Chapter 2

Smiling Party

Hermione looked at the white door in front of her nervously, her stomach churning as her eyes caught the metal plate with the number 'B2-26' written in black stuck on it, a little relieved that the door had no peep-hole. It was ridiculous. Why should she feel anxious about meeting with her best friend since she was eleven? The hazel-eyed woman scowled briefly before bracing herself again.

Harry Potter had disappeared as soon as their batch graduated from Hogwarts. Completely. He didn't stay in contact with anyone. No one knew where he went after he left his God-forsaken relatives. It was like he was running away from the Wizarding World, running away from everything, but how could it be? To everyone's eyes, Harry was nothing short of a pure Gryffindor – always brave, courageous and responsible. Even a Slytherin like Draco Malfoy, Martinis and Theodore Nott stayed and fought against Voldemort, albeit secretly, why not Harry? It was true that Cedric, Sirius, and later on Colin had died for him, but why did it make him run away? By right, it should have had made Harry more furious at Voldemort and more determined to kill the scaly-skinned bastard. Apparently, Hermione, and many others, were wrong.

People had been trying to look for him for months. It wasn't an easy job at all. Hermione and Ron should know – with strong magical powers like that, Harry would never be found if he really didn't want to be found. But somehow, Hermione knew that Harry wouldn't have left Britain. It was his home for eighteen years, and to think about Harry hiding away somewhere in America was, somehow, too bizarre.

A few days after Hermione's visit to Martinis Nott and his unique fiancée, who was more than eight years younger than him, the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries managed to come out with a report as to where Harry Potter might be living at now. After some discussions, it was decided that she, as his old schoolmate and best friend, should be the one to waltz to his apartment at 44 Scotland Street and knock his door, or rather, ring his doorbell, a feat which she was trying so hard to do now.

After a while, Hermione took a really deep breath, thought, 'well, I can't very well stand here for the whole afternoon and wait for him to come out on his own accord, can I?' and pressed her finger on the red bell. "Ting Tong!" it rang with a resounding sound.

"Yes," Harry shouted from behind the door, oblivious that one of the demons of his past was standing on his doorstep, and opened the white door, a smile on his young handsome face. "How can I help-" As soon as he saw her, he stopped his speech, his smile faltering, shock evident in his emerald green eyes.

"Hi Harry," Hermione whispered to him, afraid of the commotion that was to come.

Harry didn't reply. He simply shut the door on her face.

Astonished at his reaction, she lunged to the door and slammed it with her fists. This wasn't what she had predicted. "Harry, let me in and talk to you! Harry, please!"

The man behind the white door didn't answer her for the longest of time.

"Harry!" the brunette called for him desperately, taking out her wand. "Alohomora!" she tried many other types of spells, but the lock didn't budge. Harry must have put a ward around his flat. She put her wand back to her pocket and resolved on hitting the door, forgetting about the neighbours. It was until her hands were red that she finally stopped, and sat on the floor, her back leaning tiredly on the object she had been abusing for the last fifteen minutes or so. She was sighing tiredly when approaching footsteps were heard, and soon enough, a pair of legs stopped in front of her.

"My dear," a gentle male voice resounded from above the witch's head, "How can I help you?"

Hermione looked up, and found herself staring at a pair of grey eyes that reminded her of Draco's eyes. But this pair of grey eyes was different. Instead of being guarded all the time like the blonde's, they were open, and tender, framed by long and thick black eyelashes that cast a shadow on the young man's pale cheeks, touching the lenses of his spectacles. He smiled softly from his bent position as she looked over him, the light twilight breeze blowing his neat black hair, his fringe parted in the middle, the reddish gold sunlight making his black hair look bluish.

He offered his hand to her to help her stand up, and smiled again as she took it. "I am Eriol. Eriol Hiiragizawa," he introduced himself to her, his gentle smile widening. Hermione wondered whether it would ever disappear from his face. "Are you looking for Harry?"

"Yes," the brunette answered hesitantly, "but he didn't want to answer me…"

"Hmm," Eriol looked thoughtful for a second before he smiled again, a smile that was almost familiar to her, and pulled out a key. "I'm his flat mate," he stated to her, "I'll open the door for you."

"But-" Hermione protested, with regards to Harry's feelings.

"It's okay," Eriol said, and flung the door open, "I'm sure he actually wants to talk to you," the Eurasian said in a lower tone as he pushed her in. Hermione's eyes widened and she was staring incredulously at the man who couldn't stop smiling, as Eriol took off his shoes and shouted, "I'm home, Harry."

