October 31st, 2002 (cont.)
He's never spoken out before. Well, of course he has—he's greeted people and asked how they're doing and sometimes commented on their stories—but he's never opened up about himself in front of them. He hesitantly raises his hand and waits politely for Nicolas to acknowledge him.
"Harry," he says kindly. "Would you like to share something?"
Well, obviously. No, don't be snide. That's counterproductive. "I haven't been drinking for thirty-six days now," he starts matter-of-factly. There are several painfully supportive smiles directed at him. Nicolas beams as well and encourages him to approach. Harry complies, feeling his cheeks getting red. He collects his one month of sobriety red coin and stares at it for a moment before putting it into his pocket and getting back to his seat among polite clapping. He clears his throat. "Thanks. So... today is especially difficult for me. It always has been. My parents were murdered exactly twenty-one years ago on Halloween," he forces himself to confess before letting out a humourless, wet laugh. "And then, later... something bad always seemed to happen on that day. I don't even remember Halloween last year. I... I started to drink as soon as I woke up, and I did absolutely nothing else for the entire day, so that whatever bad thing was coming, maybe it would... forget about me, or take pity on me, or... I don't know." He shrugs. Everyone seems to be listening keenly. "I didn't do that today. Obviously. And I'm thinking that maybe if nothing bad happens, and I manage not to get drunk, maybe it would... break the curse on me."
He looks at the faces surrounding him. Pola, the Polish lady with an abusive ex-husband, looks like she would really like to give him a hug. Tony, the snobbish broker who always wears a suit—he kindly reminds them that he's a broker every single meeting—looks surprised, like he hasn't expected Harry to have anything meaningful to say. Kenneth, the older, long-haired, tattooed guy, nods his head gravely, like he knows exactly what Harry is talking about. Donovan is eyeing him suspiciously, but he's been doing that a lot lately. Clearly what he said at the first meeting about leaving the outside world outside has no longer applied.
Harry scoffs at himself. "I mean, I know it's not really a curse." It would be much easier if it were, with clear instructions on how to get rid of it. "It's more about—"
"Breaking a pattern?" supplies Carmen, a young artist with a disabled brother and useless parents.
"Yeah," Harry confirms. "Exactly."
"This is just another day," Nicolas speaks up calmly. "The same as yesterday was. Nothing special about it at all. Don't give it power over you."
"Just another day," Harry echoes absently.
"You only have a little over three hours left to get through," Chad, a chubby divorcee whose kids don't talk to him, points out, gesturing wildly as he tends to do. "That's nothing. And then it will be tomorrow, and you'll be done with it for the whole year."
"I'll be praying that nothing bad happens today, Harry," Pola assures him.
Harry smiles nervously. "Thanks."
Nicolas looks around at their faces. "Would anyone else like to share?" He's met with silence. "No? Then I propose to call it a day, and I'll see you all next week."
Harry stands up along with the rest. They've been really helping, these meetings. With as personal an endeavour as theirs, any company makes an impact, but Harry genuinely likes most of these people, even though some seem rather simple-minded and self-absorbed. The latter is expected. None of them can afford not to be self-absorbed.
Donovan tries to start a conversation with him in the cloakroom, but Harry sends him a glare—he'd rather not have the whole world knowing what they work on. Lately, he's been getting the impression that Donovan is trying to force some information out of him, like he suspects Harry and Judy of being further along in solving the case and not sharing with the rest of their units. Which isn't necessarily the case. Sure, they've got Ash's testimony, but that's no secret; the suspect's description, no matter how lousy it is, has been shown to everyone with an instruction to keep their eyes open. Harry's not sure how much the others know about the Whistleblowers, but that's a very loose connection—it's more of a separate problem than a valid lead.
"Have you figured anything out about this mudblood business?" Donovan asks casually, putting on his coat.
Harry wants to snap at him to not say that word, but he refrains. The muggles didn't need the context to figure out that it has something to do with pedigree, those of the 'pure' blood and consequently, those of the 'dirty' blood—like David Leighton, apparently. Only they can't find anything potentially offensive about David's lineage. He was purely British, white, Christian, quite privileged, and, apart from being gay, there was nothing outstanding about him. Nothing outstanding about other victims either—three of them Middle Easterners and another three British. The first family was pretty well off, but then there was a homeless guy, the working-class young couple, and now David. No obvious link to be seen. It's been driving them up the wall.
