Author's Note- First of all, please let me explain that I am not Lola. My pen name here is Amaria Anna. Due to health problems, she has given up on fanfiction for the time being and I have adopted both of her stories. Because of the amount of people who have this story and Say You Love Me set for alerts, I will post here simply to make the transition smoother. I am hoping to find my muse for Say You Love Me soon so hopefully and update will be coming soon. I have taken over her account (with her consent) so I will answer most PM's sent my way. Also, I am currently without a beta for either story. If you are interested in the job, contact me at either account. Thank you!
Part III
After his third day in Maine, Harry didn't know how much more rain he could stand. He did remember Dean saying that the weatherman had been calling for storms all week, and the thought made Harry almost wish he had looked a little more at the brochures with sandy beaches. As he stared out at the gray skies, he couldn't help but think that the weather wouldn't bother him nearly so much if he were sitting in Dean's kitchen instead of on the porch of the guest house.
Harry couldn't remember when he had last felt so utterly at ease with himself and his surroundings as he had in Dean's kitchen. Given the running theme in Harry's life, it was only natural that he would find a way to completely demolish anything good that had been building between them. The kiss had been such a colossal mistake that Harry knew he didn't stand a chance of putting things right. Still, he had to admit that given the chance to do it all over, he wasn't so sure that he could resist. There was something about Dean that just felt so right. The kiss had been so perfect and the feel of Dean in his arms was so intoxicating that Harry couldn't help but wish that it hadn't been the end. He found himself wishing that it had been the beginning.
With Ginny, things had felt like one thing slowly melted into another. Harry had found himself being thrown from one jarring event to the next, and somehow even when it was about him and Ginny, things had never been about him and Ginny. He did love her in his way, but Ginny had always been the light at the end of the tunnel. He never actually took time to imagine what that end would be like for them. Harry had always thought it would all come naturally. Voldemort would be gone and he could just be happy. Life would be simple and plain. But things didn't happen that way. At the age of nineteen, Harry became a husband who barely knew his young wife or how to go about a functional marriage. He tried to put the pieces together and build a good life, but his heart hadn't been in it. Ginny loved him so very much, and he started to hate himself in like measure. He wouldn't let that happen again.
Suddenly Harry was jarred from his thoughts by the sound Leo barking, and he found himself searching the yard for a glimpse of the dog's owner. He spotted Dean sitting on the back porch across the yard separating the guest house from the main house. More than anything, Harry wanted to close the gap between them, but he felt trapped. He wasn't quite sure that his host even wanted to see him right now. After what seemed like a torturous eternity, Dean met Harry's gaze and smiled.
"Regretting coming here?" Dean asked gesturing to the soggy sky.
"Not unless your dog is actually and unregistered animagus reporter," he quipped in reply.
Dean chuckled. "Fancy a cup of tea?"
"All right," Harry said feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.
Once again, Harry found himself settled on Dean's couch. He sipped his tea nervously and desperately tried to think of something to say. He wasn't sure how Dean had seemingly managed to have erased the kiss from his mind. Perhaps it was easier for him to gloss over the whole thing than to tell Harry that he didn't return his feelings. The thought that Dean didn't want him made the tea taste bitter in his mouth.
"Feeling all right, Harry?" Dean asked frowning.
"Yeah." How was this so hard? Harry was a grown man, not some lovestruck boy.
Dean looked away. "You know, I didn't put too much into last night. I know how pathetic I must have looked, and I appreciate your concern. Still, I don't need your pity."
Harry felt his stomach clench. "You thought I kissed you out of pity you?"
"I don't quite know why you kissed me, Harry," Dean admitted. His dark eyes bore into Harry.
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Because I wanted to."
Dean had spent a sleepless night picturing just how horridly wrong this conversation could go. He had convinced himself that Harry was merely trying to make him feel better. He knew his life looked a mess. Here Dean was all but isolated from the world—Muggle and wizarding alike—widowed and a crippled with a dog as his primary companion, and Harry always had been the kind to champion the underdog. In the end, Dean told himself that the best course of action was to pretend that it was all no big deal. It would hurt less that way. It was safer to close that part of himself off. He never imagined that Harry would find a way to cut deeper.
