Someone is following him.
Harry doesn't look back over his shoulder to confirm it, just senses that the man who has been a careful block and a half behind him for the last twenty minutes is still there.
He keeps walking, his pace exactly the same. In the middle of the next block, he pauses to look into a shop front. Rather than admiring the flowers on display, he takes the chance to confirm the man (or wizard, more likely) is indeed still there.
Sure enough, the wizard has paused in front of a newsstand.
Harry's been here for about a week now, in this Muggle town Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins decided to make their home. Long enough that Harry is somewhat familiar with the layout of the streets in the downtown area.
With a plan still forming in his mind, he starts back down the street. At the corner, he takes an abrupt turn, dashing across the street just as the light turns red. A disgruntled motorist sends Harry a rather rude salute before tearing back down the road after nearly clipping him. Harry keeps moving, turning off the main drag into into a smaller side street. He takes another immediate left into a garbage-strewn alleyway.
Halfway down there's an old, dark record shop, and Harry ducks inside.
Striding down the aisles of old vinyl, he picks a spot between a stack of cassette tapes and an over-sized dust jacket of a Blondie album. From here he can just see the street through the dingy windows. He waits. It's less than five minutes before the wizard passes by looking harried and rushed.
Harry waits another five minutes to make sure the wizard won't backtrack.
"Do you have a back door?" he asks the guy behind the counter. He doesn't even look up from his copy of Rolling Stone, gesturing vaguely towards the rear of the shop.
"Cheers," Harry mumbles before wandering through what is clearly a stock room to an exit labeled with a dim neon sign.
Rather than opening into an alley, Harry finds himself in the loud, busy kitchen of a Chinese restaurant. Someone yells at him in Cantonese, and Harry smiles apologetically before escaping out into the main dining room. Content that he's lost his tail, Harry pauses, his stomach growling in response to the smells of the restaurant.
Lingering over a menu, he eventually orders some twice-cooked pork and a large side of chow mein. With food in hand, he cautiously steps back out onto the main street. It's more crowded now with the mid-day lunch crowds, and there's no sign of his stalker.
He retraces the familiar path back to a residential neighborhood full of carefully tended townhouses, going up the steps of the third one on the left with a door painted dark blue.
"Hello?" Harry calls out as he steps into the entryway. There's no answer. He dumps the food in the kitchen and continues back through the house.
Hermione and Ron are sitting out on the small screened-in porch looking over a miniscule yard with a splashing bird fountain. A ceiling fan works against the gathering warmth as spring advances into summer.
"Hey," Harry says.
Ron gives him a welcoming smile that seems rather relieved as well. "Mate. There you are."
"Sorry," Harry says. "Got a little lost."
Ron snorts.
Harry lays a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I brought some food."
She glances up at him, giving him a distracted smile that honestly looks more like a grimace. She still looks worn and unrested, fragile in a way he's rarely seen.
"What do you say we eat out here?" Ron says, voice thick with fake cheerfulness for all he's talking softly.
"Yeah," Hermione murmurs, seeming content to stay where she is. "Okay."
Ron goes inside with Harry to get plates.
"You alright?" Harry asks, eying his mate.
"Yeah," Ron says. He determinedly lifts his chin. "We always knew it wouldn't be a spring broom ride, right?"
Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less difficult. Hard on Hermione, of course, but also for Ron, as he tries to be there for her the best he can. It's been three days since they put Hermione's parents into the local Wizarding hospital. It was every bit as horrible as Hermione must have feared, her parents wild with confusion and fear and demanding to know who they were and what was happening to them.
"Why are you doing this?" Hermione's mum asked.
"Everything is going to be okay," Hermione promised them through her tears. "No one will hurt you."
Of course that meant nothing to Mr. and Mrs. 'Wilkins'.
It's been three days since then. Three days of silence after the Healers asked them to stay away for a full week.
"How's she doing?" Harry asks.
Ron pulls out forks. "Pretty much the same. If she's not doing paperwork and making tellyphone calls, she's sitting out there."
Hermione's been coping by throwing herself into taking care of her parents' affairs—paying their bills, making excuses to their employers.
