October 28th, 2002 (cont.)
When he gets there, Ron seems to already be doing his job for him.
"Get out of here, you leeches!" he yells, standing right on the edge of the protection ward. Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill are watching him from the porch. "This is a private property!"
The reporters ignore him and keep taking pictures of the Burrow's front door. Some are asking random questions, as if they're expecting Ron to answer on Hermione's behalf.
His best friend, reliable above all others, sees Harry and promptly throws him under the bus. "Hey, look! There's Harry Potter!" he shouts, pointing his finger at Harry behind their backs.
Harry narrows his eyes but resignedly accepts his fate. He's come here to help, and here he is helping by taking the full blast of the reporters' attention. The things one does for his friends.
He's immediately swamped. Arseholes seem to even forget about Hermione, which is a success. He's bombarded with the first round of questions, but he only raises his hand. "If you try to use any of these pictures, I'm going to sue the life out of you," he threatens. A couple of people seem taken aback.
"That's not—" a young man starts pretentiously.
"Try me," Harry challenges him, knowing full well that he's bluffing. The only thing he can convince them of is that they would rather not end up on Harry Potter's shit list. "If you want to face me in front of the Wizengamot. Then you'll be explaining."
Most of those present look much less enthusiastic now.
"Are there any suspects already, Mr. Potter?" one witch asks politely.
"That's confidential." Harry feels like he's spending most of his life repeating only that one sentence over and over.
"Shouldn't the public be informed—?"
"The community is expecting every member of the Sacred Twenty Eight to be questioned under Veritaserum!" another woman booms out.
Harry bulges his eyes at her. That's a completely ridiculous demand, not to mention no one would go along with it. What community? They must be living in two different communities.
There's a young man who seems to share his opinion because he immediately jumps down her throat. Harry rolls his eyes. Great. They're going to squabble with each other now.
"No pureblood would stoop to poisoning muggles," someone else declares. Harry smirks. Their nasty views always shine through when they try to defend themselves.
"Is using widespread obliviation even taken into consideration at this point?" Another brilliant idea, from the other end of the spectrum this time. The worst part is that she sounds like she genuinely believes it's a reasonable suggestion. They're all mad.
"I'm not going to give you anything. You must wait for an official statement from the ministry," he announces. "Now leave. Miss Granger has nothing to do with it, and she'd like to exercise her right to not be bothered in her own home. If you're still here in fifteen minutes, I'll be forced to take more drastic measures." He leaves what he means up to their imagination and doesn't turn around to check if they obeyed him when he crosses the ward and marches towards the house. If he's ever felt like a hero, it's right now.
"That was good, mate," Ron says, joining him with his hands in his pockets and smiling smugly like he intends to take at least half of the credit for chasing them away. "I almost believed you were actually going to make them regret it."
Harry can't help but feel a little offended. "I would," he grumbles. Ron laughs.
Ginny meets them halfway. "Thanks for coming," she says quietly, pulling a face. "This is so not the welcome home I wanted to receive."
Harry remembers then. "You've just come back from boot camp, right?"
"Yeah, this morning. Still reverse, but who knows? And it's all thanks to you."
Harry reddens and starts to shake his head vehemently. "I've hardly done anything."
Ginny gives him an indulgent smile. "That's why I don't make a big deal out of it," she explains. "I know that to you it's nothing, but to other people it can be a make-or-break."
All that she manages to achieve is to make him uncomfortable, because he knows that in theory, but knowing something and accepting it are two different things. One of these days, he needs to learn how to use the fact that people want to listen to him to his own advantage. But not today.
"Alright, Harry?" Bill asks.
"All good," Harry lies out of habit. "How's Victoire?"
Bill's whole face brightens up, and he starts to nearly vibrate with excitement, but then he reins himself in and instead answers nonchalantly, "Oh, she's great. You'll never believe what she did last week. Her babysitter swears she vanished all the broccoli right out of both of their plates."
"She's kind of young for that, isn't she?" Harry asks delicately, not wanting to suggest that Bill's kid isn't the most powerful kid out there. He supposes most parents like to believe so about their kids.
He lets Mrs. Weasley gently round him up into the house along with the rest. She grabs both his cheeks and checks him over with concern. "How are you doing, dear? With the Renegade Killer and all?"
"I'm fine," Harry repeats his lie, glancing through the window to see that most reporters seem to be gone. Good riddance.
"Yeah, well." Bill shrugs, taking a seat at the table. "The babysitter is a French squib. Fleur found her. Everything is magic to her. She might have just eaten it and forgotten."
The comment doesn't sit well with Harry, but he tells himself that he can't really hold it against Bill. That's all he knows. It's his own ignorance speaking, not that of squibs, who often are very proficient in dealing with both worlds. "Isn't Fleur still on maternity leave?" he asks instead.
