Indefinable

"It's too late to cancel," Kingsley said, peering at him apologetically over the cluttered desk. "Everything's already in order."

Harry swore under his breath.

"If I'd known you didn't actually sign up, I promise I wouldn't have put your name down," Kingsley said softly. "But we're in a bit of a tight spot now. I don't suppose you'd consider doing it anyway, would you?"

'It' was a goddamn charity auction for a date with him, and the answer was, without a doubt, no. Harry didn't want to do it, didn't want anything to do with it, didn't want to even be associated with it. But he also didn't want Kingsley to be tied to his desk for the next twelve hours trying to come up with a replacement, and the thought of disappointing him left a bad taste in his mouth. So he sighed and slumped into a chair instead.

"Fine," he said. "But I get to kill George for putting my name down."

"I'm pretty sure it was Miss Weasley, actually," Kingsley admitted, and Harry groaned, tipping his head back against the chair; there was no way he'd win in a deathmatch with Ginevra Bat Bogey Hex Weasley. Kingsley's quiet laughter made his ears burn. He begrudgingly tore his eyes away from the ceiling and met that warm gaze, reluctantly charmed.

"What do I have to do?" he said.

Kingsley explained, and Harry listened, and by the end of it, he was sorely considering challenging Ginny to a duel anyway. Either he won, and vengeance would be his, or he lost, and he wouldn't have to take part in any of this.

"I've changed my mind," Harry said. "Cancel it."

"It's just a few pictures," Kingsley said.

"Just a few pictures of me, and then a whole evening where people bid on me, and then I actually have to go on a date with someone," Harry said, scowling. "This is going to suck. What if I end up with someone who has a Boy Who Lived shrine?"

At that, Kingsley arched an eyebrow, vaguely incredulous. "Do you really think I'd let that happen?"

"The only way you can guarantee that is if you bid on me, and I don't see that happening, do you?"

"Why not?"

Harry's breath caught.

The thing with him and Kingsley was indefinable. And not because Harry didn't want to define it, but rather because no matter how late he stayed up thinking about it, turning it over and over in his mind, he still couldn't put a pin on what they meant to each other. But it was there. It was there every time they picked up each other's coffee order or finished each other's paperwork, it was there during every whispered conversation during boring Ministry parties, and it was there on the weekends, when Harry would roll up to Kingsley's sunlit apartment and take advantage of his excellent cooking skills.

Indefinable or not, it was there, and it brought him comfort.

"I'd say sorry," Kingsley said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "But I'm not. Not unless you want me to be"

Kingsley's gaze was still warm and steady, fixed on him. Harry coughed and looked away, even redder than before.

"You're confident," Harry said.

"Not confident. Just askin' if you're ready."

Harry glanced at him, finding it hard to swallow. He'd forgotten for a moment that it wasn't just him in this strange, indefinable relationship, grappling with what it meant. It was enough to make him feel light-headed. But he wasn't an awkward teenager who hated the world anymore, and as much as Kingsley flustered him, he also bolstered him. He sat up in his chair and tipped his head, strands of hair falling in his eyes.

"I don't know if I'm ready," Harry said, and when the barest hint of disappointment flashed through Kingsley's eyes, he offered him a slow, warm smile across the desk. "You'll have to bid on me tomorrow night and find out."


[Word Count: 665]