It honestly reminds Harry a lot of the way she was after Ron first left last year, but doesn't dare say so. "It's good that you're here," he says instead.
"Well," Ron says, "it's not like we were gonna let her do it on her own, was it?"
"No," Harry says.
After lunch, Harry pulls back a curtain on the front window and peers outside. The wizard is back, leaning against a lamppost across the street a few houses down.
"He still there?" Ron asks.
"Yeah."
"You ditch him again?"
Harry shrugs. "It's kind of fun."
Ron snorts. "Which part? The actual ditching or the making the Ministry look stupid?"
"Both," Harry says.
It's not the first Auror he's spotted following him around since he's been in Australia. So it's not surprising or anything, but that doesn't make it any less annoying. He can only assume Kingsley has been in contact with the local Ministry. Still pulling strings from halfway across the world. It's really hard not to resent that.
That evening, Harry decides to ignore his Auror, settling on a park bench to read a lengthy letter from Ginny detailing Hufflepuff's win over Ravenclaw the previous weekend. The game was apparently very low scoring, Hufflepuff surprising everyone by proving to be a defensive powerhouse. According to Ginny, it was still a closer match than Gryffindor's apparent throttling of Slytherin a few weeks before. He can tell she still hasn't quite forgiven herself for the loss.
Still, her analysis is actually pretty funny, and surprisingly in-depth, like she's working out new strategies as she describes them to him.
Her letters have been coming less often the last month, even if they are still as long as ever. He tells himself that's a good thing, because if she's too busy to write she must be doing well. From their content, it seems like she's more involved with things than she was earlier in the term. He knows it's been a struggle for her, and it's a good sign, even if he can't help but think her letters are starting to feel more distant as they start to be more and more about castle events.
His own aren't much better, there being only so many things to say about this town or Hermione's parents.
Leaning back on the bench, he rolls up the parchment and spends the next half hour brainstorming new ways to ditch his babysitter.
"You know," Ron observes, frowning down at the playing cards fanned out in his hands, "I think this game could be greatly improved if we played with an Exploding Snap deck."
"You say that about all Muggle card games," Harry points out as he discards.
"Yeah, well, if there's no chance of getting a third-degree burn, what's the point?"
Harry gamely grins, knowing Ron is just trying to keep them both distracted while Hermione is talking to the doctors through the Floo in the living room.
Ron turns to look at the closed kitchen door.
"Hey," Harry says, nudging him with his foot. "It's your turn."
"What?" Ron says, spinning back around. "Oh, right."
He makes a terrible play, but neither of them comment on it.
The door pushes open, and Ron jumps to his feet, cards instantly forgotten. "Hey," he says.
Hermione gives him a tight smile, her face wan. "They say I can come in this afternoon. See if there's any chance they..."
"Okay," Ron says. "We'll come with you."
Harry nods, pushing to his feet as well.
Hermione shakes her head. "You don't have to do that."
Ron moves closer, his hand on her arm. "It's not about have to, 'Mione. We want to."
Hermione looks up at him, her eyes rather glassy with tears. "I'd really…" She sighs, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. "I just think this is something I need to do on my own."
Ron frowns, clearly looking like he wants to push. "If you're sure."
"I am," she says.
"Okay," he says, pulling her into a hug. "Can we at least walk you there?"
She lets out a soft laugh, turning her face into his chest. "Yeah."
Harry sits back down at the table, carefully collecting up the deck of cards to give them a moment.
They walk her there in the afternoon and then sit on the steps out front and wait, Ron getting up to pace back and forth every once and a while. Harry just sits and watches a young mum with two kids in the park across the street.
It's been less than a half hour when Hermione comes back out tight-lipped and pale, and Harry doesn't have the heart to ask for details, still too busy feeling guilty. Ron seems to know just what to do though, deliberately making a mess of something in the kitchen when they get back just to give Hermione something to distract herself with.
After dinner, the two fall into their familiar bickering routine that these days often leads to something else entirely, so Harry decides to make himself scarce.
Intending to go for another walk, Harry steps out on the stoop. As always, his stalker is across the street. For once, he just doesn't have it in him to lead him on a wild chase. Instead, Harry heads straight for him, leaning against the fence next to him and shoving his hands in his pockets.