Bill grimaces. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? The employee rights at Gringotts are a joke." Harry hisses sympathetically through his teeth. Yeah, that's not ideal, but they're not obligated to adhere to the wizarding law on the subject, are they? Which isn't all that great to begin with. "I went to talk to the goblins about it, and you know what they said? That 'no one is being forced to work there.' And to 'get a house elf.'" Bill shakes his head incredulously. "Is it so hard to understand that we don't want a house elf? That we want to raise our kid ourselves and still keep our jobs?" He shrugs dispassionately. "Not that it matters anymore."
Ignoring his last comment, Harry feels an idea sprouting in his head, but he keeps his mouth shut for now, just in case Bill means what he says and it's not an attempt to save his dignity. He sees Hermione nodding with approval from the other end of the table.
"Why did she even need to go back to work in the first place?" Mrs. Weasley complains, coming over with a tea tray.
Bill rolls his eyes. "This is such an archaic attitude, mom," he grumbles. "She doesn't want to give up her career. Not everybody wants to be all about kids all the time."
"All I'm saying is that not every woman needs to be career-orientated now, just because it's so progressive. Now, I understand Hermione." Hermione makes a face that says, 'What's that supposed to mean?' "But Fleur? Isn't she just adding numbers at the bank?"
"She's an arithmancer," Bill drawls through clenched teeth. Harry looks up, suddenly interested.
"Also, you know you can always bring little Vicky here."
Ron leans towards Harry. "Good thing Fleur doesn't hear that," he whispers. "She hates having her name shortened."
"We already do, mom." If Bill keeps rolling his eyes, they're going to stay that way.
"Of course, unlike me, you're experts in raising children." Mrs. Weasley puts the tray on the table with a little too much force. "Are you staying for dinner, Harry?" she asks much more kindly.
He's not so certain anymore, because the tension seems to run a little too high for him. He really thought Mrs. Weasley dropped this hostility towards Fleur a long time ago. Maybe the baby drove a wedge between them again. On the bright side, Mrs. Weasley might stop trying to set him up with Gabrielle now. He smiles brightly. "Sure."
"Oh, look at the time," Mrs. Weasley exclaims. "Arthur and Percy should be home soon. I must get to it."
There's a slightly uncomfortable silence when she disappears in the kitchen, and Hermione is giving him a rather insistent look. A while ago, it would have meant that the three of them were moving somewhere more private to plot, but the times of the Golden Trio are long gone, and Bill and Ginny follow them outside to check on the reporters. They're gone.
"Isn't it too chilly?" Ginny asks when they all sprawl over two benches in the garden. Harry lights up a cigarette.
"Oh, I can't believe you're still doing it," Hermione groans.
"Trust me, it's the lesser of two evils." Harry gives her a lopsided smile. She huffs but drops it.
"I want one," Ginny decides, boldly reaching for the pack in the front pocket of his jeans. She rolls her eyes when Harry jumps. "Oh, please. Nothing I haven't felt before." Bill laughs raucously while Ron chokes.
"Harry, make them stop," Hermione demands.
"Guys, don't," Harry tries. "It's gonna destroy your lives, and you'll wake up ten years from now without lungs... oh, whatever," he mutters when he sees Bill already lighting one with his wand.
"What was that thing you did with your fingers?" Ginny asks obliviously, and Bill immediately starts to wiggle his eyebrows.
"Oh, don't say it," Ron begs.
Harry snorts but obediently snaps his fingers, and a little flame appears at the top of his thumb.
"Nice," Hermione admits reluctantly.
Ginny brings the tip of her cigarette to Harry's hand. "You know, you should cut mom some slack," she tells Bill before wincing. "Merlin, that's absolutely disgusting!"
"Let's see if you say the same when you have kids on your own." Bill takes a deep drag. It seems to agree with him.
"Fleur's going to kill me," Harry mutters at the same time as Ron groans, "Please, don't mention Zabini babies." Ginny pokes him in the ribs.
Huh. Looks like it's not a secret anymore.
"No chance," Bill says. "I'm never letting her live this down." Ginny opens her mouth to protest, but he raises his hand to stop her. "One word. Phlegm. So, what were you saying about Bambino?"
Ginny growls. "He's not a mommy's boy!" she snaps. "Blaise is a perfect gentleman—"
"Can he even tie his own shoelaces?" Bill mocks.
"Isn't he going back to Italy?" Hermione jumps in quietly.
"Yeah, back to his mommy," Bill scoffs. "The British sun doesn't agree with him." Damn, he's taking no prisoners today. Ginny glowers at him.
"You're not going with him, though, right?" Ron asks slightly hysterically. "You've heard what his mother—"
"His mother literally just sits there and looks pretty! I don't think she's very dangerous," Ginny bursts out. "And anyway, I have quidditch practice four times a week. Of course I'm not moving to Italy. That would take a fortune in international portkeys."
"Well, good," Ron grunts.
This time Harry decides to break the uncomfortable silence by starting an even more uncomfortable topic. "Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't want an elf to help out? Kreacher is very bored, you know," he says innocently.