"Welcome home, Eriol," Harry replied as he came to the other black-haired male and pecked him on the lips. Again, his ability to talk deserted him as he saw Hermione standing awkwardly on the porch. Harry stuttered a few words before he could successfully ask, "Eriol, what does this me-?"

"She's your friend, is she not?" the grey-eyed young man, who was around her age, smiled again. "You don't mind if I let her in, don't you? It's cold outside. Besides," he lifted the grocery bag he had been holding, "I'm going to cook dim sum for dinner tonight. Let her enjoy it, won't you?"

"Eriol," Harry wanted to protest.

"Talk to her, Harry," Eriol stopped smiling for once and stared seriously at the wizard's green eyes. He went back to smiling a few seconds later, though, and walked to the kitchen. "Please make yourself comfortable, Ms Granger," he turned his head and smiled at her, "I'll prepare some tea for you. Do you want Earl Grey, normal English tea, Chamomile tea, Jasmine tea, Milk tea, Lemon tea, or any other type of tea?"

Hermione was almost floored. "No, thank you…I…"

"You should," Harry said in a small voice, throwing his face away as she turned to look at him, "Eriol makes very good tea."

The guy in navy blue sweater standing at the door to the kitchen smiled gratefully at the ex-Gryffindor for the compliment.

"Well then…Milk tea please, and a piping one," Hermione turned to Eriol, a small smile tugging on her own lips.

"Please wait for a while," he disappeared to the kitchen, and the hazel-eyed female sat on the guest-cum-living room, which was decorated mainly in red, blue and yellow colours, illuminated by the darkening lights of twilight entering the area through the big glass window leading to the balcony, where some laundry were hanged to dry. Harry followed her quietly and sat on the couch adjacent to hers.

They were silent for a while, both staring at the intricately designed white tablecloth on the low table, which was made of light-coloured wood, and thinking. Finally, Hermione looked up and broke the silence. "Eriol…is a very nice person."

"He is," Harry answered quietly. When Hermione thought that that was the only thing her schoolmate was going to say, the green-eyed wizard continued, in a fond tone, "He is more than nice. He's kind and talented."

Hermione hesitated before she asked her next question. "Is he…your lover?"

The room fell into a dead, uncomfortable silence once again before Harry gave a small, quiet nod.

The witch paused before she asked again. "H-How long have you known? Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry was soundless again for some time before he answered, in a very small, almost frightened, voice. "I knew if from the beginning of Seventh Year…and…I didn't tell you because you because I thought…you would be disgusted by me…"

Hermione stood up straight away and kneeled in front of her best friend. "Harry…" she called him softly, lifting her hand and running it through his messy black hair that was unbelievably but undeniably soft. "Whatever you are, Harry, gay or not, you are Harry, my best friend," she whispered tenderly before wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "don't leave me again."

A tear fell to her shoulder and soaked to her maroon sweater before Harry returned the hug. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he breathed, sobbing quietly.

They stayed like that for a while before Hermione returned back to the seat she was previously occupying. Harry wiped the tears off his tanned face and both smiled softly and understandingly at each other before the witch's eyes widened a tiny bit. "It was Draco, wasn't it? You had a crush on him, didn't you?"

Harry blushed, his face turning pink adorably. "H-how do you know?" he whispered.

Hermione shook her head lightly, making her frizzy brown hair twirl slightly in the air. "Whenever we are near, Harry, I'm always watching you." She smiled affectionately at him. 'Yet I was wrong about you. Why did you leave, Harry?'

She decided to voice her thoughts then. "Harry, why did you leave us?" she inquired, her face worried, her brows furrowed upwards.

Silence seemed to be a common occurrence in this near-discomfited conversation. Harry, whose head had lifted up after the hug, lowered his head again. When he answered the question, his tone was grave and guilty. "I want to run away. I can't stand it. I don't want anymore people to die because of me."

"It's not your fault at all, Harry," Hermione remarked straight away, "A war is brewing. And in war, people have to die. It's something that cannot be helped."