Judy is convinced that they're dealing with some sort of sect, or at least a member of a sect, what with the strange terminology, known only to those involved, possible penchant for inbreeding, and clear hatred for outsiders. Considering the incomplete picture she's working with, she's reached surprisingly correct conclusions. Or rather she would have, had their culprits indeed been a group of bigoted blood purists, which Harry doubts. Don't get him wrong; he can see the appeal of that theory—Gabriel still seems fully sold on it—the use of a slur, six dead muggles, and one dead muggleborn are all pretty good indications. But then where does the connection to the online group of meddlers come from? And why the majority of muggle methods?
"I really must run," Harry says apologetically, not even lying, as he's supposed to meet Dudley in twenty minutes. "But I'll drop by next week. We'll talk then."
Donovan doesn't look happy, but he bids him goodbye before wandering off towards the parking lot. Harry checks the time to see if he needs to apparate or if he can take the tube.
Dudley is again already waiting for him in a pub in Chelsea, a different one this time. He's not nursing a beer this time. "Hey! Long time no see," he cheers. Considering that they hadn't seen each other for years before, those two months since their last meeting don't really feel like forever.
He barely has time to sit before the waitress approaches them. "Do you have coffee?" He's being permanently sleep deprived these days. "Just an Americano then," he orders once she nods. Dudley looks hesitant, so Harry encourages him, "You can have a beer if you want."
"Nah, Shiv is going to thank you," he waves him off. "A Coke, please." He closes the menu without looking at it after all. "You're okay?" he asks Harry, concerned. Does one have to be sick to not drink? Apparently.
"Yeah, just trying to cut back," he says, not feeling like explaining himself. "It's been a shitty day."
"Yeah, sorry for dragging you out on Halloween, but it's my last day in London for a while—"
Harry's curiosity wins. "Did you know that my parents died on Halloween?" he asks in a tone that makes it sound like random trivia.
Dudley blinks slowly. "Oh. No, I didn't. How have I not known that?" he mutters to himself.
"I didn't really expect you to." Harry shrugs it off, but Dudley still looks guilty.
"Now I feel like an arsehole."
"Don't. It's a good distraction," Harry tells him before smiling at the waitress when she brings him his coffee.
"Okay." Dudley rubs his hands together, clearly uncomfortable. "Still, I should have known that. Especially since..." He breaks off and reaches towards the inside pocket of his jacket. He looks less enthusiastic than he did before and timidly passes Harry a picture. "She was born on September 10th. Her name is Marigold."
Harry takes it carefully. The baby is ginger and round like a pumpkin, but she looks quite cute, unlike some babies. "Oh, wow," he says, because no matter who they belong to, little humans are always wow.
"Do you think she might look like your mother a little bit?" Dudley asks cautiously.
Harry gives him a sharp look before dropping his gaze back to the picture. He's trying hard, but to be honest, he can't see it. "I think she looks like Shiv."
"Yeah," Dudley agrees with a laugh. "Like a spitting image. I was hoping she got something from my side, and your mother was the closest I could figure. There's definitely not much of me or my dad in her."
Thank Merlin. "Maybe a bit," Harry humours him. "But even if not, she's still cute." Because parents seem to like to hear that about their kids. "Congrats."
"Thanks. It's been a madhouse. Shin is still staying in Ireland," he mentions, as if Harry was supposed to know that in the first place. "She wanted to have her parents help and all. I've been mostly going back and forth, but I'm going there tomorrow and staying until the wedding. Already took the time off and all." He pauses hesitantly. "You've never RSVPed," he notices casually.
He's right, Harry hasn't. He remembers getting the invitation, deciding he's going to deal with it later, putting it away somewhere, and then completely forgetting about it. He suddenly realises that sometimes he can be quite rude without meaning to.
When is it supposed to be? Sometime in November, Harry's pretty sure. "Right. Well, I..."
Dudley must recognise his slightly panicked expression because he assures him quickly, "You don't have to come if you don't want to. But it would be cool if you did. Only for the weekend; you wouldn't even have to miss work. It's gonna be a small affair. We can't afford anything fancy. Shiv's family is pretty huge, but apart from them, it's only going to be a couple of our closest friends, my parents and aunt Marge, and you." The 'my parents and aunt Marge' part is enough to make Harry shiver. Is it possible that Dudley doesn't fully remember how much Harry and the rest of his family used to despise each other? "And you can come alone, no problem. No pressure for dates or shit like that."