Hermione glares at him. "Harry, that's not—"
Harry spreads his arms helplessly. "What am I supposed to do with him, Hermione? I can't let him go; it would break his heart. I don't overexert him, but he likes to feel useful. Of course I'd ask him first; we've been getting better at that."
"Are you serious, Harry?" Bill asks, looking like he's actually considering it.
Hermione gets over herself with a huff and gives him a knowing look. She's well aware of what he's doing, trying to fix other people's problems. He just doesn't see why not. He's got plenty of resources he's not using, resources that shouldn't be his to hand out in the first place, but they are. Nothing to do about it, and if everyone is happy in the end, then what's the harm?
Hermione is kind of his partner in crime when it comes to that. He informed her in a very unyielding way that he has his heart set on getting them a place to live for their wedding. Of their choosing, of course. She was hard to convince, but not half as hard as Ron would be. He still doesn't know. But Harry just can't sleep at night when he has all this money lying around and Ron and Hermione live in the attic of the Burrow, after everything they did for him. It's unacceptable. In this economy, when are they going to make enough to buy something on their own? What if they'd like to have kids before that happens? It's not like he's done anything extra to deserve the money that they haven't. It's just rotten circumstances.
He thinks Hermione's parents were supposed to be helping out, but there was some kind of fallout along the way. He didn't ask. Things are still not great on that end.
"I don't know, Harry." Bill sounds uncertain. "Isn't Kreacher a little... I mean, I wouldn't want him to..." he stutters and gets a little pink. Harry raises his eyebrows inquiringly. "Won't he have a problem with that? With Victoire being part-Veela and all?" he finally asks as tactfully as he can.
Harry rolls his eyes. "The truth is that, no matter how fucked up it is, Kreacher believes what his people believe." Then he decides to stop beating around the bush and adds frankly, "The longer he stays with me, the less of a bigot he is. I mean, he even folds my muggle boyfriend's clothes these days, and he hasn't been complaining about it too much lately."
"What!" Ginny shrieks before slapping her hand on her mouth and going completely red in the face.
Shit. Harry hasn't been planning on telling them that. That was just the first example he could think of. He's not going to worm his way out of that slip easily.
"Can we pretend I never said that?" he asks just in case.
"No way in hell, Harry Potter!" Ginny protests strongly. She does look a little stunned, and Harry has to admit he's been slightly apprehensive of her reaction. Isn't it something ex-girlfriends tend to have a problem with?
He looks at the others, hoping for support. Ron is grinning, and Hermione seems to be barely hiding a smirk. Bill leans forward, intrigued. "Well, now we need a mean nickname for the bloke."
"Oh yeah? Then what's mine?" Hermione asks.
Bill grins and opens his mouth to answer, but Ginny's faster. "I totally called it," she claims. "The moment I saw those little things on the wall in your apartment, I knew you were going to end up with a muggle."
Harry raises his eyebrows. "That's a big leap to make," he points out sceptically. "What little things?"
"Those... you know." Ginny desperately tries to find the right words. "The thingies electricity comes from."
"Plug sockets?" Harry guesses.
Ron shakes his head gravely. "Dad would be so disappointed."
Ginny ignores him apart from punching him in the arm, fully focused on Harry. "Do you have a picture?" she asks excitedly.
Dear Merlin, now he regrets bugging Tracey about Christian, if that's how it feels. But he also can't say that he doesn't, so he reluctantly reaches for his bag.
"I didn't see a picture!" Ron realises, sounding like it's an injustice he won't stand for.
Ginny blinks at the small polaroid Harry passes her. "Whoa, it's no wonder we didn't work out," she exclaims, looking from Ben's face to Harry's and back a couple of times. "We've got, like, the exact same taste in men."
"Good thing you don't have the same taste in women," Bill mutters.
"I'm not into girls, but I'd do me," Ginny announces shamelessly.
"Oh, give me that," Ron hisses, mildly scandalised. He scrutinises the picture for a long moment. "You're delusional. He doesn't look like Zabini at all."
They hear a quiet crack that sounds like an apparition and look around, confused when they can't see anyone. The back door to the garden opens, and Mrs. Weasley peeks out. "Was it your father or Percy?"
"Don't they usually use the Floo?" Ron asks obliviously, but Ginny is watching her mother warily. That's when Harry notices that the kitchen window is right above their heads and has been open this whole time.
"What was that about Blaise Zabini?" Mrs. Weasley asks in a seemingly calm tone, but her face is tight. She looks at each of their faces one after the other and makes a longer pause on Harry. He immediately gets a persistent feeling that he's done something wrong.
Ginny straightens her back and apparently decides to own up. "Can we talk inside, mom?" she asks pleasantly.
The rest is silent until they both disappear. Bill exhales heavily. "Hey, maybe I won't be the worst anymore," he remarks good-humoredly. "Did no one cast a privacy spell?"
"Harry usually does that." Ron glares at Harry. "Why didn't you cast it, mate?"
Harry shrugs. "I figured the wards should be enough. I don't tend to have secrets from your mother."
"The wards don't block sound," Bill corrects him absently, then freezes, like he's only now getting the implications.
