He's So Lucky (He's A Star) - Part II
Much to my surprise, the owl that I'd sent to the Weasleys returned with a note from Potter. Almost all of the pictures I'd sent over were approved.
They look great. Thanks for doing such a great job with them. That was weird. It wasn't exactly a favour I did them. Do you want to get together for coffee sometime?
Was I still asleep? Did Potter just ask me out for coffee? Was it a date? Get real, Draco.
Why? — I wrote back immediately. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I figured that if I were a good reporter, I would have agreed right away. But, I never really was my best when it came to dealing with Potter.
You're the only person that knows my secret. I could use a friend.
"Too little, too late," I wanted to write back, but refrained. I just somewhat agreed.
I've got a project that's going to take up most of my time this week and the next, I lied. If Patil's instincts were anything to go by, she'd have the curator story as a full-blown article by Thursday, but I'm usually available in the evenings. Perhaps a pint instead of a coffee? I added.
Potter's reply came after lunch. Add chips and I'm sold.
I wasn't sure why I waited for Potter's response before I sent off the pictures to Pansy. She didn't need to know what was happening with me, but if Potter and I were going to socialise in public, then it'd be better if she'd heard it from me rather than read it in The Daily Prophet.
I sent the pictures via Brooke, my owl, but not before I gave her a huge treat. She was most likely going to witness Pansy's wrath, and I needed her happy and fed before that happened. I wrote Pansy a note.
Attached are the approved pictures for the Weasley engagement. I've even included the one I'm in. Feel free to use it or just frame it and hang it in your office. Whatever tickles your fancy. Oh, and I'm having drinks with Potter this week, just so you know, and I'll be leaving my camera at home.
—
Patil had Martin Anz, the curator, in her grip in no time. She'd introduced herself to Anz as the museum's insurance representative and claimed she had a few question for him. She had me walk around the man's flat and take pictures with my mini cameras. After our visit, I'd developed the roll and went into the office to show them to her; her research blew me out of the water. She circled all the items of intrigue in the rooms and compared them to the museum pieces which had slowly gone missing.
From the latest heist, which was basically done at night and the man had an alibi for, she discovered he had one of the pieces in his place.
According to her research, the only person who had control over the Security Charms placed on the museum was the curator. He had claimed he was at a restaurant having dinner with friends during the night in question.
Patil and I went to the restaurant, The Hungry Frog, and spoke to the bartender. We had two pints, and she tipped the bartender an extra five Galleons. He claimed to remember Anz. He'd arrived for dinner at half seven, and drank water all night. At around eight o'clock, he'd left through the front door, while his friends were still there. Then, he returned ten minutes later. He did this again at quarter to nine.
Patil asked him why he'd paid so much attention to Anz, and the man shook his head. "You always remember the loud ones," he said, "but more than that, you remember the ones who either tip too much..." He smiled at Patil, "and the ones who tip too little." Then he winked at me.
Evidently, if you tip the bartender just right, he won't give a rat's arse about you.
Most investigative journalists at The Oracle published under a pseudonym. Since Patil had introduced herself as Monica Bhatia to Anz, the insurance representative, he wouldn't have known that the article printed about him was from her, because her assumed name at the newspaper was Annie Desai. I didn't have a problem with the pictures being credited with my real name.
What always surprised me was how these men the reporters inquired about, never gave me a second look. I never had to polyjuice myself, or use any sort of image altering magic. Perhaps because they didn't see a camera in my hand, they just assumed I was harmless.
Five years after the war and they forget who you'd been. If only the entire wizarding world worked this way. But criminals, as I'd learned from an early age, were always too self-centred and nearly all of them thought of themselves as invincible and supreme.
After everything was said and done, I had been right. Patil's article was front story on Thursday's issue. A mere half a week after we'd started. It was either that The Oracle just had the best damn news team in the wizarding world, or criminals were just getting more and more dense.
On Friday evening, I received an owl from Potter.
Arrested Anz today, and he gave up all the names of his accomplices. The junior Aurors claim they've retrieved almost all of the stolen items from the Albus Dumbledore Museum. Hermione is excited and wanted me to thank you for your assistance.
