7.
I felt miserable the next morning. After the nightmare, I simply couldn't go back to sleep. Dreaming of Voldemort is one thing, but having everything I felt the summer at The Burrow for Charlie thrown in my face and twisted into something foul and loathsome… that was almost unbearable.
Dear Sirius...
I've been staring at those words for the last 20 minutes. I sit alone by the fireplace in the Common Room. It's so early that no one's here except some house-elves who are working frantically to clean without disturbing me.
Dear Sirius,
Have you ever...
Bollocks! I'm sure that would go over well. 'Hey, Sirius – ever fancy a bloke?' Or better yet, 'Hey Sirius, ever wanted to throw Remus on the floor and shag his brains out?' I shudder at the thought. Of course he hasn't! He's Sirius! He's cool and clever and a great wizard.
I shake those last thoughts from my mind. Surely being gay has no bearing on one's greatness, does it? Am I even gay? Maybe I just think Charlie's cute… and Colin… and Cedric. Awful lot of 'C' names in there. But, I think Angelina's fit, and Katie Bell, too. Does that make me bisexual? Maybe Charlie's just a fluke… along with Colin... and Cedric... and Fred and George... oh, and of course there was Oliver, he's rather—
Okay, that's enough! I need to stop these thoughts! I'm getting nowhere. Focus, Potter – write the letter.
Dear Sirius,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits…
I daze off again, remembering those words from Charlie's letter. I can't help but smile. Tonight's the night.
Okay, okay. Focus.
Dear Sirius,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I bet you've heard by now that my name came out of the Goblet of Fire for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You can relax though, I'm not competing. Professor Dumbledore gave me the choice and I chose not to (of course!).
Anyway, I need to talk to you. About my parents. There's so much I don't know that I need to know. I know that times are scary for you, right now. But, if I talk to the Headmaster I'm sure he can arrange for some protection or something and then maybe you can come back to the castle. I'd rather speak to you face-to-face if you don't mind.
Please send a response with Hedwig.
Be safe,
Harry.
I let the ink dry on the parchment, blowing on it to speed it along. Suddenly, hands cover my eyes and I instinctively try to hide the letter.
"Guess who?"
"Uhm..."
Colin releases me and sits across the table. "It's me, silly," he says with a pout, feigning hurt feelings.
"I knew that, uhh... what's your name again?"
"Oh, aren't you the clever one?"
Colins leans over the table and kisses me. He tastes of fresh mint and toothpaste and his lips are soft and plush, far too red to be allowed.
As we kiss, someone bellows, 'awww' from behind me.
Startled, I pull away to find Colin's brother, Dennis, walking down the steps from the first and second-year's floor. He's holding one of Colin's cameras, which seems a lot bigger when held up against his small frame.
Dennis looks like Colin in many ways: the same eyes, the same smile. His disposition is just as jubilant and bubbly. But he's more... rough. He looks like he'll outgrow Colin by a head, certainly and will look more mannish if he can only get rid of the baby fat on his cheeks.
My shock at being caught snogging Colin must be obvious. Dennis sits next to his brother, hands him his camera and smirks.
"Oh, I already know," he says matter-of-factly.
I look to Colin, who's biting his lip, hoping that I don't explode (I tend to do that).
"He's my brother," he shrugs, "how could I not tell him when I'm so happy?"
He beams that smile again and, if I were angry, I certainly couldn't be after that display.
"Come on, then," he says, hopping from his seat on to my lap, "take our picture, Dennis."
"Really?" Dennis croons.
"Yeah. The lighting here is not up to snuff, of course, but..." he turns to look in my eyes, "the scenery is perfect."
Dennis' eyes light up with excitement as he positions himself in front of us, peering through the optic lens and pointing the camera in our direction. Colin wraps his arms around my neck and smiles.
"It'll be a wizard photo..."
"So it'll move?" I ask.
Dumb question, of course it'll move.
He laughs, but not unkindly. "Yeah, that means when the flash comes, don't stop moving until it it's gone."
"What?"
But my confusion is drowned out by Colin's flashbulb popping, filling the room with the purest white light. It completely drowns out everything, washes the colour away from our surroundings. Time seems to stop. No, time does stop, except for me and Colin. It's like we're stuck in a room with no floors, walls, or ceilings. There's no sound or movement, except for he and I. There is only this all-consuming whiteness that defies all logic and reason. I've never felt this sensation before, like I'm a part of everything and nothing at the same time. It's almost as if we've side-stepped reality and taken refuge in a pocket dimension that belongs to us and only us. Maybe that's exactly what we've done.
Colin places his hand on my face, gently tilting my head until I'm looking directly at him. His jubilance is gone. That child-like innocence has been replaced with something more feral, licentious.
"Kiss me, Harry."