Harry looks up slowly, fixing his gaze on him. "What do you mean the wards don't block sound?" he asks quietly, but there's a dangerous undertone to his voice.
Bill jumps to his feet and heads towards the bushes outside of the wards. They rustle when he searches through them.
"Dad doesn't like being linked to the wards; he says their buzzing gives him a headache, so when Mr. Diggory visits, he just yells," Ron explains, suddenly pale.
Harry throws his head back. "That's great," he grouses.
"There's no one there," Bill assures them, coming back.
"Of course not, because they've already apparated!" Hermione snaps.
"Well, we'll find out tomorrow, won't we?" Harry says humourlessly.
"Harry," she starts cautiously.
"It's fine, Hermione," he cuts her off. "I don't care. They can write whatever they want." He at least sounds sure.
Hermione gives him a shy smile. "That's some personal growth," she remarks. "Well, let's look at the bright side—I've dragged you out here to discuss the case. Good thing that these three would rather gossip." She tilts her head towards Ron and Bill but means Ginny as well.
"Nowhere's ever safe," Harry mutters resignedly.
"Harry, I'm sorry," Bill blurts, clearly feeling awful about it. "I should have told you. I've just got a lot on my mind and—"
Harry just waves him off, because he has more pressing problems than the press potentially looking into his love life. The only way to protect his mental health is to ignore the trivial stuff and stay calm. He needs to be more like Ben. More zen.
Hah. Zen-Ben. He snorts. Hermione gives him an odd look.
They hear more voices coming from the house, so they all get up and head back inside. Mrs. Weasley is already serving dinner.
"Harry! So good to have you here," Mr. Weasley booms, pulling him into a bear hug. Harry grins. "Awful stuff at the ministry, huh? There's been some movement in the Wizengamot." He lowers his voice discreetly. "The fraction that claims all muggles involved should be obliviated and the investigation brought fully back to us is growing."
Percy scoffs. "That's not possible in today's society," he determines firmly. Harry quietly agrees; they might be able to modify the paper trails, but the digital footprints? They have no measures to deal with that.
"Look at you, all knowledgeable about the muggles," Ginny taunts him. Out of all of the siblings, she seems to be the only one to still have a problem with him.
"More than you, I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley snipes.
Her husband looks up abruptly. "What's happened now?" he asks abjectly.
"Your daughter is dating Blaise Zabini," Mrs. Weasley announces gravely.
Mr. Weasley frowns. "Zabini? The Italian?"
"Yeah, are you prejudiced against Italians, mom?" Ginny asks contemptuously. "Or is it something else? Don't you want to know his net worth first before giving your final judgement?"
Mrs. Weasley jumps to her feet. "That's not what this is about!" she protests strongly. "Aren't you worried at all about his family's beliefs?"
"You were the one who brought me up thinking that my whole future revolves around becoming a lady of a noble house!" Ginny goes at full volume. "And now that I might actually do that, you don't approve either? There's just no winning with you!"
"Italy is actually fairly progressive," Mr. Weasley remarks before going back to frowning. "Well, as a whole."
"Yeah, mom. Besides, it's a generational issue," Bill points out calmly. Looks like despite his teasing towards Ginny, he firmly has her back. "Younger purebloods, those who came of age during the war or after, are actually a lot more liberal than their parents ever were."
"Oh, fine!" Mrs. Weasley throws her hands up. "Marry Zabini! Move to Italy! Nobody here listens to me anyway! Maybe except for Percy," she adds, putting her hand on the shoulder of her third oldest son, who stiffens.
Ginny scowls. "I'm not marrying anybody," she mumbles sullenly. "We're not even courting. His family is not that archaic."
Percy starts to tremble. "I've been lying too!" he cries out suddenly. Everyone is so surprised they immediately fall silent. "I've been seeing someone," he reveals in a wavering voice. "A muggle."
Harry starts to feel slightly uncomfortable, like he isn't supposed to be here for this drama.
"A muggle!" Mr. Weasley echoes happily.
"I'm sorry! I've already hurt you so much," Percy babbles miserably. Poor guy. Seems like it's been really eating him.
Mrs. Weasley's lower lip quivers. She glances briefly at Harry and clears her throat. "What's her name, dear?" she asks gently.
Percy blinks, trying to get a grip on himself. "Ehm... Audrey," he exhales barely audibly.
Harry can almost see Mrs. Weasley slumping with relief. Now some part of him wants to hide under the table.
"It's okay, dear." Percy's mom consoles him, hunching over to hug him from behind. "Nothing wrong with that at all."
"Oh, so a muggle is fine, but Blaise isn't?" Ginny speaks up aggressively.
"It's all fine!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims. "Muggle girls, pureblood boys, it's all fine!" She pats Ginny's head before changing her mind and hugging her too.
No mention of muggle boys, though. Harry stares at one point at the table to avoid Hermione's concerned gaze. Is Mrs. Weasley homophobic? The truth is, he doesn't have the faintest idea. She does give him one more furtive glance, maybe to let him know he's included, but she doesn't say anything, so Harry's not sure how to interpret it.