"Actually, I've got someone that I could bring," Harry blurts out, even though he's had no intention of revealing that. Must be some temporary insanity.
Dudley perks up. "You do? Then come on, bring her!"
"Him," Harry corrects him automatically, burying himself deeper and deeper.
Dudley looks surprised for a split second before he scowls suddenly, and Harry's heart misses a beat, even though he does not care for Dudley Dursley's opinion in the slightest. "Stupid Shiv. Even when she's wrong, she's right. Women, mate," he sighs, shaking his head in defeat.
Harry watches him with amusement. "Well, she's got me pegged," he agrees blankly.
"Bring him," Dudley repeats, not a hint of doubt in his voice.
"You don't mind?" Harry still asks cautiously.
Dudley shrugs. "Why would I? What do I even know to decide what's okay and what's not? If there's anything I've ever learnt from my old man, it's that hating something just because you don't understand it is a shitty thing to do." Harry's never imagined such a thought would ever cross his mind, but the world should have more Dudley Dursleys in it. "Besides, Shiv would have my balls for it. She takes these things very seriously. Her whole family is pretty liberal too. If you came to the wedding and my parents tried to say something to you, they might get kicked out. They already hate each other, our families. Shiv's mom always looks at me like she feels sorry for me. Which is awkward, but well. Not completely off the mark."
Merlin, has Dudley always been this talkative? "Good to know," Harry says faintly, discovering that at some point he's started to reluctantly consider it. "I'll think about it, I guess. But I won't keep you hanging, don't worry. I'll let you know by the weekend."
Dudley beams. "Awesome." Then he leans in conspiratorially. "Is he one of yours?"
Harry smirks. "He's one of yours, actually," he informs him.
Dudley looks startled. "No shit." He blinks, like he's trying to picture Harry with someone... normal. "But he knows, right?" he asks, just to make sure.
"Nope," Harry says curtly.
Dudley stares at him. "What do you mean, he doesn't know?" He really sounds like he's unable to grasp the concept.
"Exactly what it sounds like," Harry tells him calmly.
"So what, he just thinks you're a regular bloke?" Dudley blurts out.
Harry laughs quietly. "I haven't figured out how to be that yet," he jokes. "But yeah, out of all craziness, he doesn't suspect magic. I think," he adds upon reflection, because who knows how Ben's brain works?
Dudley gapes at him in disbelief. "That's completely mental. How long have you been dating him?"
"Over a month."
"Then you're probably right that it's not a third date kind of conversation. But you're going to tell him, right?"
Harry shakes his head slowly. "I can't," he says simply. "It's illegal."
"What do you mean it's illegal?" Dudley looks like he still suspects he must be misunderstanding something.
Harry casts a discrete privacy spell. "I can't tell a muggle about the magical world," he explains openly. "Any muggle, for any reason," he adds so there's no room for doubt.
"But... I know," Dudley points out, then suddenly turns concerned, like he's only now realising that maybe he's not supposed to know and wizards are going to come and arrest him. "My parents know."
"You lived with me. You're family, so you're allowed."
"Aren't partners allowed?" Dudley asks, sounding like it's been a long time since he's heard anything more ridiculous.
Harry's happy to welcome him in the wizarding world, the most illogical place on earth, so he says, "Sure are. After marriage." Because that's not absurd at all.
Dudley barks a hysterical laugh. "After..." he echoes involuntarily. "How's that supposed to work? On the wedding night, you just go, 'Surprise! Magic!' and hope for the best?"
He sounds so indignant, Harry can't help but laugh along with him. "I'll tell you what, I have no fucking clue," he admits, rubbing his eyes. "I've heard it worked before, but I don't really see how."
"Yeah, I would say." Dudley shakes his head, looking almost impressed. "So what, you're just going to wait until you figure you want to..." He breaks off, and his eyes widen. "No, wait. How are you supposed to do that?"
Harry shakes his head because he has no idea. He's not very concerned with marriage at the moment, but if he ever did want to tell Ben without breaking the law, his particular situation does seem like a catch-22.
"It's legal in the Netherlands," Dudley suggests helpfully. Harry raises his eyebrows at him. "What?" he asks defensively. "Shiv follows this stuff!"