The words reach my ear before his lips finish moving and long after, as if there were a chorus of Colins making the request. The sound of his voice wraps around me, envelopes me. It fills my bones and chills my blood. I lick my lips in response and lean forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. Our lips touch and I feel him gasp into my mouth. He reaches up with his other hand and holds my face still as he tilts his head and kisses, then tilts the opposite way and kisses again. His tongue parts my lips and dances in my mouth. His hand slides down my chest, brushing against one of my nipples through the material of my shirt. I tense; he smiles against my mouth, but his hand doesn't stop. Instead, it makes its way to my crotch. He cups my hard cock and gives it a light squeeze, making slow rubbing movements with his thumb. I almost loose himself in his kisses and his groping. I want to lift him up and fuck him right here, in this vast void that seems to diminish everything, yet make them a thousand times more intense.
Abruptly, the white light begins to collapse on itself, bringing the room – and Dennis – back into focus. Colin's lips are still latched on to mine, his tongue still caressing the inside of my mouth.
"I hope it comes out okay," Dennis says, gingerly placing the camera on the table.
Colin pulls back. His eyes dart across my face, inspecting every pour, memorizing every line and crease. I can't help but be mesmerized by him. The confidence he exudes – the courage – he makes me feel like I could take on Voldemort... and win.
"I'm sure it'll be perfect," he answers with a smile.
We hear the pattering of feet from the stairwell. Colin slides off my lap and walks to his brother's side just before some second-years enter the Common Room. I slide my chair closer to the table in the hopes of hiding my hard-on.
Nigel Desmith, one of Dennis' friends, swings by the table, clapping him on the back.
"Wotcha, Dennis – Colin?"
His eyes dart to me, but he doesn't say anything.
"Ready for breakfast?" he asks.
Colin and Dennis stand and slide their chairs under the desk. Colin doesn't take his eyes off me.
"Ready," Dennis answers. "See ya, Harry!"
"Thanks for the picture," Colin says as he makes to walk away.
I call out to him, "Hey! When can I see the picture?"
"Meet me in the darkroom before dinner," he answers, walking backwards towards the door. "We'll uhm... see what develops."
With a wink and a nod, he's gone and I'm left with a raging hard-on and no one to take care of it. Tease.
•Š•
The Owlery had been moved to an adjacent tower for easier access for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang schools. For Hogwarts students, however, it is quite the trek, especially during crisp, cold mornings such as today. I trudge along the winding cobble-stoned trail looking over my letter once more. I've known my godfather little under a year, now. I don't want to sound like a whinging prat.
As I reach the topmost steps, I begin to hear voices, two of them, in fact. I slow my pace, not wanting my steps to give me away. (It's funny how when you want to be quiet, every step – every breath – appears to be amplified ten-fold.)
"… can't believe you're being like this," I hear one of voices say.
"Well, I'm pretty fed up, Roger," the other person snaps, venom in each word.
The second voice is more familiar. I creep closer to one of the open windows of the tower to get a better listen.
"We have plans, you break them," the familiar voice says, "yet, you have plenty of time for Fleur."
"Cedric…"
Cedric?
The other voice, the one belonging to Roger, continues, "There's no need to get shirty over it. Fleur isn't going to be here much longer. She'll be leaving after the tourney." His tone is insolent, as if berating a child. I find myself almost offended... how dare he? Cedric's no bloody sprog!
"Oh, and I'm here forever, then?" Cedric asks, condescendingly. "Is that it?"
"Well… not in so many words, of course."
"I get it, now," Cedric laughs, "You can treat me like shite all you want because never mind good ole Ceddie, he'll always be here waiting, yeah?"
"Oh, come off it, Cedric. Don't be that way."
"What way? 'Shirty'...?" Cedric spat, his tone mocking.
"Shhh! Keep your voice down!" Roger hissed.
"Why the fuck should I?" Cedric's practically screaming, now. "Who's going to hear us? Who's going to see us? We're at the top of the Owlery at 6:45 in the fuckin' morning!"
"You never know—" Roger tries before being cut off.
"I bet you're going to ask her to the Yule Ball, aren't you?"
Now, it's Roger's turn to get angry and bothered, "Oh, did you really expect me to take you?"
Did my ears just make up that whole exchange? Did my brain suddenly decide to trick me into thinking Cedric and this 'Roger' bloke – whoever he is – were… dating?
Cedric's answer is weak, his voice strains as he answers, "Maybe I was."
"That's rubbish, Cedric and you know it," Roger exclaims, sounding slightly hurt. "I can't believe you, of all people, would lie to prove a point."
"Oh, that's rich coming from you, sodding coward."
There's silence in the room, now – maddening and strenuous. It seems to last forever, like being stuck in that weird time hole brought on by Colin's wizard camera. A thousand thoughts swim in my mind as I try and wrap my head around the implications of this… lover's spat? Is that what this was? I'm so distracted that I don't hear Roger's footsteps stomping towards the door. By the time I realise anything, Roger is already standing outside, staring at me as I lean against the building.