"So what exactly did you do to get stuck with this assignment?"
The Auror looks at him over the newspaper he is supposedly reading. He tries to play it off. "Excuse me?"
Harry's torn between annoyance that they didn't assign someone better and relief that it probably means there isn't a real threat or anything.
"It's got to be excruciatingly boring," Harry continues. "I mean, I tried to make it more interesting for you, but ditching you is starting to lose its luster." He tilts his head to the side. "I could try to get attacked instead or something. Do you even have Death Eaters here? Do you call them something else?"
For a moment it seems like the Auror might continue trying to bluff, but eventually he sighs. "You're a pain in the arse, you know that, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shrugs. "People have told me that before." He holds out his hand. "Harry."
The Auror reluctantly takes it. "Gerard."
Official introductions completed, Harry sits down on the curb, kicking his feet out in front of him.
Gerard finally seems to relax when it becomes clear that Harry has no intention of running off or hexing him. "Does this mean we can stop chasing each other all over the bloody place?"
"Deal," Harry agrees.
It takes him another week to even notice the other Auror.
"And only because I let you," Barina informs him as she falls in step next to Gerard one day.
Harry can't be sure if she's just that good, or if he's let his guard down a little too much since he's been here. Looking her over, he notes that the pair of them make the most unlikely looking team he's ever seen—even more than Tonks and Mad-Eye. But that thought brings up a horrid tightness in his throat, so Harry focuses on his new babysitters instead. Gerard is middle-aged and going to fat, his fair hair thinning. Barina is short and dark with an abundance of frizzy hair and a nose ring.
Now that they are all speaking to one another, Harry takes to drilling them for information. "So, do you like it? Being an Auror? What was the training like?"
"Oh, no," Barina complains. "Are you an Auror groupie?"
Harry feels his face warm. "No," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was just curious."
"You interested in serving?" Gerard asks. "Because I'm trying to imagine how that would work. People always stopping and staring at you in the streets."
Barina snorts. "Asking for autographs and hitting on you."
"I'm not that famous," Harry tries to hedge. Not a single person here has ever bothered him after all. It's strange and nice all at once, even if it means he isn't really sure what to do with himself. At least that feeling of having constantly forgotten something hugely important has started to fade.
Gerard and Barina have both come to a stop. They're looking at him like he's an idiot.
"What?" he asks.
"You realize that you're our job, right?" Barina says. "We know everything there is to know about you, Potter."
Gerard nods. "Yeah. Read every article ever written about you, every report filed at your Ministry. It was a god damned library ."
Barina groans at the memory. "You know it ain't all dark wizard chasing, right? Mostly it's a lot of waiting around for something to happen."
Gerard nods. "And paperwork. You wouldn't believe the piles of paperwork."
"We should let Potter do it for us," Barina suggests. "Like an internship! That'll cure him of the inclination right quick."
Harry rolls his eyes and considers ditching them again.
Ron comes home the next afternoon having gotten a job in a kitchen at a Muggle pub of all things.
Hermione looks horrified, but she's the one who has been fretting over how to pay her parents' mortgage, not wanting to take yet another thing away from them by letting them lose their house and refusing to take more money from Harry. Either way, the Healers have made it clear that they are going to be here for a while, and they're going to have to find a way to make ends meet.
"It's fine, Hermione," Ron says with an easy smile. "I get to learn to cook Muggle!"
She turns to Harry with wide eyes.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Harry says with confidence he doesn't feel. "Just so long as he isn't cooking actual Muggles."
Ron cracks up.
By unspoken agreement, Harry goes in with Ron on his first day, mostly just to make sure Ron doesn't make a muck of the statute of secrecy. Fortunately, everyone seems quick to blame any quirks on their being British. After a while, Harry eventually picks up a few shifts clearing tables and washing dishes. Not exactly exciting, but it brings in a paycheck and fills the days.
Hermione goes a step above and gets herself a clerical job with the local Ministry. Having a letter of recommendation from the Minister of Magic of Great Britain certainly helps, and Harry tells himself it's stupid to resent the way people still seem to be manipulating their lives even from this far away.