Harry snorts. That could be a way around it, because as far as he knows, the law is pretty straightforward. You marry a person in the muggle world—you can mention the magical world. Not the other way around. It clearly hasn't been designed with gay people in mind. "I guess I'll just see how it goes. It's a big thing to reveal." He shrugs, because right now he's mostly focused on how to not reveal it.
"I don't think it is," Dudley disagrees quietly. "I mean, it is, but... in the end, does it matter?"
"You only say that because you've always known," Harry points out.
"I haven't always known," Dudley corrects him. "I found out the same time you did, when you got your letter." Huh. Harry's never realised. But he's never really wondered either. "I guess it depends on who you're dealing with," he adds seriously.
Harry looks into his coffee, thinking about Ben. On one hand, compassionate, open-minded, reasonable. On the other hand, down-to-earth, analytical, unwilling to accept bullshit, and with a strong sense of justice, which, to be honest, is not something the wizarding world is known for. Harry actually pictures telling him about the war. He would be fucking appalled, Harry's sure of it. By their flimsy government that only pretends to be democratic, by Hogwarts' curriculum, by the unprofessional behaviour of their press, and by the way the Wizengamot operates. Harry doesn't even want to know how he'd react to house elves. If he ever found out that Kreacher has been picking up after him because he's magically bound to do that, he would be horrified. Ben seems to be under the impression that Harry is an extremely tidy person, and that's why every time he leaves a towel in the bathroom even for a minute, it's in the laundry basket by the time he comes back for it. Which is laughable, but still preferable to Ben knowing that there's a little slave following him around. Harry winces. To be honest, after the first shock passes, he doesn't think Ben is going to like the wizarding world very much. His only hope is that by the time it comes to that, he will like Harry enough to endure the wizarding world.
He doesn't know why he even wastes his time thinking about it. It's not like he's telling him anytime soon.
"Are you back?" Dudley waves his hand in front of Harry's face.
He blinks. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Yeah, I guess I'm just going to wait and see," he repeats, suddenly feeling powerless, like there's no way forward for him and Ben. He shakes his head to get rid of that notion.
Dudley seems to sense the drop in his mood because he frowns. "Just tell him, mate," he advises. "Fuck the rules. What are they even going to do to you? Aren't you a war hero?" Well, there's that. It would be more helpful if the fear of Azkaban wasn't the last of Harry's reasons not to tell Ben. "Besides, it's completely unfair that I'm allowed to know, even though if we didn't reconnect, I'd have nothing to do with your world—still don't, to be honest—and your guy isn't, when for him it's a much more crucial information. Doesn't make sense." Dudley shrugs, like his assessment should automatically change the law.
Harry smiles faintly. He doesn't really want to talk about it anymore. "When's the wedding again?" he asks to change the subject.
Dudley perks up. "Two weeks," he says happily. "Saturday. I can get you flight tickets."
Harry waves him off. "I can apparate."
"What about your guy?" Dudley asks, and Harry feels his cheeks getting red. Oops. He's forgotten to take Ben into consideration. Dudley laughs loudly. "You're such an arsehole." But he sounds fond.
"Fuck," Harry mutters, rubbing his face. "That means a plane."
Dudley looks like he's judging him. "It's an hour flight, mate. You pop in and out of existence all the time. You can survive an hour flight." Harry scowls. Yeah, probably. If Ron was able to spend fourteen hours in that thing when going to collect Hermione's parents, he can do one. "Or," Dudley stresses with a wide smile, "you can tell him before the wedding, and then you'll just pop him out of existence." He frowns. "Can you pop people out of existence?"
Harry rolls his eyes. "I could take him with me," he confirms automatically before realising what he said. "I'm definitely not telling him in the next two weeks," he says firmly.
"But you are coming to the wedding," Dudley points out smugly.
Wait, when has Harry agreed to that? He hangs his head. "I'll talk to Ben," he compromises, not wanting to declare anything. "And my boss. It's been pretty hectic lately. We don't really believe in weekends."
Dudley quickly sobers up. "Yeah, I figured," he says quietly. "Is that your people killing our people, or the other way around, or what the fuck is going on?"
Harry sighs. "I have no idea. It's an absolute clusterfuck. Each murder suggests something different."
Dudley frowns. "But there was only one, no?" Then he seems to remember. "Ah, right, there was also a guy at the beginning of September. Was that the same killer?"
Harry can't see the harm, so he tells him. "There have been four murders. A family of three in Wales at the end of August. Then the guy. Then a young couple in Scotland. And now the boy from last Sunday."