I'd nearly forgotten Granger had helped establish the Dumbledore Museum a few years after the war. By forgotten, I meant, never thought about; pretended it didn't exist; barely went to visit. Especially since my wand was the featured piece—and oh yeah—the thieves had left it behind at the museum.
Evidently the wand that destroyed the Dark Lord wasn't worth stealing. Can't say I blamed them.
I continued reading Potter's letter.
So now that you've solved the case of the lifetime—it's what the Aurors are calling it here—how about that pint? Ginny's gone on a Quidditch retreat for the weekend, and I've got no other plans. Meet me at Leaky tomorrow night. I'll be there in any event. I hope you can make it.
Since it was an open invitation, I didn't reply. I determined if I were free on Saturday night, which I was, I'd just stop by. The Leaky Cauldron. I shook my head. I'd read in one of Lovegood's articles, evidently, the Leaky was Potter's introduction to the wonderful world of magic and he was attached to it like a toddler was attached to their security blanket. Why couldn't Potter's security blanket be Davios? At least they had a decent enough wine list.
—
Potter was already on his second pint by the time I'd arrived at the Leaky. He hadn't told me the time so I settled on eight o'clock being a good time to arrive, I had no idea Potter would be so parched for beers. I'd never seen him drink at any of the Potter parties, not really. At the Granger-Weasley pregnancy announcement soirée, no alcohol was served. At the Weasley engagement, he sipped on the same glass of champagne for hours.
"Thanks for coming!" Potter said as he gestured at Tom for another round. Only for Potter would the barman come to the table and serve him. Figured.
"Certainly," I replied, unsure of what else I could have said. I had no other plans unless you counted me in the darkroom for hours, and after all my obligations being over and done with, I really didn't want to develop more pictures of—never mind about that.
"You have no idea how good it feels to be able to talk about this," he said. Funny, we hadn't talked about anything. I'd barely had a sip of my lager.
"I'm surprised you haven't shared this with Granger or Weasley," I said. It was something I'd been thinking about for days now. The three of them had been through everything during the war. They'd got caught together and brought to the manor; nearly killed at every twist and turn of the Dark Lord's fancy—and this? Why hadn't Potter just told them his wife wasn't doing it for him anymore. Or his wife was fucking another man.
I didn't care if it was crude, my rules were simple: If it wasn't working out, you broke up with the person, and shouldn't keep lying to everyone else in the world.
Lying only led to bad things. Lying about the wrong thing could send you to Azkaban. Not that Potter would ever be sent to Azkaban. I really needed to shut my mind off.
I took a large gulp of the beer and waited for Potter to respond.
"I told you, I can't."
"Why not?"
"Ginny asked me not to."
"And me?"
"I didn't tell you."
"That's what you're going with?"
"What do you want from me, Malfoy? I didn't tell you Ginny was with McLaggen. You found that out on your own. I have no idea how, since she's told me she's been really careful. I only told you after I determined you weren't going to sell me out. I can't tell my friends, because they'll blame her and no one, really, is to be blamed. We just didn't work."
"Because you're gay." Potter was getting everything twisted up. He should have known that no one would have blamed anyone for him being gay.
"And there's that." Potter laughed and finished the last of his pint and gestured for another. I was still on my first and Potter had finished his third.
"Slow down," I said. "I don't want you blundering around drunk while I'm still sober. If you spill all your secrets tonight, what will we discuss the next time?"
"There will be a next time?" Potter asked, his voice slightly perking up.
"I thought you said you needed a friend?"
"I—"
"Or was it just a one-off you wanted to see if I'd actually show?" I hated at how insecure I sounded then. I shouldn't have cared what his answer would have been. But I did.
"I don't want to have meaningless sex with you," Potter said, looking dreadfully serious.
"I didn't mean one-off like sex," I said, rolling my eyes. Evidently, I wasn't Potter's type. Wasn't that a blow to the self-esteem? "A meeting. Like you wanted just to see if I was interested. Maybe you'd meet me once, you would get everything off your chest, and then you could go back to your life in the closet. Wouldn't be the first time I was there for a man who lived in denial."