Swallowing hard, Dean forced himself to keep his gaze locked with Harry's. "Do you honestly think I'll believe that? Harry, I know you're not gay."
"You're right," Harry agreed sincerely, "but I'm not straight either. And why is so hard for you to believe that I want you? Dean, you can't tell me that you haven't been thinking of me, too."
"I can't," Dean admitted "But I still don't know what you want from me."
Harry smiled. "I dunno. A date maybe. A chance to get to know you better."
Dean took a long steady breath. He hadn't been on a date in eight years. Oh, he had toyed with the idea of dating—had even chatted with several men online hoping to one day make that move, but he'd kept convincing himself the time wasn't right. Would it ever be right? Even now, with Harry sitting right in front of him, Dean had to push aside the voices in his head that told him to run away. One date. He could manage one date. Despite Harry's assurances, Dean just couldn't imagine how there would be more than that. "All right," he agreed softly.
Harry's smile made him feel weak. It was the kind of smile that Dean had caught hints of back in school, but it had never been just for him before. It made Harry look younger and less careworn—like he should have been. Dean couldn't help but wish that Harry smiled like that more often.
"What did you have in mind?" Dean asked dragging his eyes away from Harry.
It didn't take much discussion for the two to form a relatively solid plan for that evening. Having never been to America, Harry was quite interested in seeing New York and Dean had to admit that there was far more to see and do in the city than there was in his little town. They would floo into a friend's home and then go for dinner at one of Dean's favorite restaurants. The idea had been mostly Dean's. He found himself struggling to find just a bit of control.
As he dressed for dinner that night, Dean found himself giving in to vanity a bit more than he usually did. He laid his two favorite shirts side by side and played with the collars of each as he tried to decide which to wear. The cut of the blue one suited him better but he had always thought that the red one looked better with his coloring. He had to chuckle at himself as the thought struck him that he sounded like a teenage girl. Without any farther debate, he picked up the red shirt and put it on. Thankfully he had shaved that morning and had gotten a haircut on the same day that Harry arrived so other than a quick shower he hadn't needed much fuss. He he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he sprayed on a bit of cologne. Dean had to admit, he looked good.
Dean grabbed his crutch. He knew that they would be doing a good bit of walking, but he couldn't bring himself to use the folding wheelchair sitting beside his bed. No, tonight he was determined to not let anything dampen his confidence. He was sure he could push himself just enough to make it out for the evening. Dean knew that the next day he could be in agony, but for tonight he just couldn't bring himself to care.
Harry was waiting for him in the living room when Dean came out. "You look great," Harry said as he stood up.
"So do you," Dean replied truthfully. He couldn't remember ever seeing Harry dressed in a muggle suit, and he had to admit that the clothes looked wonderful on him. Harry was wearing a dark gray suit with a pale green shirt that made his eyes seem all the more beautiful.
"Ready to go?"
Dean nodded and gestured to the fire place. "Erika isn't going to be at home tonight, but I have a key to her apartment."
"Where are we going tonight?" Harry asked with just a hint of trepidation.
"I thought I could introduce you to my favorite place. Do you like Lebanese?"
"Never had it before. I don't eat much ethnic food," Harry confessed sheepishly.
Dean smiled. "Who knew that Harry Potter was a culinary coward?"
As the two stepped into the hearth, Dean took one last deep breath and left his nerves behind him.
They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before their table was ready, and Dean lead Harry toward the elegantly appointed bar area. Dean chuckled as Harry pulled a chair out for him like some young gallant. "I would say that you've had almost a little dating experience as I have,"
Harry blushed adorably. "Probably less."
"Really? Well, I guess you only ever dated Cho and Ginny in school," he said thoughtfully.
"I don't know if you can count Cho," Harry murmured. As sudden look crossed his face, "You noticed who I dated in high school?"
Dean shrugged. "Everyone noticed everything you did in school, Harry, but I guess I did pay a little extra attention."