The worst part is that she spends the next few weeks boring them with endless talk of comparative civics.
"Merlin," Ron complains when she's out of hearing. "It's like being back in school again."
Harry doesn't mention the way Ron looks at her whenever she beings to blather on about it. Some things are much better left unsaid, especially when you're stuck living with your two best mates who also happen to more than likely be shagging.
But that is definitely another thing Harry does not think about.
And so they settle into their new lives as the Healers slowly pull back the charms imposed by Hermione, to see if there is anything left of the Grangers. Before they know it, the holidays are upon them.
It's hard to get into the festive feeling when it's hotter than anything Harry has ever felt. He honestly didn't know places got this hot. Still, there's fairy lights and wreaths and all the trappings of Christmas despite the sweltering heat.
"Just you wait," Barina says as she walks him back to the Grangers'. "We haven't even started."
On the stoop, he says goodbye to his Aurors, promising not to stir from the house until morning. They give him relieved looks and disappear. Back home to their families, hopefully.
Harry opens the front door, the smell of dinner rushing out to meet him. Ron's been planning something fairly extravagant, anything to take their minds off another holiday far from home.
Harry kicks off his shoes. "Smells good," he calls.
He comes to a stop in the sitting room, his greeting dying in his throat. Hermione is sitting on the sofa next to a young blond woman.
"Harry," Hermione says, voice overly enthusiastic and bubbly as she gives him a nervous smile.
Harry schools his expression, ignoring Hermione and turning instead to the woman watching the exchange with obvious amusement. "Cass," he says. "I didn't know you were coming." He looks at Hermione. "What a surprise."
"Oh," Cass says, "Ron and Hermione insisted."
Harry smiles at her as best he can, because as little as he knows her, they do work together at the pub. "I'm sure they did." He nods his head towards the kitchen. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if Ron needs any help."
Cass gives him a knowing smile. "Sure."
Closing the door to the kitchen behind him, Harry casts Muffliato and turns on Ron.
"What did you do?" he demands.
Ron looks up from the pot he's stirring. "Now don't get mad. It was Hermione's idea."
Harry glares.
"Okay, okay. We both thought it was a good idea. Cass is nice! And objectively attractive, if I noticed things like that anymore."
"And also a Muggle," Harry points out.
"Merlin, Harry. Don't be prejudiced."
"Are you kidding me?" Harry very nearly shouts.
Ron seems unperturbed. "At least we know she isn't after the Chosen One, right?"
Harry sighs. "Ron."
He relents. "Look. Just try to relax and try to enjoy yourself, okay? She didn't have anywhere else to go."
Harry frowns. "Really?"
Ron shrugs. "The scuttle at work is that she's estranged from her family or something. I don't know. Seemed a sad time of year to be alone."
"Well, then," Harry says, feeling his anger fade somewhat. "I suppose that's different."
Ron looks relieved to have avoided Harry blowing up at him. "Look, we know you aren't going to marry her or anything. It's just meant to be a little fun."
Harry gives him a sharp glare. "What would you know about a little fun?"
Ron laughs. "Fair point." Grabbing Harry's shoulders, he pushes him back towards the door. "Now go be nice while I finish dinner."
"Yes, Mum," Harry says, resigning himself to small talk.
It's actually fine. He knows Cass from work, and she's always been nice enough. A bit of a laugh, really. Fortunately she also doesn't make anything awkward, either missing the strange undercurrents or choosing to ignore it.
Dinner is really good. Ron's skills in the kitchen have only improved with his crash course in Muggle cooking. Enough that Harry wonders if his wand was the thing getting in the way. He makes a mental note to mention that to Ginny in his next letter. She'll probably find that amusing.
"Harry?"
"What?" he asks, looking up from his plate to find Hermione staring at him from the other side of the table, a stack of desert plates in her hands.
"I said I'm going to help Ron with the dishes," she says, giving him a pointed look. "Why don't you walk Cass out?"
Harry is going to kill her later.
"She's not very subtle, is she?" Cass says as they walk to the door.
"I'm sorry about this," Harry says, rubbing at the back of his neck.
She shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. I had a feeling it was a set-up when Ron asked me."
He looks at her in surprise. "And you came anyway?"