"I'm not in denial."
"But you're in the closet?"
"Yes. No." Potter groaned. "Malfoy!"
Tom brought over a pitcher and placed it between us before he walked away. Wasn't a bad idea given how Potter was obviously substituting sex with alcohol.
"When did you realise you were gay?" I asked, slightly changing topic, but still getting Potter to talk about it.
"When I kissed Torbjørn," Potter answered and filled my half-full glass with more beer.
If I was actually drinking, I'd have most certainly spit it out. "You did not!"
Potter laughed. "Yeah. I was really drunk, and I was usually sleeping in Charlie's bed at the house. That night, I'd made the wrong turn and instead of going to Ron's room, I'd ended up at Charlie's, still. Anyway, Charlie was out somewhere, and when Torbjørn came out of the shower, he snuggled into bed next to me. I thought it was a dream. He'd placed his arms around me and started kissing me. I don't think he realised it was me, until I mumbled something about Ginny."
Potter stopped to take a sip of his drink and I followed suit. This time, I drank almost the entire pint glass in one go. I was definitely too sober for this.
"Anyway, Torbjørn jumped out of bed, and since I was so drunk, he didn't really blame me. He helped me to the room I was supposed to be in. The next morning when I woke up, I was mortified. We talked about it. He forgave me. We never told Charlie, or anyone, really. He was the one who told me to really think about my sexuality. He said when he'd helped me back to my room, that I was hard and I wanted him to keep kissing me. And other embarrassing things I'd rather not..."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I told Ginny. I mean by then, we were nothing more than just roommates. I told her what had happened, and she said she understood. She wasn't hurt, and we hadn't been working for a long time. I think we stayed together for as long as we did because she was almost always gone. Still, she didn't want to announce a divorce while she was still in the height of her career. We both knew a divorce would get dragged in the papers everywhere and we just—we just don't want any kind of publicity. Not right now, anyway."
We were both silent for a while. I had no idea if I should have just kept asking him questions, or if he was going to willingly share information. Eventually, when we finished off the pint, he turned to ask me a question.
"How did you get involved in The Oracle?"
"It was Pansy's idea," I said and turned to get Tom's attention for a refill. The man glared at me in disbelief. "She just got tired of Rita Skeeter and her bullshit news on the former Death Eaters and friends. She said she wanted to do something to get back at her, so she started her own research on her. I don't know how, but she found out about Skeeter's affair with some businessman and sold the news to every tabloid magazine possible."
"I remember that!" Potter said, excitedly. "It was the best piece of news I'd ever read!"
I laughed. "I'll tell her you said that." I waited for Potter to react or cringe, but he just nodded. Maybe I expected him to tell me what we were doing should stay a secret. It really would have been ridiculous, we weren't doing anything.
I continued talking. "Eventually, she got so interested in investigative reporting, and she decided she wanted it as a career. You know, she interned at The Quibbler for six months and learned the ropes from Xenophilius Lovegood. Then she needed me to help her capitalise her own business idea—I sold the manor and gave her everything from it. And as they say, the rest is history."
"I still can't believe how you lot achieved so much in such little time."
"Says the man who defeated the Dark Lord time and time again. As a child."
Potter grinned triumphantly, and I could tell he was well on his way of getting drunk.
I did the best thing I could; I resumed talking about The Oracle. "We didn't want to be any other newspaper, and we most definitely didn't want to be a tabloid magazine, so we printed stories we thought were important. If we continued every day, then our pages would be too thin, full of adverts, and very little content. It's the reason why we only print on Mondays and Thursdays."
"I just thought it was you lot being a bit snobby. Too good to print the news daily."
"If you want daily gossip, go to the Prophet; if you want daily rants about the unjust system, refer to The Quibbler. We're about solving crimes. Speaking up for the underdog. Exposing corruption—why we sell so much."
"And the bit on my family?" Potter asked, and I realised he could raise an eyebrow perfectly well, too.
"Well, we all need some trivial or fluff in our lives. Besides, you and your family were off limits to all gossip magazines—it's why we hired Lovegood."
