Title: Mr. X

Chapter: 2

Author: Arawna

Disclaimer: Anything pertaining to Harry Potter and Co. does not belong to me, rather to JKR and anyone else who has stuck their hand into this cauldron.

A/N: I am well aware of the mistakes in Harry's texting…that's half of the point.

Harry was lying in his bed later that night, staring at his ceiling, contemplating as to whether or not he should go to sleep in the very near future when a sound resonated from his bedside table. Rolling onto his side, he grabbed his phone before it could vibrate itself right off the edge and onto the floor. He flipped it open to find the now familiar 'new message' image beaming back at him.

Good evening, you illiterate ignoramus.

He scoffed as he glanced over at the clock on his night table.

well hello to you too, sunshine. since when is half eleven evening?

Oh, picked up a dictionary, have you? Finally found out you're supposed to spell it 'y-o-u'?

It was true; Harry had decided to at least spell his words right and (unless you asked Ron) only half of it was because Hermione had threatened unmentionably horrid curses if she ever caught him spelling wrong. Though, his friend had failed to mention anything about his grammar - this time.

your insufferable

The response was quick, as per usual.

…My insufferable what?

huh, what do you mean

This response, however, took a little longer to receive.

You know, if I could slap you up along side the head, I would. I can't believe that the years haven't been kind to your intelligence; you're still as dense as ever.

The words 'still as dense as ever' stood out to Harry. Did that mean that whoever this was knew him when he was younger? He thought it best to find out.

did we kno eachother when we were younger?

The reply wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

'Each other' is two words.

Harry rolled his eyes at the fact that X was trying to circumvent the question with a correction.

answer the ?x

And here I thought we'd gotten past using symbols instead of words…I guess that's what I get for thinking.

Despite that Harry had no clue what the other man looked like, he could very easily picture him dropping his shoulders melodramatically with his head hung slightly and a sigh on his lips. The disbelieving shaking of his head would cause soft hair to dance before closed eyes.

Harry grinned at the sight his mind had made up.

are you always gonna correct me?

No, because then I'd have time for nothing else.

He could practically hear the other's scoff in the words.

just answer

I'll tell you at the end of the week, if you hadn't already figured it out, okay?

fine

There was a moment when no one sent a message and, if they had been face to face, he knew they'd be avidly avoiding each other's eyes, trying to find something to continue the conversation neither wanted to end. Harry's eyes wandered the room, racking his brain for some idea of a halfway decent topic and waiting for the phone to vibrate in his clasped hands.

Finally, his gaze fell upon the large, magicked poster hanging above his desk. Dubbed the 'Best Players of the Decade', a team's worth of professional Quidditch players were poised on their brooms in an almost intimidating 'V' formation, each with their own team robes. On both ends, were the Beaters - Seamus (who turned out to be quite a better Beater than Ron had originally thought) in his bright green Kenmare robes and the other wearing the black and white of the Magpies. Chasers came after them: Angelina from his old Hogwarts team in her Harpies robes and the girl next to her Tornados garb. On the other side, the Wasps' Chaser was next to Oliver, looking comfortable in his Puddlemere United uniform. And in the middle was the Seeker of the Flacons, with his arms crossed, near-trademark smirk in place on his lips, chin raised slightly and an almost challenging glint in his ashen eyes.

Harry sighed. Some things never change, but at least the poster reminded him of the question he'd been denied an answer to earlier.

so what team do you play for?

Harry didn't even bother to close the phone as he waited for the reply. His wait was short lived, as the phone vibrated in his fingers only a moment later.

The boys' team; and here I thought that was obvious.

He let out a soft chuckle at the ridiculously vague answer.

i kinda figured the harpies wouldn't have you

As he pressed the send button, his mind wandered to a scenario where the Harpies would make an exception and allow a man onto their team. If such a thing had happened, the story would be all over the press and the Prophet would surely make the man out to be some insanely prodigious ponce. Vibrating against his chest pulled Harry from the thought of an absurdly alluring man attempting to push himself through a mob of reporters.

Oh, we're talking Quidditch?

Harry stared at the screen for a moment, confused. He was halfway through his response before he realized the innuendo.

what are you…OH your a perv!

How is that perverted? Because men appeal more to me than women (which really isn't hard, seeing as how women revolt me); is it really so disgusting to see two men together?

Harry just looked at the words on the screen. He'd never actually known anyone who was gay before. Sure, he'd learned that Charlie had a serious boyfriend, but he hadn't found that out until only recently, and he hadn't actually spoken with Charlie for quite sometime. What he was trying to say was that Charlie didn't count since he wasn't really close to him.

uh…no i've no problem with it i guess

He could feel his cheeks burning something fierce by the time the next text came in.

So, which team do YOU play for?

uh gotta go to sleep. up early tomorrow and all…talk to you later.

Harry quickly shut off the phone lest he should feel compelled to read the next message that was surely on its way. And he definitely didn't want to reply to anything; he didn't want to be coerced into confessing to some stranger when he hadn't even confessed to himself.

TBC