She shrugs. "There are worse ideas."
Harry blinks. "Than dating me?"
"Sure," she says, smiling at him in a way he imagines is supposed to be charming. "It would certainly mean I didn't have to deal with any trouble at the pub anymore, being your girl."
Harry frowns. "People are giving you trouble?"
She laughs. "No need to go all super intense," she says, waving her hand at his face. "I just mean everyone would be on their best behavior. And no one would dare skimp on my tips."
Harry isn't so certain. "You think so?"
She smiles at him, her head tilting to the side and her curls bouncing becomingly. "You really don't see it, do you? You're not exactly the kind of bloke someone messes with."
Harry honestly has no idea what she means by that, because at the pub he's just the bumbling Muggle kid who washes dishes, not a Chosen One or dark wizard defeater.
"Look, it's fine if you aren't interested," she says, pulling to door open and walking out onto the stoop. "I'm not looking for anything serious. But if you ever need a plus one to get your friends off your back, just let me know."
Leaning into him, she presses a kiss to his cheek before waving and disappearing down the steps. He stares after her.
"Are you going to be okay getting home on your own?" he calls out, frowning out over the dark street.
She turns to look at him, walking backwards down the sidewalk with her arms thrown wide. "Why? Going to offer to walk me home?"
Harry curses under his breath, pulling the door closed behind him before darting down the steps after her.
What Gerard and Barina don't know won't hurt them, he supposes.
At work, Cass treats him the same as she always has, and they don't mention it again. Harry is relieved. But he also can't help but think about what she said, not about dating her, but about people being on their best behavior at the pub.
It's been about a week since Christmas when out of the corner of his eye he sees it, a customer's hand reaching out and brushing the hem of her skirt where it falls just above her knees. Cass gives the bloke a thoroughly artificial smile and steps out of the way as much as the enormous plate of food in her hands allows her to. The arsehole follows after her, saying something Harry can only imagine is lewd to judge from the way Cass's face tinges pink as the rest of the table laughs.
She stands frozen a moment, and Harry realizes she's trying to figure out how to deliver the last plate of food without getting bloody groped. Or fired.
Harry doesn't think, just strides over and takes the plate from Cass's hands.
"Harry—" she starts to say, looking alarmed.
He ignores her, stepping up behind the guy and plopping the plate down in front of him, some of the food slopping over onto the table.
"What the—" the bloke exclaims, looking up and almost comically startling when he realizes it's not the pretty waitress that is pressed up in his space.
Harry doesn't move back, leaning one hand on the table so he is even closer. "Eat your food. Tip your waitress very well. And keep your hands and your comments to your fucking self."
He hasn't kept his voice particularly quiet, and he's aware of a lot of eyes on him. He ignores that for now, focusing instead on the customer.
The guy is definitely bigger than Harry, and much older too, but Harry's always been quick. Of course, there's four of them if his friends decide to throw in. It could get interesting.
Harry hasn't had a lot of interesting in his life in a while.
The guy tries to scoot his chair back, but Harry puts his other hand on it and holds the chair in place. "You should also apologize."
The tension in the room seems to ratchet up while the guy thinks about it, his friends shifting in their chairs. The arsehole resorts to trying to stare him down, but Harry just stares back, his fingers twitching for his wand.
It's probably stupid that Harry's disappointed when the guy backs down. His eyes dart towards Cass. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Didn't mean no harm."
Not exactly glowing, but Cass gives the guy a nod, smiling as if it's no big deal.
Harry straightens, staring at each of them in turn. "Enjoy your meal."
He lingers another few minutes just to make sure there won't be any more trouble before heading back for the kitchen.
Ron's in the doorway, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Having fun?"
"Loads," Harry says, not particularly wanting to admit that he'd be having more fun if the guy hadn't backed down.
"Do you even know how to fist-fight?"
"I know how to duck," Harry says.
Ron doesn't look so sure. "Remember, we've always done our best to leave the punching to Hermione."
Harry lets out a reluctant laugh.
Ron pats him on the shoulder. "Next time just give me a little warning, will you? I've got some serious cast iron pots back here."
