While going up the last steps of the stairs, Mycroft was, very evidently, huffing for breath. Anthea was waiting for him at the top the stairs with crossed arms and an amused smile on her face.

"See? Even after dropping some of that weight, you are still a fatty." She winked at him as she put a hand around his ample waist. "And you were worried that your boyfriend wouldn't find you attractive anymore."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at her with the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. "Yes, that's very comforting." He stopped for a second to catch his breath. "And you don't need to squeeze me that hard. Although I know it's hard to reach all the way around me, you could try a bit harder."

Her grip loosened as they began walking away from the dungeons and towards the Great Hall.

"Besides, that's not what I've been worrying about at all, of course." He added, a bit distractedly.

"You don't say."

Of course she knew that, by now, Gregory was so smitten with her best friend, that he wouldn't, in a thousand years, leave him for something as trivial as physique. Still, she liked taunting Mycroft… just a little bit. Still, she knew there was something the matter with him, and was glad he was finally ready to tell her, it had been days since she'd noticed. Mycroft ignored her sarcasm.

"He has something to tell me, but I just can't decipher exactly what it is. He's been very elusive for the past few days, probably making up his mind, but he plans on finally telling me this weekend." He tried to sound factual, but there was something that told Anthea he was, at least, a bit apprehensive. She didn't say a word as they entered the Hall.

Gregory, who sat at the edge of his table, waved a hand at them when they walked in. He seemed to be in his usual good-mood, but the look on Mycroft's face told Anthea it was time to leave them alone. Kissing Mycroft's cheek good-bye, she walked towards the Slytherin table and got lost in a sea of other students.

Mycroft sat besides his boyfriend, whose smile had faded only a bit, and received a small peck on the lips.

Gregory hesitated for a second, but finally showed Mycroft the letter he was holding.

"I have something to tell you." Mycroft knew what was coming before Greg could continue. Greg stuttered a bit as he continued "I got a letter from, it's from France." He looked at it for a second and bit his lip. "They want me on the Quafflepunchers"

Mycroft blinked way more times than it was strictly necessary. A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and, before he could really decide if it was a good idea or not, he had thrown his arms around his boyfriend.
If Greg was surprised, it didn't show. He held Mycroft tight and buried his face in his neck. "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Mycroft closed his eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall any second now.

"Whatever you want to do is fine. You deserve this, you really do."

They broke the hug and went silent for a while. Mycroft's heart was racing. He stared at the floor, holding back a scream. He knew there was nothing he could do; the decision was Greg's and his alone. He could only wait.

"I don't want to lose you, whatever happens, Mycroft. That much I know."

Greg hand found Mycroft's underneath the table. Their fingers interlocked.

"Greg, this is another country we are talking about. We were worried about our relationship when we thought we wouldn't be seeing each other every day, imagine not seeing each other for months, I'll be working in the Ministry, you'll be training every day I…" He shook his head. "I don't want to lose you either, but…"

"Then I won't go I'll…" Mycroft wasn't going to let him finish that sentence. "Don't be an idiot. This is a dream come true. You should go."

They fell silent again. Mycroft thought of it all. The bad times and the good. He was afraid the good times were a mere dream, his new-found self respect nothing but an illusion. He felt fragile, weak. Would his boyfriend take it all he had given Mycroft away from him? If so, it was all just a fantasy. Still, he could not let himself crumble. This was Gregory's dream, wasn't it? This was the dream of the man he loved. Mycroft knew he couldn't assign his own mental health to another mere mortal. If Gregory left, he still needed to find a way to cope with things. His body, his parents, his shortcomings… his broken heart.

Greg saw the tears falling down Mycroft's face, and couldn't suck back his own anymore. Silently, he leaned forward and lay small kisses on his boyfriend's flushed cheek. He couldn't leave him, he couldn't…

"Greg, I love you so much."

"Me too."