"I know, Hermione," Harry sighed, and his shoulder slumped even lower in tiredness and stress. "But I couldn't stop imagining their faces in my head. Everyone else's too, looking hopefully at me, wanting me to save them. The thing is I'm not a God, Hermione. I'm just a human," he raised his head and stared at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears, "I'm just Harry."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione closed her eyes. It's too painful to look at his expressive green orbs. "But if you're not there, many more people will die… Please return, Harry…"

Harry frowned sadly and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Hermione, but I-"

"The tea is ready!" Eriol announced as he entered the room with an additional pale blue apron on, carrying a large tray on his hands. The ex-Gryffindors forced themselves to smile at him as he set the cups down to the table. "Do you want any sugar in your tea, Ms Granger?" Eriol asked her smilingly. Hermione shook her had, and the grey-eyed male handed her a cup of piping Milk tea. "Here is yours, Ms Granger." Hermione thanked him and took the cup from his hands.

The Eurasian turned to his flat mate and handed him a cup of tea as well. "Here, your favourite Apple tea, Harry."

The Boy-Who-Lived regarded the pale man with a smile. "Thanks, Eriol."

"Hmm, it tastes good!" Hermione commented after she took a sip and put down her white porcelain cup on the tray. "You really can make a good tea, Eriol!"

Her reply was, as usual, a smile. "Thanks, Ms Granger," he said in his trademark gentle, and almost feminine, voice, as though it never broke.

"Call me Hermione," the witch grinned, "I can't remember your family name, so I have to call you with your given name, and it sounds weird when you call me with my family name. You're a Eurasian, aren't you?" she leaned down curiously, resting her elbow on her knees and her face on her palms.

"Yes, Hermione," Eriol stood and turned to look at her, "my father is a Japanese."

"Hmm," the brunette hummed understandingly, "and where are they now?"

Harry frowned lightly. "Hermione, don't-"

"They're dead," Eriol answered her without losing a beat, his smile unfaltering.

"I'm sorry," the hazel-eyed young woman said, her face sympathetic.

He shook his head, though. "Don't be," Eriol responded, before he turned to look over the window at the dark blue sky, his grey eyes glazing over for once, "it was a long time ago." Before anyone had the chance to speak, though, he smiled again. "I better return to the kitchen and cook the desert."

"Let me help you," Harry scrambled up from the couch and followed the other black-haired male.

When Harry arrived at the kitchen, his lover was decorating a custard cake. Harry grinned and, before the Eurasian could say otherwise, used his finger to pluck a small piece up and put it in his mouth, some cream smearing on the sides of his lips. Eriol shook his head and tried to cover the plucked part, with the green-eyed man leaning on the counter next to him, watching him noiselessly. The paler man let him be until he was done with the cake. Just as he was putting the cream-shaper down, he said suddenly. "You should be where people need you most, Harry."

The ex-Gryffindor's eyes widened. "Huh?" Harry asked dumbly as the shorter Eurasian turned to him, the smile still on his face, pale finger reaching out to the smeared cream on his tanned cheek. The smile disappeared as Eriol licked the cream off his finger and sucked it lightly; his grey eyes smoldering, entrancing Harry into seduction. He stretched his hand to hold the taller man's face and kissed the end of his lips, licking the creams off his skin completely. Harry moaned softly, his voice thick with desire, but just as he was about to snog his lover senseless, Eriol pushed him back and smiled again, the smile Harry was beginning to think as infuriating.

"Harry, you should just sit and accompany Hermione," the man in apron stated, "I'll join you soon at the dining table."

Feeling flustered and a little confused, Harry obeyed, but not before giving Eriol 'I'm so going to debauch you tonight' look, in which the other man replied with another infuriating smile.

Hermione almost giggled when she saw the horny look on Harry's face when he rejoined her in the guest room. She was just amusing herself by looking around at things, which were so clean and stacked very neatly on their proper places. "Tell me, Harry, were you the one who adorned this place?"

"Of course not," her counterpart scowled and pouted, "I have no sense of art what-so-ever, weren't you the one who told me? Eriol did it all."

Hermione watched him scowling at nothing in particular and asked again, in a softer voice. "Does Eriol know that you are a wizard?"

"No," Harry retorted even softer, "and I do not intend to."

Noticing the drop in the mood, Hermione tried to joke. "So you two did all these without magic?" she gestured at the clean floor, the laundry, the unfinished sweater knitted halfway lying on the left side of the low table, and whistled, "he's one rare man."

"I told you Eriol is talented," Harry finally stopped scowling.