Dudley's jaw drops. He looks horrified. "Shit," he exhales. "And what... nothing?"
"I can't give you any details," Harry tells him somberly. "But we've got some leads."
"But they were... muggles?" he asks hesitantly.
Harry tightens his lips. "Mostly." He leaves it at that.
"Shit," Dudley repeats more strongly before shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it," he says suddenly. "I would go mental."
"Lots of therapy," Harry quips.
Dudley snorts. "Still. Wouldn't you have enough therapy to do even without a job like that?"
Harry frowns, feeling a little wrong-footed. "I would feel useless otherwise," he confesses.
Dudley looks up at him. "You're not useless," he says seriously. "No matter what you were doing, you wouldn't be useless. You don't need to do this shit to prove that."
Harry smiles faintly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the sudden solemnity. "Thanks, Big D."
November 1st, 2002
Nothing happens on Halloween. Harry stays with Dudley until midnight, and he's slightly tense the whole time, like he's expecting a phone call at any minute that there's been another murder, the worst one yet. But it never comes. Harry goes home and falls asleep, thinking of what he's going to say to Ben.
The next day at work, he feels slightly haunted by Dudley's words. It's not that he forces himself to do what he does. It does make him feel useful, and he's aware that it's not a determinant of his worth, but after the state he was in after the war, it's what he needs. To know that he's a part of something important again. He doesn't ever want to go back to being a useless drunk recluse.
He's doing something important now, even though the execution leaves a lot to be desired. The ministry seems to hinder them more than help, and every decision is determined by political factors that make it impossible to get anything done. Bitching about it to Diane makes him feel a little bit better.
"Kingsley has lost all of his senses. It's a good thing that he doesn't know about the Whistleblowers, because he would probably help them in his quest to support the muggles." He runs his fingers through his hair with frustration. "It's so superficial and only feeds into social polarisation. The more Kingsley and his happy-go-lucky followers claim that muggles are just harmless little things that should be indulged and patted on the head, and even if the secret comes out, we'll all be living as a big fucking family, the more the conservatives panic and want to obliviate the hell out of every single muggle just in case. There's no middle ground anymore."
"People do tend to lean toward extremes," Diane agrees calmly. "It's easier to see the world as black and white."
"It's moronic," Harry decides. He's on a roll today. "Being pro-muggle was a good way to pacify the winning side and score political points after the war, and now that's what Kingsley's supporters expect from him, so he mindlessly pursues this. He's never even wanted to be the minister in the first place. He's said multiple times that he only agreed to it because otherwise it would have been some pretentious pureblood. Which would be worse, no doubt about that," he emphasises. "But still, I thought Kingsley had more common sense. Has the wizarding world always been so absurd, and I just haven't been paying attention?"
"The short answer to that is yes," Diane says with no hesitation. Harry cracks a smile. "The long answer is that politics often take this form, not only in the magical world. Sensationalist narratives appeal better to the masses. They don't want their way of thinking to be questioned. They want validation. And there are very few issues that have straightforward solutions. Mr. Shacklebolt might not have wanted to be the minister, but now that he is, he at least has the obligation to mollify his people that everything is going well, even if he doesn't have the need to maintain his position. The downfall of traditional values after the war encouraged people to move to the other extreme. The dream of living in harmony with no-majes was born, and now feeding into this dream is the only way to keep the status quo."
Harry is continually impressed by how Diane always seems to be able to find the right words. "Is it so hard to understand that things are not that simple?" he grumbles.
"It's uncomfortable," Diane clarifies.
"It's the same with this killer," Harry points out. "It's like half of the country has already decided that it's an evil blood purist, and another half that it's a crazy muggle set on revealing us. To hell with actual evidence, as long as it fits the narrative."
Diane smiles. "We've drifted from the topic of your well-being," she notices.
Harry wrinkles his nose. "It is about my well-being," he mumbles. "My well-being very much depends on Kingsley showing some initiative apart from smiling at the Prime Minister and assuring that he's all for cooperation, or on the Prime Minister finally finding the balls to demand things of us, whichever comes first. I mean, I don't know what other countries have been doing while we've been sitting on our hands, but those Whistleblowers are really going to fuck us over, and we will be completely unprepared. We need reforms, and encouraging us to go out and interact with muggles once a week is cute, but it's not going to help."