"Oh, ahhh… hello," I say, sheepishly.
I realize that 'Roger' is Roger Davies, sixth-year Hufflepuff and captain of the Quidditch team. He's a handsome lad, certainly, if a little stuck on himself. If anyone thought Draco Malfoy was bad, they must have not met Roger Davies. His ego is large enough for three Slytherins.
His eyes pierce through me, narrowed and reproachful.
"What are you doing sulking about?" he asks, more an accusation than a question, really.
"I wasn't 'sulking'," I retort, rather sulkily, "I've a letter to send."
He walks over to me, stepping closer than my comfort level affords.
"What did you hear?"
"I haven't the slightest notion what you're referring to, Davies," I reply, mustering as much of a derisive sneer as I possibly can. I must say, I bet I give Malfoy a run for his money.
Roger gives me the once-over before storming down the steps and walking back to the castle. I take a deep breath, trying to decide if I should just leave Cedric in peace and come back later.
I step in the Owlery's foyer where Cedric stands with his back to me looking through the window along the fall wall. I hope he doesn't question me like Roger had. I doubt I could lie so convincingly to him.
"Cedric…?"
He turns to face me and smiles. Even from this distance I can see his puffy, bloodshot eyes. This makes the second time I've caught him crying, the second time I thought him beautiful for it.
"Good morning, Harry."
Cedric's hair is a dishevelled mess, as is his clothes. It's almost as if he just finished wrestling; his wizard's robe is open, revealing his white Oxford shirt only half tucked in. His tie hangs loose around his neck, almost threatening to fall by the wayside. I've never seen him in such a state. He's always been so... perfect.
"Uhm... I…"
I'm at a loss for words. Before, I had a reason to be there when he broke down. What's my excuse now?
"… Post," I say, holding up the letter, as if that answered the unspoken question that I'm not even sure he was asking.
Cedric nods and turns away, looking out of the window as he leans on the sill. Slowly, I walk to his side. We have a spectacular view of the Forbidden Forest and, to its west, the Great Lake. I smile as I try to find the area where I'll be meeting Charlie tonight.
"You heard it all, yeah?" Cedric asks, bringing me out of my daze.
'Now's the time,' I tell myself, 'Lie just like you lied to Roger.'
"Yeah."
"That's… not the way I wanted to come out to you," he offers, still staring at the Great Lake.
I turn and look at him, quizzically.
"You have no obligation to come out to me at all, Cedric," I offer. "It's none of my business."
"Are you seeing someone, Harry?"
Again, I tell myself to lie to him, to say that I'm single, available. Part of me believes that, too. After all, Colin and I have yet to actually say that we're together, right? He hasn't called me his boyfriend or anything of the sort.
"… Yes."
He jerks his head to look at me.
"Really?" he asks, with far too much surprise for my liking.
"Yeah," I reply, swallowing hard.
"Who?"
After a beat, I answer, "Colin Creevy."
His eyes widen and his jaw drops, though his lips remain tight.
There's a dramatic pause before he continues, "I can totally see it."
"Sorry?"
"He's beautiful. You two would look beautiful together."
I blush, a piece of me feels the same. But, there's another piece of me that wants to sod it all and just grab Cedric and kiss him. To hell with the Colins and Charlies of the world! But where's that 'Gryffindor Courage' gone to? Colin had it. I'm shamed by his courage. After years of me hiding from him, avoiding him, and treating him like an annoyance, he was brave enough to kiss me without regard to the consequences. I'm the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived! I've faced Voldemort three times, fought off a horde of Dementors, and avoided being mauled by my professor-turned-werewolf. This should be easy! We have so much in common: Seekers, wizards, and uhm… well, er... boys. Okay, maybe we don't have that much in common. Regardless, this shouldn't be that difficult a task. Yet, here I stand, a letter held too tightly in my sweaty hand, too scared to move – too scared even to breath.
His eyes dance across my face, again, stopping short of my lips before veering off to my neck. His eyes begin to fall into a slow blink and his smile slowly becomes genuine. Abruptly, he pushes himself from the window sill and reaches for the top buttons of his oxford. My throat gets dry and my cock begins to swell as I envision him taking off his shirt to reveal his taut body. Instead, he buttons his shirt and straightens his tie, his gaze still fixed on me.
"Shame that I waited too long then, yeah?" he asks.
Was that a rhetorical question or did he actually want an answer? Regardless, Cedric didn't wait for a response; he simply walked away. His arm brushed against mine as he made his way out of the Owlery. Before the door closed behind him, a slight breeze carried his scent of ocean and vanilla to me. I was left dazed, confused….
… and wanting more.