"We." Potter made a sort of grunting sound. "I didn't realise you were so involved in the day to day business of The Oracle."
"I was very much more hands on the first few years, ultimately, I just became more of a silent partner. Pansy runs the show now."
"I have to say I was surprised to find out when Luna started working for the paper. I thought if she was going to continue in journalism, she'd stay at The Quibbler."
"She writes for The Quibbler, but it's usually her Nargles jargon. It doesn't pay her as well as The Oracle does. And, she's benefitted us more than any other reporter."
"How's that?"
"The paper flourished because we were the only ones who printed articles on you. Lovegood was hired because she was the only one able to get to you. This is what made The Oracle a lead competition with the Prophet. Especially when people lined up at newsstands every Monday and Thursday to buy an issue."
Potter thought something over for a moment. "So the Ministry really didn't take all that money from you?" he asked, grinning.
"Did they send you to verify that from me?"
He chuckled before answering. "If they did, I'm sure they know that your answer would be: No comment."
"I didn't realise you'd kept tabs on me," I said; not sure why I was surprised. I'd most certainly kept tabs on him.
"Yes. Well, that's always been sort of been...a problem." He said the last bit in almost a whisper, and I wasn't sure if I'd heard him right. He cleared his throat immediately after and refilled our pint glasses with the other pitcher of beer Tom had brought over.
I was about to tell Potter to slow down. We hadn't even ordered chips yet and we were drinking too fast when I heard the click. It was an all too familiar sound of a roll being inserted and the back shutter being closed. Someone with a camera was near us and was going to take pictures.
I looked at Potter, stern. Wondering if he'd notice my warning. He straightened up immediately and looked around. Thank Merlin for him being an Auror as I was quite sure if it was anyone else, they'd just glare back at me with confusion.
"What is it?" he whispered, pretending to check his pocket watch.
"A camera."
"Oh." Potter seemed to relax. "I thought it was something more serious."
"More serious?" I nearly growled at him. "Potter, you're out in the open with—"
"I go out all the time. They always take pictures of me. Besides, they're not allowed in here, anyway. The moment the flash goes on, someone will kick 'em out."
"You go out with former Death Eaters? With openly gay men? Especially when you're trying to stay in the—"
Potter silenced me with a dismissive hand in the air, then rolled his eyes. "You and Luna are always over at our parties. We could be friends."
"Potter, you're just—"
"What do you want me to do? Get up and go sit in the corner? Pretend like I don't know you? Please, Malfoy." His brows furrowed, and I had the sudden urge to reach over and smooth them. Alright, I was getting drunk, too. "We were at Hogwarts together. I spoke for you at the Trials. You take pictures at our social gatherings and publish them in your newspaper. There's no suspicious activity going on here. Homosexual or otherwise."
I scowled at him, but I didn't have a chance to answer. I heard the first click and then the flash went off. It was behind us, just to my right. Then the man came around and took a picture of us sitting on the bench, side by side. He grinned up and looked at me as if he'd won something significant. My scowled deepened. Not sure why I thought I could destroy him with my mind. If it didn't work on Potter during second year, it sure as hell wasn't going to work now.
Potter saw my face and acted like my reaction was the most exhausting thing ever. "Fine," he grumbled and put his pint glass down. With one slight gesture of his hand, the camera was yanked out of the man's hands and it crashed against the far side wall. Wandless magic. Evidently, Potter was perfectly capable of destroying things with his mind. Fantastic.
"Hey!" the man shouted, but before anything else could happen—Tom, the Leaky watchman, grabbed the photographer by his wrist and threw him out. I got up and walked up to the wall where the camera had met its maker. It was still somewhat salvageable, so I decided to keep it with me.
"You're taking it home?" Potter asked, sounding amused.
"It's a good quality camera. I can totally fix it." I grinned up at him, and he pouted slightly before he started to drink again. I reached for my sleeve and pointed the button in his direction. For whatever reason, I wanted to capture this moment. Then I joined him back at the table.
"What?" I finally said to him when I couldn't figure out why he was so upset.
"I've never had a camera."
"Never? I thought you grew up in the Muggle world. I thought they are very common in Muggle culture.