Harry grins, in no way surprised to hear that Ron wouldn't hesitate to throw in with him. It would hardly be the first time, and probably wouldn't be the last.
"We totally could have taken them," Harry says.
"Oh, no doubt," Ron agrees with a laugh.
Harry keeps an eye out the rest of the night, but everyone seems very well-behaved.
He pays a lot more attention the next week though, realizing that while no customers usually act quite that badly, they still treat the waitresses in a way that doesn't particularly sit well with him.
He watches Cass leave one night and thinks about that arsehole customer, and her walking home alone. The way she freezes sometimes when there's an unexpected noise. The way it feels familiar in all the worst ways.
"Cass," he says, stopping her.
She turns, smiling at him. "Yeah?"
"We're going for drinks later, if you'd like to come," he practically blurts.
"Yeah?" she asks, looking strangely hopeful.
He nods.
She hooks her hand through his arm. "I'd love to," she says. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek before returning to her tables. "See you later!"
Unsurprisingly, drinks with Cass is fun and simple, just like she promised. It's almost ruined by how pleased Hermione looks, but it is nice to have someone to talk to when he starts to feel like a third wheel.
And so they fall into a comfortable pattern leading into the New Year. Whenever he has somewhere to go, he takes her along, and she returns the favor. It keeps Hermione off his back, and Cass seems more relaxed at work. Harry still has to step in from time to time, but word of his protectiveness seems to spread because the incidents happen less and less often. He still never gets to punch anyone, though Ron threatens someone with a rolling pin once.
Outside the pub, everything stays rather light and uncomplicated.
She never asks about the roll of parchment he carries around or why he has a security tail. Why he's in Australia or how long he intends to stay.
She seems utterly incurious, and he returns the favor by not wondering why she never talks about her past or why she would want to waste her time not-dating him.
Nothing serious, he reminds himself.
Ron lifts his glass, peering at the liquid sloshing inside. "You know," he says, voice overly loud as they lounge in a rather rowdy bar. "Muggles may be barmy, but they sure know their way around alcohol. I mean, this shite would make a Thestral blind."
He laughs at his own joke, and Harry, despite knowing better, laughs along with him.
Cass looks up at Ron from where her head is resting on Harry's shoulder, her feet tucked up under her. "I don't even know what you're on about half the time," she says.
Harry thinks it's probably fortunate they're all pretty drunk. The slip-up will be easy to play off.
At least it would be if Hermione didn't immediately whisper furiously in Ron's ear, the words statute of secrecy hissed loud enough to be audible. Not that Ron seems to mind being ranted at by Hermione, his arm wrapping around her waist as he smiles dopily at her. When she pauses in her diatribe, he drags her closer and says something in her ear that has her entire face flushing.
Harry looks away, leaning forward to refill his glass only to find the pitcher empty. "Bugger," he mutters.
Cass swings her feet to the floor. "I can't watch this anymore," she declares, gesturing at Ron and Hermione, who are now nearly in each other's laps.
"Me either," Harry says. Especially if there isn't going to be any more alcohol.
Cass pokes him in the arm. "Let's get out of here."
Harry nods, getting to his feet, pausing as everything swivels.
"You alright?" Cass says.
"Sure," Harry says.
They say their farewells, but Ron and Hermione don't even notice as far as Harry can tell.
Outside, Cass winds her arm through his, and he's gotten used to it at this point. She's kinda touchy-feely, especially when she's been drinking. He finds it annoying sometimes, but tonight he kinda doesn't give a crap.
He leans his head back, looking up at the stars. He still can't get over the basic disorientation of the constellations not being where he expects them to be. Beyond his required astronomy classes, he never gave them much thought at all. He still knows they're wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
"Are they really necessary?" Cass asks.
"What?" Harry asks, struggling to focus back on her.
Her head cants towards Gerard where he's leaning against a nearby light post. "Like, is your life in danger or something?"
"Oh," he says, wondering if his words are slow or just his brain. "No. That's just—" He waves a hand in a vague gesture. "Stupid, really."
"Good," Cass says, smiling at him. "Then let's ditch 'em."
"What?" he asks.
She grabs his hand, pulling him along with a laugh. "Come on, Harry. Live a little!"
