Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/n: Glad you guys liked the first bit. I would like to thank E r i a h for betaing this for me and putting up with my poor grammar and Ex Mentis for looking it over for me.
Let me know what you guys think! Any feed back is appreciated.
Without further ado, here is part two:
Please enjoy ~
Part Two: The Boy
The next Friday Harry once again found himself sitting on a swing in the rain. He hoped that the boy would come back, though Harry was unsure of what he would do if he did.
The dark haired boy did come back. Just as he had before, he hoisted himself onto the high wall opposite the swings. He pulled the now very crushed, and nearly empty, pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
Harry got off his swing. He started to cross the grass toward the boy perched on the wall. He had no idea what he was doing and was sure he was going to get himself into some sort of trouble, as he so often did when he would suddenly decide to go do something. He had yet come to regret any of these impulsive decisions.
The boy hadn't noticed Harry's approach; he was struggling to get his lighter to actually light. Harry was getting close and at a total loss of what he was going to do once he got to the wall; it didn't help that he was just slightly terrified of what might happen. He was near the wall when the boy looked up after successfully lighting his cigarette.
The boy looked bemused; he stared at Harry a moment, before taking the cigarette from his lips and held it carefully between two fingers. He looked expectantly at Harry, who, when standing next to the wall, only came up to the boy's hips.
The boy cocked his head, dark bangs falling into his eyes; he let out a breath of smoke and asked, "You want something?"
Harry stood petrified and desperately tried to act as if he wasn't actually scared shitless. He cleared his throat and prayed to something, anything that whatever he said was at least partially coherent, and that his voice wouldn't crack. And he opened his mouth.
Marcus stared incredulously down at this kid, this kid who had just asked-albeit a bit shakily- for one of his last precious cigarettes. He was honestly surprised that the kid had approached him at all; he tended to intimidate people.
When Marcus first noticed the kid he expected him to ask for directions or something equally stupid. Not for a cigarette. Marcus really didn't want to give one of the last few cigarettes up; they were a pain to come by and hella expensive, and the kid didn't really look like he wanted it. And then he, like the total moron he was, opened his mouth without thinking.
"Give us a kiss then."
What the fuck? Did his brain just not work? Fuck. Too late, he was just going to have to go with it. Of all the moronic…
Harry stared at the boy, open-mouthed. He didn't think he could have heard properly.
"Um…excuse me?" he asked mortified.
"You heard me-give us a kiss and I'll give you a cig. That is, if you really want one," the boy easily responded, his dark eye's daring Harry to do it. And Harry, having already stopped thinking rationally, did.
Honestly it wasn't much of a kiss, more of a peck really. But Marcus was totally caught off guard. He hadn't actually expected the kid to do it and was forced to begrudgingly hand over a cigarette.
Up until this point Harry felt that he hadn't made a total fool of himself, but after the kiss he was in shock. Yet he somehow managed to light his cigarette on the first try.
The odd pair stood in silence and in the end got a sort of conversation going. Marcus' thick jacket kept most of the rain off, but he would periodically toss his head trying to keep his jagged bangs out of his face.
He eyed Harry's uniform, "You go that place on the hill?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly from the smoke.
"Foxwood? Yeah, I go there. It's pretty awful really, filled with the very rich, the very pretentious who like to pretend to be the very rich, and then there's me."
Marcus nodded. He wasn't exactly sure what "pretentious" meant, but he had the gist of what Harry said, and figured it was just better to nod along.
After a great deal of awkward silence, Marcus stubbed out what was left of his cigarette and stretched, "I gotta get going, see ya around."
Harry watched him jump off the wall, start down the cracked concrete path, and disappear into the woods on the edge of the park.
As soon as he was out of site Harry stamped out his half used cigarette and spat as a desperate attempt to rid his mouth of the foul taste.
"That is utterly disgusting," he muttered darkly, wiping his mouth.
Harry slumped against the wall and sat heavily on the wet ground. He closed his eyes to better contemplate what had just happened. He'd always been able to think better when he cut himself off from the rest of the world.
It was then that he realized a few things in quick succession. One, he had just kissed a boy. A boy he didn't know anything about. And that just happened to be his first kiss. Harry had never held any particular romantic notions about first kisses, but he would have liked to have at least known his name.
His second realization was far more important, and slightly more dire. His parents wouldn't be going out that night; his father was visiting a friend his mother didn't like all that much. If Harry didn't start running that very second his mother would beat him home. She would smell the stupid cigarette on him, and then she'd yell and rant and ground him forever.
He didn't hesitate; he took off across the wet grass towards the swings. On his way past, Harry scooped up his old school bag and sprinted out of the park. He came flying down the hill toward his house, his foot struck an uneven bit in the side walk and he narrowly missed a very painful fall into the post box on the corner.
His house was in sight, the gate closed and Harry's lungs screaming for relief. As he reached the drive instead of slowing he vaulted the gate. He stumbled up the steps, fumbling to unlock the door. Once he got into the house, he habitually checked the clock on the book shelf in the hall and paled. It was a miracle she wasn't back yet.
Harry all but threw his old bag into the living room to the right of the stairs, not caring that his things went skidding half way across the room. He started up the stairs, feet pounding, stripping as he went. He tripped over the last step, while trying to rip off his dripping pants.
He skidded into the laundry room, bundled his clothes into the washing machine, and slammed the lid closed.
When he glanced out the window he could see his mother's car coming up the drive.
Cursing, he flicked on the washing machine and dove into the shower, fumbling to turn the water on not caring that it would most likely be frigid.
He held his breath, standing under the icy spray waiting for the front door to open. When it did, he slumped to the floor in relief. He had made it, although he thought it was much closer of a call then he would have liked, and he didn't plan on repeating the experience. His fingers scrubbed his dark hair, all the while trying to avoid thinking about the awkward dinner that was sure to follow his rushed, and mostly very cold, shower.
The water was just starting to warm to an acceptable temperature when he flicked it off and stepped-shaking-from the shower. Without James around to act as a buffer his mother was free to ask all sorts of prying questions that Harry would really rather not answer.
But, Harry reasoned that his mother's prying for a night was far better than his aunt's family coming for dinner. He would take awkward questions over spending any amount of time with Dudley every time without fail.
Dinner, as predicted, was a mess of awkward silences and even more awkward conversation, and afterward Harry collapsed on his bed, the whole day running through his exhausted mind. He decided that if all his Friday's were anything like this one he'd go mad.