"Yeah," Potter drawled. His eyes were slightly glistening, and I found myself thinking that he was an adorable drunk. As long as he didn't vomit on my shoes. "But where I grew up, I never got a present. Not really. Dudley, my cousin, he got all the presents. He got a camera on his eighth birthday. It was a Land camera, I still remember it."
"A Muggle instant camera! I've always wondered about them." Potter looked at me all sceptical. "Potter, my career is the art of taking and processing photographs! Don't you think I've read a book or two in Muggle technology?"
"Did you ever get one?"
I shook my head and looked down at my glass. "No. I thought about venturing out into the Muggle world looking for them, but they aren't exactly so readily available now. I'd have to go to an antique shop of sorts, and I wouldn't even know what to say or how to ask for it. I just live vicariously through the Muggle books. My favourite is A History of Photography: From 1839 to the present. They come out with a new version every few years or so." I looked up at him and smiled again. "I'm truly impressed at how fast Muggle technology evolves in just a handful of years. It can take us years years to master a spell!"
Potter was quiet for a while as he just stared at me. I had no idea what he was thinking. Was I rambling again? Pansy always complained about how much I blathered when I'd start talking about photography and technology. The only person who listened to me this quietly before was Lovegood.
"What?" I finally snapped.
"Nothing. It's getting late, I should head home."
"Alright," I said, nodding. "I'll settle the bill." I turned my head searching for Tom, I didn't want Potter see me; I didn't want him to see my disappointment. The man had approached me, and he wanted to be my friend and I'd evidently bored him to death.
"Malfoy, wait."
"Yeah?" I asked and met Potter's gaze.
"I drink for free here," he said.
Of course he does. "Alright, don't I have to pay for my share?" I asked, trying not to sound completely put off.
"No. Just leave a few Galleons for tip." He smiled at me as if it was just the most normal thing in the world. Drink for free, just leave a tip. I sighed and reached into my pocket and left a few coins. It was more than what would have been our bill. Hopefully the next time, when I was here alone, because obviously Potter was never going to see me again, Tom would be a bit kinder. Maybe I could bring Pansy to impress her.
"Alright, Potter. It's been...interesting."
"Likewise, Malfoy," he replied.
I wasn't sure how we were supposed to leave now. Were we to shake hands? Just nod and walk away? Make false promises of how we'd keep in touch?
"I'll take the Floo," Potter said.
"Brilliant," I answered, rather unbrilliantly.
Since there was nothing more left to be said and done, I walked out of the Leaky towards Diagon Alley. Perhaps I'd go into Flourish and Blotts and browse through 100 Photographs That Changed The Wizarding World, wondering if I'd ever get featured in there. Perhaps after I was dead, and my mini cameras became known to the wizarding world. Maybe the pouting picture of Potter I took would be the one that'd change the wizarding world.
God, I was such a fool. I should have just always kept my distance from Potter. One meeting and I was rattled.
"Malfoy!"
Fantastic. I assumed pretending that I didn't hear him was not an option. I could have just acted like I hadn't heard him and Disapparated. But, I also figured then he'd just send me an owl, calling me out on it. Which he probably would. Because it was Potter, and he was just so infuriating. I can never remember why I wanted to be his friend.
So I opted for the only choice I had, I turned and looked confused. "Yes?" I really did try hard to not sound smug. I swear.
"Ginny's going to be gone for the week, so I don't have to go to the Weasleys for Sunday brunch..." he said, panting, as if he'd just run a marathon. I thought Aurors were supposed to be in shape?
"Okay..." I drawled.
"Brunch. Do you want to have brunch tomorrow?"
"Why?"
"I thought I'd made that clear."
I looked at him confused.
"Friends, Malfoy."
"Oh. Right."
He shook his head as if I was just the most unbelievable thing that ever existed. I reckon, it was how I looked at him, too.
"Where do you want to meet?" I asked, because, I was sure I had no other choice.
Potter seemed to be struck mute then. "There's this Muggle café..." He looked at me as if I might protest. If I couldn't be seen with him in the wizarding world, that would be fine by me. "Why don't I come meet you at your flat, and I can Apparate us there."