It's there again, that strange disorientation. Live a little. She tugs his arm insistently.
"Right," he says, and lets himself be pulled away because he's pretty sure he's supposed to.
Soon enough they are running down the streets, taking random turns and laughing hard. Harry can hear Gerard cursing and running to keep up, but doesn't stop. He's got a stitch in his side and knows they can't do this for much longer.
He tugs Cass into a dark doorway, pressing into the shadows and casting a subtle screening charm that if he were sober he probably never would have risked in front of her.
Gerard darts right past them.
"How did he not see us?" Cass asks, dissolving into giggles.
"No idea," Harry lies.
She leans back against the wall. "God, that was fun."
Harry's heart is still thundering from running, and yes, it was fun. Doing something stupid and childish and none of it mattering really. That's what he should be doing, right?
Her face nearly level with his, and it's kind of like the stars, the way it doesn't quite feel right.
Things are really hazy at this point, so he isn't really sure how his mouth ends up on hers, who actually moves or what happened, just knows that it feels pretty okay. It's kind of sloppy and she's kissing him rather aggressively and that isn't that great, but he honestly doesn't care because he doesn't want to think right now, everything just spinning and spinning.
Her arms wind up around his neck, her body pressing against the length of his, and it's a bit of a shock, like he's forgotten what it feels like to be touched, to have someone near him, holding him, and suddenly he really wants that. Wants to be wanted, or something. Needed. He doesn't know, just kisses her back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.
Everything tilts dangerously, Cass letting out a slight yelp, and it takes Harry far longer that it should to realize that someone has opened the door that they are leaning against. The woman gives them a scandalized look. Cass just laughs and tugs Harry's hand. He follows her out into the street without a word, his hand tight in hers as they wind their way towards her flat.
It takes a while to make it to the right part of town, but Gerard is back and looking cross after only a few blocks.
Once on the correct stoop, Cass fumbles with her keys, nearly dropping them, and Harry takes them from her, not doing much better himself, but eventually getting the front lock undone while she laughs and leans against him. He pulls the door open, and she ducks under his arm.
Grabbing at the front of his shirt, she draws him into the doorway, her mouth back on his, but this kiss lacks all of the mindless rush of the one before, like he's sobering up or his thoughts have caught up with him or something. He tries to ignore it.
She tugs again, her intentions very clear, but his feet stay firmly put. Harry glares down at them.
Nope. They are definitely not moving.
"Right," he says, leaning back and squeezing her hand before letting go. "Night, Cass."
She doesn't protest, just blinking back at him in confusion before saying, "Night, Harry."
He turns and walks away, trying not to think the entire way back. Just stares at the pavement and focuses on the heavy tread of Gerard's footsteps behind him. Back at the Grangers he slinks upstairs past Hermione's room, pretending not to notice that Ron's bed is empty before falling face first onto his own bed.
He wakes the next morning not a little hungover and feeling really, really terrible. And not just because of the alcohol.
But why the hell should he?
Live your life.
He's just doing what he promised. Having a little fun as Ron put it. It's what he's supposed to do, isn't it?
Only that is a complete load of bollocks, and he knows it.
He doesn't want to mess about. He doesn't want a bit of fun. Not with anyone, really. And certainly not with Cass. He likes her too much. But also nowhere near enough. And she has no idea what or who he really is, and he has no intention of staying here, and that isn't fair to her at all.
The truth is he never wanted not-serious with anyone in the first place. And there is only one person he wants anything more with. And that is not Cass.
"Bugger," he says, rolling over and pressing his face into his pillow.
He doesn't see Cass again until the beginning of his shift two days later. She smiles at him as he enters, but doesn't make her usual big show of a greeting.
A few hours later, she pokes her head in the kitchen. "Got a minute?" she asks.
"Sure," he says.
They walk out into the back alley. Barina is lingering at the far end, trying to look like she's not there. Harry ignores her, instead watching Cass as she lights a cigarette. In all the time they've spent together, he's never seen her smoke before.
"I know," she says, her nose wrinkling. "Nasty habit."
Harry doesn't say anything, shoving his hands in his pockets and slouching back against the wall.
"So this is weird," she says.