"See? No harm at all," Mr. Weasley booms. Harry begs to differ. Right now, he's feeling quite unwelcome.
Finally, Ginny scowls and starts to squirm in her mother's embrace. Mrs. Weasley lets her go and swiftly moves on to Harry. "You're going to be just fine too, darling," she sniffs. Harry hugs her back, exchanging a bewildered glance with Hermione over her shoulder. His heart melts a little to see her cry, but she cries a lot, so at some point it's kind of lost its impact. And he still doesn't know whether it's okay to date boys or not.
The dinner has turned into a complete mess, and everyone is sort of dazed, which is the moment Bill chooses to clear his throat. "So, we were going to wait a bit longer, but Fleur is pregnant again," he announces to everyone at large, and the table explodes with noise once more. If his goal has been to take some heat off his singlings, he's fully succeeded.
Harry feels relieved when the dinner is over and he can bid everyone goodbye. After assuring Hermione that they're going to talk at work, Ron gets up as well to walk him out to the edge of the wards.
He puts his hands into his pockets and sways back and forth uncomfortably. "Don't worry about mom. She just needs some time to come to terms with it. It was the same with Bill, because he was the first, and Fleur has never been her favourite person. Then with Charlie, when he said he's not interested in finding a wife at all. I mean, anybody," Ron corrects himself quickly. "I don't think he's interested in anybody. Mom spent some time pretending it couldn't possibly be true and waiting for him to change his mind, but when he didn't... she just moved past it. It's not like she's going to..." he breaks off, visibly not sure how to put it.
Harry shakes his head. "It's okay, Ron. I get it." He does. He might not have a lot of family experience of his own, but he's heard it all before. Maybe it's just a phase, Ben's parents hoped and seem to keep hoping. With Harry, it's double fun, because he could find the right girl, but why would he when Ben is right there?
Ron doesn't look convinced. "I know you do, but..." Because he knows how much his family means to Harry. That it's the only family he's ever known, except for Sirius for a very fleeting moment. "I'm going to talk to her," he decides stubbornly.
Harry doesn't want to tell him again that there's no need for that, so he just smiles and says, "Thanks, mate."
He pops home and slumps on the couch, tired beyond belief. He takes some time to decompress and considers calling Ben, but for some reason he keeps postponing it. Between Ash's questioning, the dinner at the Burrow, and, let's not forget, someone from the press most likely hearing him talk about his muggle boyfriend, his mind feels overburdened. And after what was revealed the last time they were together, he can't bring himself to talk to Ben without having a solid plan. He hopes one of these days a solid plan just pops into his head.
There's a quiet knock on the door, and Harry groans before reluctantly getting up. Zoe's eyes scan his face from the corridor. "God, you look awful." Exactly what everyone likes to hear.
"I'm beat," Harry admits, letting her in.
"Yeah, I've heard that there's been... a development," she says diplomatically. "I won't bother you then. I just thought..."
"What?" Harry urges her on, not having the patience for her attempts at politeness.
She sighs. "I had a weird conversation with my brother." She leans against the shoe cabinet in the hallway to show that she's not going to stay longer than necessary. "He seems to think you're a..." she pauses, clearly wondering how to put it.
Harry can easily guess where she's going with it. "A what?" he still asks.
"A terrorist?" She scowls apologetically while Harry raises his eyebrows. Now that's an upgrade. They've got to uranium in their brainstorm about what the fuck is wrong with him, huh? "Well, Nathan thinks you're a terrorist. Ben doesn't know what to think," she clarifies. "And yeah, your life might resemble a piece of fiction more than anything that actually happens to real people, but even if it does, I don't think it's a villain origin story. So please try to explain it to Ben before he comes up with an even crazier idea."
Like what, that his boyfriend is magical? He doesn't think Ben is in any danger of guessing that. Harry looks at her blankly, kind of touched that she doesn't seem to entertain the notion even for a moment. Zoe is way too trustful. It's a good thing that she's right about him.
It doesn't loosen the knot he feels in his stomach at the mere thought of clearing things up with Ben. "I'll talk to him," he promises with little conviction.
The truth is, he doesn't even know where to start glueing it into some kind of coherent explanation. Or should he just tell Ben point-blank that the secrets are here to stay, and if he has a problem with that, then it's not going to work? Only, Harry wants it to work so very badly. He hates the idea of it not working.
He wets his lips. "Thanks, Zoe," he says, because she's come here to warn him that there's damage control to do, not knowing that he's already been aware of that, and he appreciates it. Then he adds, because he knows which part matters to her the most, "It's all rather complicated. But I'm trying to do right by him. As right as I can right now." He feels like a liar. He should be doing something else or something more; he doesn't know. He should have been wiser from the beginning. He should... Merlin, how is this supposed to be helping him get better? So far, this intoxicating journey towards falling in love seems to only keep wrecking his nerves.