Diane tightens her lips. "Yes, so I've heard."
Harry gives her a closer look. "You're not very happy about it," he observes.
"This is not a place for me to talk about my feelings," she says primly.
Harry grins. "Come on. I thought we were friends."
She glares at him mockingly. "We most certainly should not be friends, Harry."
"But it makes you uncomfortable when I talk about your husband here," he states.
"On the contrary, it doesn't affect me at all."
Harry doesn't believe it for a moment. "But you are mad that he's been working on this case," he guesses next. "Because he was supposed to be retired."
Diane finally cracks and almost rolls her eyes. "He was retiring six times, Harry. Six," she stresses. "Every time something earth-shattering happens, and suddenly it's imperative for him to be involved."
Oh wow. Talk about workaholism. "Well, he's good at it," he points out mildly.
"And that's enough," she cuts him off. "How have your meds been working?"
Harry gives her a dirty look. "Nice try. They've been working fine; I've been much more focused. Which means you won't be able to distract me."
She narrows her eyes. "You see right through me," she drawls.
Harry grins. He likes when she slips and acts like a real person instead of a therapy automaton. "Actually," he says, reaching into his pocket. "I was going to show you."
She watches his proud smile when he passes her the little chip, then looks down at it. "This is amazing, Harry. I'm so glad the group has been working well for you."
She sounds smug enough for Harry to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You were right."
The smugness doesn't disappear. She glances at the clock on the wall. "We've got fifteen minutes left. What would you like to talk about?" Before Harry has time to think about it, she suggests, "How about Ben?"
His shoulders slump. "Yeah, how about no?" he mumbles. She knits her eyebrows disapprovingly, but he talks over her, "He's picking me up here. I'm going to talk to him. And I know what I'm planning on saying. He seems to have a built-in lie detector, so I'm going to lie as little as I can and just convince him that I'm earnest with my soulful eyes." He blinks at her exaggeratedly.
Diane smiles but doesn't let go. "So you're not planning on ending this relationship?" she makes sure.
Harry looks at her like she's crazy. "Of course not." He might think it's pretty hopeless, but he'd have to be mad to break up with Ben. Clearly he can barely go a week without him, so that wouldn't bode well for him.
Diane looks properly satisfied. Maybe even relieved. "That's good. I believe he's—"
"Yeah, I know you think he's been good for me," he finishes for her. Which he has been. Mostly. "So, back to the Whistleblowers—"
"This feels like a fixation, Harry," he chastised him gently.
Harry spends a moment to think about it. "It's not a fixation if it's your job," he decides. "I'm literally getting paid for thinking about it, just like you're getting paid for listening to my woes."
"It's not my job to help you connect the dots," she reminds him.
"I just need to think it out loud at someone," he tells her. "Who am I going to do that with? I can't do it with Ben. Your husband is not all that talkative. Lydia doesn't know everything. Only you're obligated to keep it to yourself."
Diane smiles patiently. "Then by all means, go ahead."
"Okay, so Roderick did something to block the FBI, so they didn't share their findings with the Met, except for what they told Judy before. They only sent it to us. And I don't think Roderick told Kingsley, at least about this latest development. I think he's only been working on it with some muggles who are in the know. But get this: there's like a whole community. You have to be invited; the Feds only got scraps and pieces, and whoever Roderick enlisted to look into it, they keep crashing into a firewall. They can only see the server rules, that it's exclusively for real magic, no fiction, and that anonymity is a must, because otherwise the magic people will come and wipe your brain. It literally says, 'They can't wipe us all' at the top." He laughs helplessly. Don't get him wrong; it's very grave news, but at the same time... it's almost hilarious. "If that keeps up, the Statue of Secrecy is going to be in pieces within ten years, mark my words," he predicts glumly.
Diane gives him an intent look. "Do you not believe in the dream of living in harmony with no-majes?" she asks blithely.
Harry snorts. "No," he says without thinking, then frowns. "I mean, I love muggles," he admits easily. "I'm starting to think more highly of them than of wizards."
"They are quite extraordinary," Diane agrees.
"But somehow when I think about them in relation to magic, I still see the Dursleys," Harry confesses.
"Maybe that's not a no-majes problem, but a you problem," Diane points out.