He grimaces. "Look, Cass…"
She lifts her hand. "Just let me say something will you?"
He considers pressing through, but he's a coward, really, so just nods and lets her speak.
"I just wanted to thank you for not, you know, coming inside with me the other night." She looks like she's having a hard time looking him in the face.
Harry grimaces. "Oh, uh, yeah. Neither of us were very sober."
She looks at him like he's just said something vaguely unexpected. "Yeah, well, after everything you've done for me, I suppose an argument could be made that I…" She gestures vaguely.
Harry frowns, honestly having no idea what she's trying to say. He hasn't really done anything for her. "That you what?"
She shrugs, scuffing at the concrete with her shoe. "I dunno. Owe you. Or something."
It takes Harry a second to even figure out exactly what she's implying, and then he feels a hard rush of something like horror. "Owe me?" he says.
Her chin lifts. "Don't look at me like that," she says, dropping her cigarette and stomping it out. "You don't know. You don't have any idea—" She snaps her mouth shut on whatever else she was going to say.
Harry is staring at her in shock. He's not sure he's ever heard her sound like this, voice hard and expression almost angry. She's always cheery and easy-going and nothing ever seems to bother her. It's a reminder though, that he doesn't actually know anything about her. Not any more than she knows anything about him. Just surfaces.
It all leaves him feeling even more ill than before.
"Bloody oath," she says, dragging a hand over her face. "This was supposed to be light and simple. I wasn't supposed to actually like you."
"I like you too, Cass," he admits miserably, because it's the truth. Far too much to have let this happen.
She gives him a tight smile, not looking particularly appeased. "You're sweet. But honestly, you're also just…" Her eyes dart down the alley towards Barina. "You're the kind of trouble I have no interest in, in oh-so-many ways."
"I see," Harry says, and there is no reason that should sting. He doesn't care that he isn't her type, that she isn't interested. He's relieved to hear it, honestly. Very relieved.
It's just also kind of hard to hear that he's still more trouble than he's worth, even to a Muggle halfway across the world.
Cass groans. "God, you hate me, don't you?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says, and it's true.
She frowns at him, staring closely like she's trying to read his thoughts. "Oh, fuck," she says. "You want to forget that happened just as much as I do." She laughs. "What a pair we make."
"I'm sorry," he says, not wanting to hurt her. "I didn't mean…"
She shakes her head. "You're a good bloke, Harry Potter," she says, reaching out and squeezing his arm.
"Not really." He isn't sure what this entire fiasco says about him, but he knows it isn't good.
She laughs again. "It's only the good ones who say that. Trust me." She lifts up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She smells like smoke and stale chips. He forces himself not to pull back.
"See you around, okay?" she says.
He nods.
They leave it at that, their not-dating days at an end. Harry watches Cass move on to the burly, rather dull-witted bartender with a sense of detachment. He supposes he should be angry that she clearly was just using him to make her job easier, but it's not like he hadn't done the same just to get Hermione to leave him alone. To stop feeling like the odd man out.
When Hermione bugs him about 'getting back up on the horse', he puts his foot down. He flat out refuses to go out on any more dates, no matter how much she tries to manipulate him into it, because he thinks maybe he finally gets it, that someone needing you to do things for them isn't really the same as someone needing you.
"You sure, mate?" Ron asks.
"Yeah," Harry says. "A bit of fun really isn't what I want."
"Of course it isn't," Ron says with an amused smile like he'd never really expect anything different from him.
Harry scowls. "Can we stop talking about this now?"
"Merlin, yes," Ron says. "Let's go watch a rugby thing."
"Yeah, because maybe it will suddenly make sense the twentieth time we try."
Ron grins. "Who knows?"
Ron leaves him alone after that, apparently having accepted that he's serious.
Fortunately Hermione is distracted soon enough by the Healers talking about the possibility of releasing the Grangers to their care. After that everything is a mess of shuffling work schedules and Hermione's mounting anxiety. Ron takes weekly lunch shifts and weekends, so Hermione can have Saturday and Sunday with her parents. Harry takes the dinner and night shifts to give Hermione and Ron evenings together while watching the Grangers during the day.
January bleeds into February, and Harry just keeps moving.