Well, it does feel quite intoxicating at times.
Zoe beams at him. "I know you do. It doesn't look like this when someone doesn't."
She leaves with another reassuring smile, and then he's alone with his thoughts again. He keeps kidding himself that once he sorts everything out in his head, he's going to see the answer right in front of him. In reality, he doesn't think he will. There is no answer, only different paths forward, and he doesn't know which of them will lead to a crash and burn and which to both of them, ideally together, coming out of this in one piece.
He almost jumps when his phone pings. He breathes in relief when he sees it's from Dudley, then immediately wants to kick himself. He needs to either end it or be able to talk to Ben like a normal human being. And he needs to address the issue before it festers. Distracting him with sex won't work forever.
9:34 PM. Dudley. Hey, do you want to grab a beer or something? I've heard some stuff. How about Thursday?
Of course he's heard, and unlike other muggles, he's easily able to put it together. The last thing Harry feels like is reassuring Dudley that all is well. Especially since it isn't.
Also, Thursday? He wonders if Dudley even knows what happened on that day in 1981. He probably doesn't. Oh, how Harry despises Halloween. Well, he can just as well go to AA and then get something non-alcoholic with Dudley. Hopefully, the world won't end this Halloween.
9:45 PM. Dudley. Thursday's fine. After 9 PM. You pick where. Not drinking though.
He gets another ping and glances at the screen, but it's not Dudley this time.
9:51 PM. Ben. Did you get through the Monday from hell, Doll? I'm thinking about you.
Of course he is, Harry huffs internally, which only confirms his previous decision. He's in no state to talk to Ben right now. He would probably only end up saying something shitty. Sometimes it's safer to not say anything.
He shoves his phone under the pillow along with his wand and falls asleep on the couch.
October 31st, 2002
There was nothing about Harry in Tuesday's Prophet, apart from in the context of the case, which was expected. Nothing on Wednesday either. By Thursday he relaxes and just glances at the cover in the morning—the word 'Mudblood' is jarring but almost welcome considering the circumstances. He doesn't read the whole paper until lunchtime, when he borrows a copy from Lydia. And there it is, in the Society Column section. 'A secret affair between the Heir of an Italian Noble Family and a daughter of the Ministry of Magic employee.' Harry wants to roll his eyes. Why do they call simple dating 'an affair'? What a scandal.
But also, really? They've decided to write about Ginny's love life, but not his? In theory, Ginny and Blaise don't seem to hide their relationship, but the timing is a little too suspicious. Harry doesn't like this. Either they're waiting for a special occasion to drop the bomb, or... they've actually taken his threat to heart and don't want to aggravate him? Somehow, he doesn't believe it for a second.
He closes the Prophet with a huff and only then realises that Lydia has been saying something. "Sorry, what was that?"
She rolls her eyes. "I asked if you wanted to come with me," she repeats, apparently. "Gabriel is questioning Cameron again."
Harry frowns. "Why?"
She gives him a look of pure disbelief. "I told you. He used to be friends with David Leighton back in school."
Suddenly, Harry's focus sharpens. He can't believe he hasn't registered such crucial information. "What about later?" he asks, looking at her intently.
She bites her lip. "Yeah," she admits.
Harry exhales slowly. "I'm going to talk to Kingsley now. I'll watch the recording later, and we'll talk it over, okay?"
She nods reluctantly before glancing at him with curiosity. "What's going on with you lately? You've been absent these last couple of days."
He pretends he can't hear her, so she gives up and heads towards the interrogation room, and he tilts his head back and rubs his eyes. He needs to get a grip. Ben is not here. There's no point in rehashing their every interaction over and over. People are getting murdered.
Harry finally texted him back on Tuesday afternoon that he was swamped with work and that he would call him. So far, he hasn't. If Ben has been concerned by his persistent silence, he hasn't come to storm his place, and he only replied with a simple 'ok'.
The problem is that Harry can't focus on the case without clearing things up with Ben first. When has he let that happen?
He finds Kingsley talking to Roderick in his office, neither of them sounding particularly happy. They both look up when Harry knocks and opens the door, then Kingsley quickly disregards him and turns back to his brother, visibly impatient. "So what would you rather have me do?"
Roderick scrutinises Harry for a longer moment, but then he seems to decide he doesn't mind his presence either. "How about not having your world's secrets splashed all over mundane news?" Roderick suggests sarcastically.
Kingsley spreads his arms helplessly. "Do you think they'd have listened to me?"
Roderick doesn't seem to believe him for a second. "I spoke to Samantha. Your suggestion wasn't to keep it quiet."
Kingsley's eyes widen. "Why are you undermining me?"
Roderick scoffs. "I've known her longer than you." Then he narrows his eyes, like he's trying to see through him. "Do you want the Statue of Secrecy to fall? Is that what you want?" he asks accusingly.
"Of course not!" Kingsley bristles, like the mere idea is outrageous.