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Wow, you're snappy today," he remarks. "The only way for it to work would be to plan it very carefully along with as many muggles as possible all over the world and then execute that plan perfectly everywhere at once. That's taking into consideration religious groups, underdeveloped countries, scientific consensus, merging laws, sovereignty issues... there's too much of it. It's literally too big for me to wrap my head around. And if it just got out with nobody prepared, it would be bad." Somehow he's pretty sure of it.
"Maybe instead of theorising about that, starting with one no-maj would be more productive," Diane suggests innocently.
"I'm not telling Ben," Harry protests immediately.
"I would never encourage you to break the law, Harry," she assures him in a tone that suggests otherwise. "And our time is up. I'll see you next week. Please take care of yourself."
"Thanks. Say hi to Roddy."
The little white car is already waiting for him in the parking lot when he leaves the building. Harry opens the passenger door and slips in. Ben is looking at him, trying to keep his expression sober, but the corners of his eyes are crinkled with a hint of a smile. There's a bouquet of lilies lying above the dashboard.
Harry feels his lips widen against his will and decides to ignore the upcoming unpleasant conversation. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" he mutters, bending over the gearbox to awkwardly wrap his arms around Ben and push his face in the crook of his neck. Ben immediately hugs him back and even drops a little kiss at the top of his head. Harry clings to him for a long moment before drawing back reluctantly.
"You're okay?" Ben asks, eyebrows knitted in worry.
Harry barks a hysterical laugh. Is he? He seriously doubts that. "I'm hanging in there," he says truthfully.
The concern doesn't disappear from Ben's face when he backs the car and returns to the main road. He seems to be lost in thought and only speaks up when they cross the river. "Look, I might be an idiot." He pauses, and Harry is about to assure him that he's most certainly not an idiot, but then he continues, "But I seem to care way more for how all of this has been affecting you than for whatever it is that has been going on."
Harry's expression softens. "I'm fine," he says with as much conviction as he can, because he feels terrible that Ben not only has been racking his brain over the mysteries surrounding him but still found it in himself to be worried about him.
"See, you say that, but you don't mean it," Ben points out without a hint of a doubt. "Come on, I haven't even been here, and I can tell how stressed you've been for this last week. I don't know if that's because of the case or because of us." He pauses meaningfully.
"A bit of both," Harry admits in defeat.
"Right. Something happened on Saturday. Before the phone call," he clarifies when Harry is about to jump in. "Some kind of bubble burst, because I don't know how, but I know that you know what I talked to Nathan about. And you know that I know." To be perfectly honest, Harry hasn't known that at all, and now he feels like he's losing his footing all over again. "And now I..." Ben takes his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Harry and groans. "I would be much more pissed about it if you didn't look as devastated as you do right now."
Harry quickly straightens his expression before slumping in his seat. "I don't want us to break up," he mumbles towards the window.
Ben's eyes jump back to him. "Is that what you think is going to happen?" It sounds like a challenge, like he's only waiting for Harry to offer his weak arguments so he can shoot them down. Because somehow he still believes him. He still assumes that there's some rational explanation, or any explanation at all, other than Harry being a total fraud. That's much more credit than he's ever anticipated.
"I don't know," he says blankly. Ben may believe it now, but how long is he going to stay patient?
The rest of the drive is silent, and Harry only speaks up when he closes the front door to his apartment behind them. "I'm not messing with you."
Ben tries to pretend that he doesn't scan the flat closer than usual, looking for possible clues. Finally, his eyes flutter and fall shut. "See, even when everything suggests that you must, I look at your face, and it's telling me something completely opposite." He opens his eyes, approaches Harry in two big steps, and cups his face to tilt it up. This time Harry's eyes close, and he sighs before lifting his hands to grasp his wrists. Their lips are inches from each other when Ben closes the distance, kisses him chastely, and pulls away. "Uh-uh," he murmurs. "We need to talk about it."
Harry groans but knows that he's right. "Okay," he says, taking a step back. "Okay," he repeats firmly, then moves to sit on the couch.
Ben follows him silently. "Can I ask you to at least not be completely vague?" he asks, sitting next to him.
"Yeah," Harry immediately agrees. "I'll be as transparent as possible."
"How do you know what Nathan said to me?"
Harry winces. Fuck, he doesn't have a good answer to this one. "I've... got my ways?" It's more of a question than a statement.