"And he's so modest," Hermione added, "unlike a certain someone…"

Before the ex-Seeker managed to say anything about the reference made to a certain blonde pureblood,

Eriol came out of the kitchen with many dishes and put them on the dining table. "Dinner is ready!" he announced happily to the Hogwarts-graduates in the guestroom. Harry and Hermione walked to the dining room and Hermione was awed at the food he cooked. They all looked delicious and smelled very alluring. The two seated themselves around the table. "I can't wait to taste them," Hermione said excitedly to Eriol, who was setting the plates.

Just after she said that, the doorbell rang, and she could hear someone running to the dining room. An Asian woman in a pink sweater with long brown hair and energy like those of a man came and hugged Eriol from the back. "Eriol-kun!" she said in a sing-song voice, "I want to eat at your place tonight!" She then opened her dark brown eyes and saluted at Harry. "Hey, Harry-kun!"

The ex-Gryffindor smiled back at her. "Hey, Nakuru."

Nakuru walked around the table and sat opposite to Harry. She noticed Hermione and asked. "Eriol-kun, are you having a guest?"

"Yes," Eriol answered as he sat next to her. "She's Harry's friend. Her name is Hermione Granger."

"Hmm…" Nakuru grinned widely and offering her hand cheerfully over the table, "I'm Nakuru. Nakuru Akitzuki. Eriol-kun's old friend from Japan. Nice to meet you!"

Hermione accepted the hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you too, Aki…"

"Na-ku-ru," the lively woman said, "Call me Nakuru, 'Mione-chan!"

"O-okay, Nakuru." Hermione liked her. She seemed like she was purely happy, and her bounciness was catching.

"That's great!" Nakuru smiled at everyone before grabbing a bowl and a pair of chopstick from the kitchen cabinet and filled her bowl with rice. "Everyone, let's eat! Don't let Eriol's good cooking to waste!"

And so the four of them ate. As they were eating, Hermione was watching Harry's lover from the corner of her eyes. He really could do anything, this guy. His shrimp wontons were especially delicious. Eriol caught Hermione's watching eyes and smiled at her. Yes, she thought, he could be approved as Harry's boyfriend.

After dinner, Eriol and Nakuru retreated to the kitchen to do the dishes, while Harry was sending Hermione, who decided to go home, off. "Thank you for the food, Harry," the frizzy-haired witch smiled at her best friend, "and thanks for…for today. I hope-"

He cut her off before she finished speaking. "You're always welcome here, Hermione, but I can't return," Harry looked at her with sincere and melancholic green eyes, "I'm sorry, Hermione."

He then closed the white door, and she apparated back home to talk to her boyfriend about all that had happened that day.

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The night proceeded. Nakuru too, departed to her own flat after she finished the dishes, leaving Harry and Eriol alone in the apartment. As soon as the Asian was gone, Harry almost practically dragged Eriol to his room and snogged him senseless. "What were you doing in the kitchen, kissing me than pushing me away?" the green-eyed man mumbled to his pale skin as he was trailing kisses to his lover's white throat.

"Nothing, really," Eriol panted softly, moaning as Harry nibbled on his earlobe, "I didn't know why I did it."

It was the last coherent speech both men said before they proceeded to strip each other and devour each other's body. Harry was riding waves and waves of pleasure, tight heat enveloping his length and he thrust to his lover's body faster and deeper. He was almost over the edge, and all he could see were intense grey eyes and pale skins as far as his eyes could see, he couldn't help but forget the person he was with and shouted, "Draco!" as he came.

It was after Eriol came and lay breathless on the bed below him, not looking at his eyes that he realised his mistake. He sat straight up and apologised profusely. "I'm really sorry, Eriol, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay," Eriol responded as he sat up as well, and smiled as Harry looked at him with an extremely remorseful face. "I know you're not in love with me."

The ex-Gryffindor's green eyed widened. "You…know…?" he whispered almost inaudibly.

"I know," Eriol nodded, "and don't feel guilty, because I'm not in love with you either. But I love you."

They fell into a quiet understanding before Harry felt a need to at least explain. "Eriol-"

"It's okay, Harry," the grey-eyed man said once again, the moonlight making his black hair more bluish, "Everyone has a secret." He then lay back on Harry's bed and closed his eyes. "Now, Harry, I'm too tired to move back to my bed, may I sleep here?"

"Of course," Harry lay down next to the Eurasian and pulled the blankets up to cover their bodies before cuddling against him. "Of course."

TBC

A/N: the Harry/Eriol is only at the beginning. Don't hate me for it.