"Then I don't understand what your end goal here is. You're not improving your relationship with us. The Prime Minister is more pissed off than he was during the war, because then he at least got one clear signal instead of multiple mixed ones. Did you know that back then they were this close," he puts his thumb and index finger together, "to sending the army against you?"
This time it's Kingsley who scoffs. "I'd like to see that," he proclaims arrogantly.
Roderick sighs. "I wouldn't be so confident if I were you. It was the UN back then that decided the situation wasn't dire enough to risk the potential backlash. But they could have easily decided otherwise, and then it wouldn't have been just the British Army. It would have been a mixed army from countries that have very different relationships with their magical communities than you do. Then you might have defeated Voldemort, but the whole world would have suffered for it. Britain doesn't exist in a void. Now, with this killer on top, you're being watched especially closely."
Kingsley narrows his eyes. "Is that a threat?" he asks, taken aback.
Roderick looks like he wants to pray for patience. He turns towards Harry abruptly. "Potter, did you get the impression that I am threatening your people?"
Harry would rather not get involved in this at all, especially since he's feeling kind of numb after this barrage of information. He clears his throat. "No, sir. I think what Mr. Frost is trying to say is that the situation needs to be handled delicately," he tells Kingsley as politely as he can.
"Thank you." Roderick sighs loudly before looking down at his—it's very obvious now—little brother. "No one wants that, I guarantee you. No one wants the secret to come out, because it would cause a mayhem. That's literally the only thing the whole world agrees on. We've got enough of a mess in the Middle East. But it can't work as it did in the past. I believe the Prime Minister made you aware of this last year after 9/11."
"He wasn't specific," Kingsley says stiffly.
Roderick rolls his eyes. "Because he's been stupidly taking your lead. But he must have suggested having more people in the know. People in power hate not knowing what's going on. More people means better control in case of a leak, and trust me, the leaks will keep happening. Worse ones than the killer we're dealing with now. Have you even presented the notion to the Wizengamot?"
"Do you really think the Wizengamot is going to agree to it?" Kingsley huffs in disbelief. "To them, it's just more people who can use the knowledge to their advantage."
"Well, boo-hoo for you," Roderick drawls sarcastically. "It's your job to convince them. We've been dealing with this shit for a while now on the other side of the pond, and nobody's happy about it, but at the same time, everybody knows that it could be a lot worse."
Kingsley tightens his lips. "I will speak to the Prime Minister," he promises reluctantly. He looks almost like he's pouting.
"And get your press under control. They've been following muggle detectives and Leighton's parents. Two of them have been reported to local authorities." Roderick looks like he's completely over this conversation. "I'm taking Potter with me," he adds like an afterthought.
"Give me a moment with him," Kingsley requests, and Roderick walks out of the office without looking back. Harry feels quite uncomfortable with the sudden attention, and his head is still reeling from what he's heard. There's also something wrong about seeing the leader of Wizarding Britain being scolded like a child, and Harry has a hard time looking at him.
"Harry," Kingsley says urgently, lowering his voice. "Would you keep an eye on him for me? He seems to like you. He's..." He pauses, looking for the right words. "I don't know who he actually answers to. I could never tell for sure," he adds bitterly. Harry can understand that; people like his brother have their fingers in too many pies to keep track.
Still, he raises his eyebrows. He's been under the impression that Roderick is in a luxurious position of not really answering to anybody; he's acting as a consultant for two different governments and clearly feels comfortable lecturing at least one of them. "I'm not really spy material," he repeats what he once told the Unspeakables, keeping his voice calm and firm. "And he has a point, you know. Soon we won't be able to keep up with the information flow. That's something the Wizengamot doesn't understand, that one day obliviation might not be enough. Data is being recorded and multiplied faster than we can apparate. You can't obliviate a computer, at least we haven't figured out how. It leaves a footprint forever, and we're as unfamiliar with it as we can get. I've been spending some time with muggles—"
"I know you have," Kingsley interrupts him with a smug, knowing look. Harry freezes, feeling so wrong-footed so suddenly, he almost gets a whiplash. He's about to ask what's that supposed to mean, but the minister continues, "Trust me, Harry, I'm aware of all of this. But something that Roddy doesn't get is that I must speak to the Wizengamot in a language they understand. They won't care for data and footprints. They'll only see it as a threat. Our leading narrative right now is about protecting the muggles. I can't suddenly present them to the Wizengamot as potentially dangerous. That would only hinder us." He falls silent and watches Harry intently for a long moment. "Can I count on you, Harry?"
Harry wants to point out that the muggles don't need their protection. They need their cooperation. They need to be treated like equal partners—those in the positions of power—so they can together protect the citizens, both muggle and magical.
But something holds him back, and instead all he says is, "Of course you can," making a little disbelieving face, like he doesn't understand how he can even ask that. "We haven't fought in a war together for nothing," he adds, because Kingsley loves being reminded of that. The glory days.
He looks relieved. "Thanks, Harry." He pats his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
Harry leaves the minister's office, wondering what is even happening and why he's suddenly being involved in dirty politicking. He's pretty sure he's not cut out for politics in the slightest. Roderick is waiting for him and starts to walk the moment he sees Harry, who follows him quickly.