"You did?" Harry asked slyly.
Before Dean could answer, the bartender appeared to take their drink order. Dean recognized him from the many times he'd been here before, and the young man gave the pair a knowing smile. "Can I offer you gentlemen something special for the occasion?"
Harry's cheeks went from pink to scarlet. "I'll take a glass of the house pinot noir."
"A dirty martini," Dean ordered as he fought to keep himself from laughing.
Once the bartender had disappeared and they had their drinks in hand, Harry cleared his throat nervously. "So you were saying something about school..."
"I was hoping you had forgotten that," Dean said with a sign. "Yes, I did fancy you a bit in school."
"I wish I had known," Harry replied as the smile dropped from his face. "I was so focused back then on...you know, everything that I missed all of the things that I think so have meant something back then. I've been thinking a lot about that these days."
Dean suddenly had the urge to kiss that sad look off of Harry's face. Instead, he merely said, "I wish there was some way I could have helped back then. I think it was just easier for us all to pretend that nothing was really wrong until there were Death Eaters as the door. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. We were all just kids."
Harry took a sip of wine and looked away. "So I have been meaning to ask you; why America?"
"No one at home had any answers for me," he said with a shrug. "I went to any healer who would even give me an appointment, but none of them offered any hope. Then I read a paper by Healer Kerwin working out of New York, and I guess the rest just fell into place."
"Kerwin?" Harry asked.
Dean nodded. "Erika Kerwin. She is the Ethan's youngest sister. Actually, I met Ethan on my way to an appointment one afternoon."
"Were the healers here able to do anything for you that the ones at home couldn't?" Harry asked as he fingered his wine glass.
"A bit," Dean replied honestly. "Because it is so rare in wizards and the brain is such a delicate thing, it's hard for healers to get much research. In my case, Erika was able to slow the progression a bit, but then the next patient got no results from the same treatment. I'm afraid we aren't much better than the muggles as far as this is concerned."
A moment later, the host appeared and led the pair to a private little booth in the back corner. Lush velvet drapes hung around the sides giving them even more seclusion. The table was set as it was in the rest of the restaurant—a simple red rose in a slender vase and a candle glowing in the center. Funny, Dean mused, the place never seemed so utterly romantic when he was dining alone or with Erika. As Dean slid into the booth, he spared Harry a sly glance. Harry seemed to be taking in the seductive scenery as well, and when his eyes met Dean's, it was apparent that Harry's thoughts were already moving along.
"The food here is marvelous," Dean told him breathlessly. His mind's eye was already at work creating the image of Harry's bare form hovering above him.
Harry nodded vaguely. "Shall I order a bottle of wine for us?"
Dean bit his lip and forced his thoughts away from his arousal. "All right. Whatever you choose will be fine."
After they had ordered, Dean found himself staring quite intently at the flatware. Merlin's beard, this was harder than he had thought!
As though Harry were reading Dean's mind, he cleared his throat nervously. "I apologize. I've never had to make appropriate date conversation before," he explained. "I am not very interesting, I'm afraid."
Dean couldn't help it; he let out a hearty laugh. "You not interesting?"
"I mean besides all the Voldemort stuff," Harry said rolling his eyes.
"You honestly believe that is the most interesting thing about you?" Dean asked incredulously.
Harry blinked in surprise. "You mean you don't?"
"No. Course not. Never did think that was the best thing about you," he assured him. "You have this amazing way about you. I've never known anyone who could so naturally make people feel like they mattered, Harry. That and you have this sort of natural fearlessness—and not the mortal danger crap. I was scared shitless that first broom lesson, you know. I think all us muggleborns were, but you didn't have anymore time to get used to the idea than we did and just took it on like it was something you'd done forever."
"I really don't know what to say," Harry mumbled. His cheeks were an endearing shade of scarlet.
With new resolve, Dean decided that there would be no more talk of the past. This date was about grown men, not school boys. And besides, he already knew the boy Harry had been, now he wanted to know the man he had become.