To this, I raised an eyebrow. Potter stood there, resolute. As if he wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he wasn't going to explain himself.
"Scared of being seen with me in the wizarding world?" I know, I can't help myself.
"That's not—" He sighed before he ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up more. I raised my hand and pretended to scratch my nose as I took a picture of him from the mini camera. He seemed to be biting his tongue. What was it he was just so afraid to say?
"It's alright," I said, feeling sorry for him. I took out a parchment from my pocket and wrote my address in. "Here. You can take the Floo to my place." I handed him the information and just walked away, feeling rather self-satisfied.
—
Potter was surprisingly formal. He owled early in the morning announcing what time he'd arrive, and then he was punctual. We arrived to a hidden Apparition point in an alley in Muggle London. We walked for about ten minutes and reached a café called, Roger Johnson, and it was bustling!
I'd barely ventured into the Muggle world, and never went to any Muggle restaurants, so this was a treat for me. I kept my excitement hidden, though. I wouldn't want Potter to know I was already having a good time.
The waitresses wore white dresses with white pantyhose and white tennis shoes. They walked around in circles with giant trays of food, and barely kept from running into each other. The hostess seemed to recognise Potter and seated us right away.
Potter ordered; a full English breakfast, sausage, fried egg, pudding, bacon, beans, the works! Incidentally, I also felt like I was on a date. My thoughts kept getting distracted by the servers. Each time someone came to fill our coffee mug, it was a different waitress. It was chaotic, but it worked like a well-oiled machine. I could see why Potter liked this place. It was brilliant.
Well, back to it being a date, Potter paid. Honestly, it really was my fault since I didn't have any Muggle money. I'm sorry I didn't think of going to Gringotts at eight a.m. on a Sunday for currency conversion. If we were keeping count, technically, I had paid for the drinks the night before.
"Potter, I have to ask," I started as we were finishing off our coffee.
Potter looked up at me, scared.
"Do you fancy Torbjørn?"
He nearly spit his coffee out. "What makes you think so?"
"Just the way you were glaring at him at the engagement party, then you told me that story...I just wondered. If you fancied him and he was marrying your wife's brother." I tried to keep my tone as casual as possible. "You know, I'm sure the situation can get a bit complicated..."
"No. I don't fancy him. I just...he just inadvertently made me realise who I am. I think I was glaring as you say, because I'm just amazed how easy it is for them. Just to be out and be happy. I kept it hidden inside me for as long as I could, because it was just another thing normal about me. I already have the scar, the fame, and now I am gay."
"Being gay isn't really so bad," I said, hoping to sound supportive.
"I know. I just fear what people will say about her once I'm out. I just don't want Ginny to get brought into this. It isn't her fault."
"Potter, why don't you let the rest of the world worry about the rest of the world for once? This isn't another battle you're being forced to fight. The balance of the wizarding world, good versus evil, isn't resting on your shoulders any more. Ginny..." I paused expecting the name to leave a foul taste in my mouth, it didn't, "...is a big girl. She can handle herself. I think the fact that she's practically got herself a new husband lined up indicates she is quite capable of finding her own happiness. Why don't you try that for yourself?"
"We should go. They are going to need this table for other people." Potter abruptly stood up and walked out of the café.
Evidently being friends with Potter meant being brushed off whenever he felt like it. I contemplated if I should just let him be and allow him to ignore my question, or if I should really make him answer it. Pansy was my best friend and if I was avoiding something, she'd crack the whip and make me give in. Then suddenly I had a very disturbing visual of me with a whip in my hand and Potter being on his knees. No, I didn't want to go there.
"Maybe I'm asking too much of you," I said when I caught up with him. We walked side by side back to the alley from which we'd arrived.
"What do you mean?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.
"I mean, you just came out to me. I'm probably one of the three or four people in this world who know your secret. I suppose, I have to let you deal with it first. I think coming out of the closet isn't really a race. Everyone takes their own time."
"Wow, Malfoy. That's really mature of you," he mocked me. Rat bastard.