"Did he ask you to spy on me?" he finally speaks up in the elevator.
Harry frowns. "He's not—"
"You don't have to tell me about my own brother, Potter," Roderick scoffs before falling silent again when the elevator stops in the lobby, which they cross without a word. Only when they're on the muggle side does Roderick exhale and slow down. "The Whistleblowers are going to be a problem," he reveals. "It's a good thing you've got wind of them."
They start to walk towards St James' Park at a sedated pace. Harry frowns. "How have people even ended up discussing us on the internet?"
Roderick gives him an indulgent smile. "I know you've been working hard to catch up, but you're still so green."
Harry scowls, but it's not like he doesn't agree with him, so he shrugs. "I know."
"People who saw something suspicious or unexplainable never had a platform before to connect with each other. And we're talking all over the world; trust me, it must be hundreds of cases. No law is ever fully enforced, especially since your governments haven't been working with each other all that closely. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Now we can start observing them and figuring out what their end goal is, if they even have any organised structure. If our killer is in fact connected to them and him using a whistle as a symbol isn't a coincidence, he could give us a lot of intel. So let's find the bastard."
Harry smiles, but there's little humour in it. "So it's not even about the murders anymore?" he asks sardonically.
"One doesn't exclude the other." Roderick smirks. "Which way are you going?"
Harry hesitates. "I'm just gonna stay here and call my boyfriend," he decides, indicating a nearby bench.
"How's that going?" Roderick asks knowingly.
Harry doesn't remember telling him that Ben's a muggle, but he's probably either heard or figured it out himself. It's Roderick—he just knows stuff. "Not great," he admits with a sigh.
Roderick's eyes soften. "Yeah, it's a tight spot you've found yourself in," he agrees. "But dumber people than you have been where you are right now and managed to work it out."
"Maybe their muggles were dumber too," Harry mumbles grumpily.
Roderick barks a laugh. "Dealing with the unusually bright individuals makes things harder in the beginning and easier in the long run," he informs Harry kindly. "You're going to be just fine."
Harry appreciates his words, and after Roderick leaves, they give him a final push to move to the bench, pull out his phone, and dial Ben. The first push came back in the minister's office. The mere picture of the Wizengamot discussing changing their ways made him want to run screaming towards anyone with even a grain of common sense. His muggle boyfriend is ten times smarter than most of those buffoons.
"Hey," he hears Ben's smooth voice when he picks up.
"Hey," Harry stutters. Merlin, it's so good to hear him. How could he ever think that he can go without it?
"You're alive," Ben notices. It's not exactly snide, but there is a hint of polite interest in his voice.
"Yeah," Harry exhales, wondering where to even start. "I missed you." This seems as good a place as any.
"Well, I wasn't the one avoiding you," Ben points out, somehow still kindly.
"No, I know," Harry assures him quickly. He has a suffocating feeling that he's not doing very well.
"Look, Harry, I know Zoe spoke to you, even though I didn't want her to, because we haven't been seeing each other all that long, and I don't want to already start something. If you've been silent because you didn't know how to address that, then I guess I—"
"I have," Harry cuts in. "I have been avoiding you, and I'm sorry for that." He takes a deep breath. There's no other choice but to suck it up and lay his heart bare. "But I do want to address it. If we just let it go, it's going to keep coming back. And there's still a lot of stuff I can't tell you, and I know it looks bad, but I promise you it's not, and I want to at least be able to tell you when there's something I can't tell you, because I think it's the only way for us to..."
Harry pauses, so Ben supplies, "To not both go crazy, yeah. Just tell me... one day? Or nah?"
Harry swallows heavily. "One day, yeah." He hopes, at least.
Ben sighs. "Okay then. Listen, Harry," he starts purposefully. "Despite everything, I think you're being genuine. And if I'm right, then I don't want to push you. I know I'm practically a stranger. So just... convince me, okay?" He sounds almost like he's begging. It only fortifies Harry's conviction.
"I will," he promises.
"Are you free tonight?" Ben asks hopefully.
Harry closes his eyes. "I... not tonight, okay?" He hopes he's not asking for too much. "It's just... today is my parents' death anniversary."
"Oh. Shit, I—" Ben starts, but Harry talks over him.
"I'm going to go to AA and then meet my cousin. I'll just try not to get drunk and get through the rest of the day." If he hints that Dudley is going to grieve his aunt and uncle along with him, that's the least harmful of lies. "But tomorrow? After my therapy?"
"I'll pick you up?" Ben suggests easily.
Harry smiles. "That would be great."
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, doll."
How come Harry's heart suddenly feels ten times lighter? Well, now he only needs to get through that conversation.
But let's take it one day at a time. He puts his phone away and tilts his head towards the sun. He doesn't appreciate it most of the time, but he knows it's not going to be here for long now. It's still Halloween, and an apocalypse seems to be lurking around every corner, but somehow the future already feels brighter.
