Chapter 3: Tea and Talking

Tom came over to the bench I sat on, and I stood up to meet him. Once again he was dressed in smart-casual style, wearing black jeans and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons were undone. How was it possible for him to look like a professional model effortlessly at 10:30 in the morning? He must use magic to be so alluring. Otherwise, it just wouldn't be fair.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Morning Tom"

Tom gestured towards Magnolia Cresent, and a nervous knot developed in my belly as I followed beside him. All I could think about last night was being alone with him in his house, and the things he might want to do or talk about. Many times I considered he'd want to brag about screwing around with Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, rather than just me. But then I considered that while I didn't ask what his actual age was, he was still older than me. It was unlikely he was into other guys, and even if he was he wouldn't want an inexperienced 13-year-old.

"I never asked, but how old are you?" I asked, trying to feign disinterest and failing.

"17. I'll be 18 in December," So definitely not interested in a 13-year-old.

He didn't say anything else, so I didn't respond either. Whereas most silences are awkward, the silent walk to Tom's house was peaceful and comfortable. It was strange to be used to someone so quickly, but I just felt comfortable around him, like we already knew each other. Maybe I should have been warier, considering it could be magic making me feel this way, but I was at a point where I just didn't want to care anymore. I had no friends around and my family hates me, so even if Tom was using magic to manipulate me, then at least he was being nice about it. And there was just something about him, spiritual rather than physical, that a part of me felt connected to.

Tom lead the way through the street, and it was as bad as Privet Drive. All the houses lined the street at an even distance from the path and each other. The path was the same width, everything was done perfectly. Not one thing out of place, each house and hydrangea patch a replica of the one next to it. Except for one. The house we were heading towards had more colour to it. The exterior was painted, a pastel yellow colour that looked like it absorbed sunlight and the flowerbed beneath the window was full of blues and pinks and purples. The brick walls and flowerbeds consisting of only hydrangeas looked dull and uninteresting next to this house. Tom noticed my gaze and smirked about enjoying being special, and having the nicest garden in the street.

"Well it is, it's beautiful." I marvelled, "I'd love to have a garden like this, but no way would my aunt let me."

Tom pulled out his keys to unlock the front door and the interior was unique too. Not only did the place feel strangely homey, but it looked like Tom had placed his stamp on it. The hallway was a grey and the carpet was almost black. But everything else was colourful, like a blue shoe rack and pink photo frames. The pattern of bright furniture contrasting dull walls and floors continued in the living room and open plan kitchen. Everything was just...perfect to me. Kind of wacky but cute, and I knew I'd get on well with the decorator. It felt much homier than the Burrow, and just not as sparse. Money probably wasn't a problem for Tom's parents. He walked me into the kitchen and straight to the kettle. So when he said tea, he meant tea. Fun.

"So, you trust me enough to follow me into my empty house, alone, with many possible dangers. Would you say you trust me enough to answer my question from yesterday, about your friends?"

I looked away. I trusted him, I couldn't help but trust him for some reason, I just didn't want to talk about it. It was a tender topic. He turned away from me, continuing to make our tea. I think I disappointed him by not answering, which made me uncomfortable. I tried to explain that I trusted him, it was just I'd lost my friends and didn't want to talk about it. He didn't respond until the tea was made and we were both sat at the table with our drinks in front of us, though neither of us actually drinking.

"Talking through problems helps you heal from them. Or so I've heard. If you mean that you have no friends, then I'd say you kind of need me. So use me. Talk to me."

I looked into my mug as I spoke, "I had these two best friends, Ron and Hermione. Hermione was the smart one I mentioned yesterday, and Ron was just the guy friend I could say anything to. We've been through some pretty dangerous things together, and I thought if they stuck with me through that, they'd always be my friends. But last year, there was a monster or something that got in the school and petrified a bunch of kids, Hermione included. Ron's little sister went missing and he wanted to wait until Hermione was back in the fight. He was too scared to go without the brains of the group.

"She was cured and checked up. When she left the Hospital Wing, she found the monster's hiding place. We were too late, Ginny was dead. We had to carry her body to the teachers. Ron blames me, and apparently, his family does too. Only four of his brothers don't blame me, maybe his dad. It still hurts because his family was like my family, and now they don't speak to me. Fred and George can't write as often as I'd like. So I'm alone, or I was."

"I'm sorry, that sounds real - if you'll pardon the language - shitty." Tom frowned, reaching over the table to hold my hand. "But you aren't alone. I know I might be asked to leave after I turn 18, but I'm going to try not to. I want to be here for you when you come back next summer. And as many summers after that when you need me. Want me."

I smiled at him, and he smiled back. My hand rested in his, and I felt his magic pulse through me with this familiar heat. I don't think he did it intentionally, which didn't exactly encourage me, but my mind raced through ways to subtly find out if he liked boys. He took his hand back and started to drink his tea. I sipped at mine, ignoring the fact I hadn't asked for sugar so it was bland. And hot. But it distracted me from the increased warmth of my blood, so I welcomed the burn. I lost the reigns on my mind and remembered how nice his ass had looked yesterday, sparking an evening of questioning if I could like boys or if I was mental or something. And if he'd be interested in me in that way. It really isn't helpful, not having a role model I could talk to about this.

"Penny for your thoughts Harry," Tom chuckled. "You look lost in them again."

"I was just re-questioning if it was wrong, if it is wrong to notice how nice jeans make your ass look, if looking makes me weird or mental or something. It kept me up most of last night. I have no other friends to ponder with, and my relatives think everything out of the ordinary is freaky, so admiring another guy's ass would get me grounded." Stop talking!

Tom looked frozen in shock, and I was slightly worried I'd already ruined our budding friendship with my god-awful verbal diarrhoea. He shifted slightly and looked over at me, but I kept my eyes closed as I chugged down my still boiling tea. I felt his fingers move the hand with my mug away from my mouth and we made eye contact. He leant back and just stared at me. Then his eyes moved to my forehead. For a second I considered the possibility of just ignoring that and letting him use me for my last name because I'd never felt connected to someone like this. I'd always thought soulmates was sappy and stupid, a lie from romantic novels to give single women hope, but I could be convinced he was mine. But I had more respect for myself than that. Not much I'll admit, but enough to stand and take my mug to the sink.

"I should go, my aunt will probably want help around the house. See you whenever."

I rushed out of his house and turned a random corner before he reached the door. I watched him look around, and his confusion swiftly changed to rage. He looked like he was about to kick something or someone but just returned to his house. Must be bitterly disappointed to lose the opportunity to use my fame to get things. I can think of a few people that would bend over backwards for Harry Potter's boyfriend. But I guess being interested in boys wasn't as bad as I'd originally started assuming. Hopefully, it would be easy to avoid him. If I didn't leave the house, then I wouldn't see him. Simple, and I wasn't allowed out all that often. I refused to face this problem, I didn't want the violent confrontation that was bound to happen when his rage met mine. Tom was nice enough, but after how angry he just looked, I wasn't so sure Tom would hold back if I hit him. It wasn't strange for me to get angry quickly, I had a short fuse at the best of times, but did I really need to be angry like I was at that moment. Mostly angry with myself. I tried to shake it off and returned to Privet Drive, getting the customary shriek from my aunt about treating them like a hotel before ordering me into the back garden to mow the lawn. At least being back here, things seemed more normal, and my temper calmed. I could forget Tom. Eventually. Hopefully.