"It's known to happen from time to time," I said. We reached the Apparition point, and there were no Muggles around. I reckoned we were now going to go on our own way. But before I left him, I wanted to ask one last question. "Have you thought about what might happen if you actually fall in love with someone?"
He looked at me like I'd just handed him a sour jelly bean. "What do you mean?"
"What if you meet some bloke and he's this amazing man, but you're married? Do you think he'll wait for you? Would you ask him to do that for you? Could you do it for someone else?"
Potter was about to answer, but I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it gently. Seemed like a friendly thing to do. I completely ignored how warm he felt under my hand and how the heat from his body radiated off his clothes and into my skin.
"You don't have to answer now," I said and Potter turned his gaze to look at my hand on his shoulder. I removed it immediately. Clearly, I'd just made the situation awkward. "It's just something to think about until next time."
"Next time?" he asked, almost hiccupping the words.
I hesitated. "I assumed so...if I weren't terrible company."
"I just thought maybe I was too overbearing, and you'd filled your quota..."
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," I snapped. Suddenly, I was starting to panic at the thought that Potter didn't want to see me anymore. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him how ridiculous he was being, but then I remembered how warm he felt under my hands, so I changed my mind.
"I'll owl you," I promised and Disapparated.
—
I owled Potter the next day, because I really had no idea what entailed in the social obligations of someone you were trying to be friends with. I'd told him I would owl him, so I knew I couldn't wait for him to send me a message first. It was only polite. But how many days should I have waited? Twenty four hours seemed like the right thing.
His response was almost immediate. Should I have admitted to myself that my heart did a happy dance when I got his owl? Should I have smiled to myself for ten minutes when he asked me if I wanted to meet for lunch the next day? Probably not. What I should have done was probably be alarmed about the fact that I was allowing myself to get attached to Potter of all people, after having only spent two days with him. We weren't even dating. He was just some bloke who wanted to only see me, because I happened to be the one who knew his secret. If it was Lovegood, instead of me who'd discovered it, he'd probably be chasing after her.
For lunch we, yet again, went to another Muggle restaurant. This one wasn't as hot and happening as the breakfast place, but it was still an interesting experience. The hostess at this place, Stuart's Kitchen, also seemed to recognise Potter. I was starting to suspect if Potter was only taking me to places he was well-known at. We were seated in the far corner of the dining room next to a brick wall. The wall of the restaurant had placards and awards adorned all over. The one next to our table indicated Stuart's Kitchen had won the "Best British Restaurant" award from Time Out magazine. Wasn't Time Out a gay publication? I wondered.
I looked at Potter who'd seen the plaque as well and had the audacity to simply shrug. I didn't say anything, because I wasn't sure if that was a supportive thing to do or not. I'd never been asked to be a supportive friend in my life, except for maybe Pansy, but she'd never come right out and say it. So I had no clue where I was supposed to start. The fact I'd shown up for drinks or meals seemed to satisfy Potter enough.
We talked mostly about the case he was working on with the Muggle law enforcement. It seemed someone was using a Disillusionment Charm to go in and out of Muggle homes and steal priceless antiques. The Aurors were stumped at how someone could use magic around Muggle technology without things about haywire.
As he talked, he tugged on his collar, and I couldn't help but wonder what that was about. I snapped a few pictures from the mini camera I'd set up on my tie, because I figured raising my hand constantly and using the shirt sleeve button to take pictures would look rather peculiar.
This time when I was out with Potter, I'd made sure to come prepared. I had enough Muggle money to pay for the both of us. So I did. Then it felt like I was on a date, again. To manoeuvre a situation that seemed platonic and turning it into a date didn't really seem like the Gryffindor way, so I told myself I was thinking too much about it. Besides, these weren't dates, because my meetings with Potter were ending abruptly with one or both of us scowling and not with a kiss.
Great. Then I started to think about Potter's lips.
"What did I do now?" he asked.
"Pardon?" I asked.
"You're staring at me and frowning. I haven't said a word in all of five minutes, and I let you pay because you were so insistent on it."
Perfect. I thought about the softness (or lack of) of Potter's lips, stared at him while doing it, and then he'd also noticed. Bloody brilliant. I needed to get the fuck out of there.