"So what exactly do you do at the ministry? Neville said something about you not being an auror anymore," Dean inquired boldly.
"Oh? Yes, I left that office a few months ago. It seemed to me that while were getting damn good at hunting down dark wizards and punishing them, we weren't doing a very good job of stopping people from crossing that line," Harry told him with a determined gleam in his eye. "I want to educate people not on just how to defend themselves or to combat dark forces, but how to recognize and understand why we must not let these things happen to begin with. Its all about knowledge. Malfoy actually was a big part of inspiring all this actually."
"Malfoy? Don't tell me it was his idea!"
"Wasn't," Harry confirmed with a chuckle. "I saw him coming out of McGonagall's office when I dropped by for tea. He was griping about how people just assumed his son would be a dark wizard in training, but wouldn't recognize the real signs of some one truly going dark if they bit them on the arse."
Dean cocked his head and mulled it over a bit. "So you honestly think if someone had given Malfoy the real benefit of the doubt, that things would have been different? Or that you can stop dark wizards from going down that road?"
"I don't know about Malfoy for certain, but I think it is definitely something that we have to explore. Tolerance and prevention are things that we need to promote throughout the magical world, not just Hogwarts," Harry said firmly.
"The magical civil rights movement, eh? I like it."
Harry smiled. "And what about you? I know you work from home, but I don't think you've ever said what you actually do for a living."
Dean chuckled. "Nothing as important as your work, I assure you. I'm an comicbook artist. I've been at it for about six years now."
"Comicbooks?" Harry cocked a raven brow. "I can picture that actually. I remember being envious of your drawings at school. You were quite good even then."
"Thank you. It started out as just a hobby. When I was a boy, I used to love comics. Superman, Batman, Spider-man, Daredevil, Green Lantern...you name it collected it. Got out of it mostly when I was at school, but then after well...everything. I came home, and I just wanted a bit of the life I had as a kid. No real magic, just a bit of wonder. Next thing you knew I was dusting off my old things and adding new books to my collection. I didn't actually get serious about drawing comics until Ethan and I moved to Bailston. And I guess that is that," Dean said with a shrug.
"I'd love to see your work," Harry told sincerely.
"I'll show it to you back at the house."
Dinner came and the pair fell into an easy conversation about what all Harry wanted to do while he was on vacation. They made plans to visit all over New England. Dean wanted to show all of the things that he had come to love about his adopted home, and Harry seemed to be just as enthusiastic about seeing it all. It was such an amazing feeling to actually plan things with someone, to have something to look forward to more than just an average day. It had been so long since Dean had wanted to be out in the world. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he was excited to be with Harry doing just about anything really.
After a wonderful meal, Dean and Harry took a cab to a little out of the way jazz club. The wine had made Dean a little dunk, and he found himself a bit unsteady on his feet—well, more unsteady that usual even. As they exited the cab, Harry's arm wound around his waist. Dean almost opened his mouth to tell Harry that he didn't need the help, but then he realized that he wanted Harry's arm around him. He wanted to feel Harry's strong body up against his. Dean breathed in the decadently masculine scent that was uniquely Harry.
"You don't mind?" Harry asked huskily as he leaned close to Dean's ear. The feel of his breath almost was enough to make Dean shiver.
"Not at all."
A split second later, Harry's lips descended upon his passionately. His tongue teased Dean's playfully for a briefly before plunging in possessively. It was the kind of kiss that only happened in the movies or in Dean's dreams, but this was very real.
"I've been wanting to do that all day," Harry admitted as he backed away.
Dean never wanted the night to end. He could barely remember the last time he had felt so perfectly and utterly romantic. The two of them had spent the rest of the evening cuddled up with another bottle of wine in a booth listening to the sultry, seductive tones of the singer and her band. Every so often, Harry would squeeze Dean's hand and give him a look that made his heart flutter with excitement and cock ache with longing. The alcohol in his veins made Dean a little bolder, and he found himself nuzzling the delicate skin behind Harry's ear. Despite his wishes to contrary, time flew and before Dean knew it, the bartender was giving last call.