kiss. Colin kissed back eagerly, a slight whimper coming from the back of his throat, and his arms wound tightly around Harry's neck, as though he never wanted to let go.

Soon, Harry had backed him against a wall, and was enjoying how quickly Colin got over the shock of it all, and was running impatient hands all over—down the side of Harry's face, burying fingertips in the cloth of the robes on Harry's back, setting briefly, timidly on Harry's hips.

Harry pulled away so that there was just a small space between them, with Colin's breath beginning to fog up Harry's glasses. "And if you liked that," he whispered, "you're probably gay." He kissed Colin again, quickly, softly.

Colin looked up with wide eyes. "Wow, Harry. I think I'm really gay."

Harry laughed a little, scared and excited at the sudden relationship budding between them. "Well," he said, "I think you're really weird. But that's okay. I kind of like you that way."