"I have to go," I said impatiently. "I've got a meeting scheduled with Pansy at The Oracle HQ." This was of course, a lie. We rarely had any one-on-one meetings with the Editor, and she usually contacted us via the Floo and arranged them. I stood up and the metal chair screeched on the floor, making everyone else in the restaurant turn and look at me.
"Oh okay," Potter said fumbling and stood up, as well. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Why what's tomorrow?" Merlin my voice was scratchy.
"Nothing...just thought maybe we could meet for tea."
"Erm. Sure," I said, confused again. Initially when we'd met, we had talked about his secret life. But today, we hadn't even brushed on the topic. The closest thing to being gay was the plaque that hung on the wall next to our table. I wondered if Potter wanted to tell me more, but couldn't get himself to do it.
"Brilliant," he said grinning, and the entire room seemed to light up. It was the smile I'd seen on him when he was around the Granger-Weasley children, so I knew it was authentic. That made me happier than it should have, so obviously I ignored it.
I nodded and walked away. I had to truly pace myself, so it didn't seem like I was running away from him. Which I was and even though, this time, I did hear him call my name—I pretended I had not, and Disapparated home.
—
After my initial hesitation of how I thought I was developing an attraction towards Potter, I made myself go out and find someone for a quick release. I'd thought if I just shagged another man, I wouldn't be so confused about Potter.
Potter was a relatively inexperienced gay man, and I'd just found the idea of popping someone's cherry appealing. Then, I didn't even know if he'd ever had sex with another man. Which evidently led me to start thinking about Potter while I was with Brendon, or was it Brian?
Needless to say, I was the king of bad decisions. On top of everything else, a weird feeling of guilt came across me from a place I didn't even know existed. I felt responsible for Potter. I felt as if he had this huge secret he'd shared with me and instead of being a supportive person to an in-the-closet gay man, I was starting to sexualise him.
The last thing Harry Potter needed was another love-sick fan. I decided to push all my attraction or whatever sentiments away and focus on being his friend. I sent an owl to Potter and asked him to come over to my place for tea.
I was going to exceed all expectations at this friend thing.
—
Being friends with Potter wasn't really so bad. After he'd come over for tea, we went out for drinks at a Muggle pub.
"How did you know that you were gay?" he asked me when we'd settled in with our pints in hand.
I shrugged. "I think I always knew something was off, because I just never looked at girls the way my friends did. At Hogwarts, even from the start, we'd go swimming in the lake behind the castle, and I just really looked forward to all the boys in our House taking their shirts off. I could stare at them for hours."
"And no one noticed?"
"Not at first. The boys didn't notice, because they were showing off for the girls. And the girls didn't notice because well—they were sitting around giggling or insulting the boys," I said and Potter nodded. "It's not like I had time to explore my sexuality really..." No, I didn't want to talk about the war, and I hoped Potter understood.
"Who was your fir—"
"Theo," I said before Potter even finished his question. He didn't really seem too surprised. "Have you ever been with a man?" I remembered Potter had told me he tried dating a Muggle, but I had no idea how far he'd reached.
"Are you asking me if I've ever fucked a man?" He tried to joke, but I could tell he was nervous.
"Yes, Potter. That's what I'm asking."
"A few. Muggles mostly. I went on an undercover mission in Leiden once, almost a year ago and our last night there, I'd met someone at the wizard pub. We were all under a charm so no one knew who I was besides my colleagues, but I'd snuck out with this man and spent the night with him. The next day, I returned to the Ministry and told my associates I'd just turned in early."
"And this man, he has no idea he'd slept with Harry Potter?"
Potter shook his head. "No, we'd discussed no names and contact information, so I didn't feel the need to tell him. I have no idea who he was, either. If I see him again, he wouldn't even know it was me, and what would I tell him...You've got a birthmark in your inner thigh, and you like it when your lover licks it?"
That was a visual I did not need.
Potter saw—what probably was an expression of horror on my face—and burst into laughter. "Your face...that was brilliant."
"What?" I snapped.
"I made that last bit up." He smiled at me and then finished the last of his drink, eventually, standing up and going to get a second round.