"That's not very transparent, Harry," Ben informs him dryly. "What's the Wiz-Trade, and why do they provide you with highly radioactive chemical elements? What are you doing with them?" He looks up, looking hesitant. "Who else lives here? What's in the closed room upstairs? Where do you go when you're at work and can't use your phone? How did you know after the play that someone was murdered? Why does your school not officially exist? What does the Auror Office do? Why did they try to recruit you straight from school? What is the muggle competency score?"
Harry feels his eyes getting big. Shit. That's a lot of slips. He takes a deep breath, but when he can't think of a good place to start, he exhales and drops his face into his hands.
"Hey," Ben says quietly, shifting closer and resting his hand on the small of his back. "It wasn't to make you feel bad, but to show you the scale of the problem."
"Quite," Harry rasps before getting a grip on himself. He's been unsure whether it's a good idea or if it's going to make things even worse. "I can't tell you what you want to know," he starts matter-of-factly. "There are laws that forbid me from doing that. Legitimate laws," he stresses. "Related to my legitimate job."
Ben raises an eyebrow. "You know, Harry, the more emphasis you put on that, the less likely it sounds," he informs him with amusement.
Harry groans, then looks straight in Ben's eyes. "I'm not doing anything illegal," he promises, practically radiating honesty. "The only illegal thing would be if I actually answered your questions."
"Including smuggling uranium? Is that government-sanctioned?" Ben's voice is full of doubt.
"Yes," Harry answers firmly. The Unspeakables know what he's doing. Kind of. Not Ben's government, but that isn't what he's asked, is it?
Ben exhales heavily. "See, you sound like you believe that, but how can that be? What do you even need it for?"
"I've been doing some experimenting. With a friend of mine. Andy mentioned him," he reminds him.
"Cissy's son, who you've been blowing stuff up in the basement with?" Ben guesses dryly. "Experiments for what?"
This time Harry's grateful that despite Ben having a lot of trust in reliable scientific facts, his knowledge isn't really all that vast. History and social sciences, sure. Law, in his pinky. But physics? Not really. "Molecular chemistry, mostly," he breezes over it before adding firmly, "We haven't actually blown anything up. And we're not going to. We're not idiots," he grumbles. "We've been working under the guidance of a world-renowned chemist." He hopes Ben doesn't ask for a name, because it's not hard to verify that Dallwitz is officially dead. "It's all academically authorised," he adds, because Adalbert has already started the process of officially taking him under his wing. If Harry only sets on a project and then completes it, it might actually count towards his future mastery.
Ben frowns. "You've only been taking some college-level science classes." He clearly can't grasp how that leads to working with renowned scientists.
"Don't try to understand it," Harry warns him.
Ben throws his hands out. "I'd really like to," he protests. There's something funny in his frustration, and Harry feels awful about it. "Where do you even do all that experimenting of yours? You never go out of London."
Harry's smile drops off his face. "In my other house," he answers mildly.
Ben blinks. "You have another house? Where?"
Shit. "Islington."
Ben straightens abruptly. "That's still central London," he says slowly. "You can't play with things like uranium there." He pauses for a minute, clearly torn, before his appalled expression turns thoughtful. "Can I see it?" he asks almost reluctantly.
Harry's heart is breaking a little bit. "No," he answers simply, because what other answer is there?
Ben slumps with a sigh. They seem to be at an impasse.
Harry shifts towards him and rests his forehead on his shoulder, only to be a little bit closer. "Ben," he says quietly. "I don't think this is going to work. I need you to either trust me or—"
Ben looks down at him abruptly. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you," he says firmly before taking a deep breath. "I really like you, Harry," he says suddenly. Harry feels a shy smile widening his lips. "And I want to believe you. Because why wouldn't you just lie about all of those things? You could tell me anything, and I'd be none the wiser. Why humour me at all and have to deal with my nosiness?"
"I don't want to lie to you," Harry explains simply. "Your concerns are totally valid. And I'm really bad at it, you know."
"See, this," Ben says, looking like he has no idea what to think anymore. "You'd have to either be a master liar or not a liar at all."
Harry's lips curl into a bitter smile. Maybe at least something good is going to come from his utter inability to lie. He can't help but glance at the back of his right hand.
"What's this?" Ben asks, frowning. Harry tries to quickly hide his hand in his lap, but Ben is faster and catches it mid-air. He stares at it blankly. The letters are barely discernible, but they're there. "What the..." Ben breaks off, visibly lost for words. He slowly looks up at Harry with something akin to anguish in his gaze. "What the fuck has happened to you?"
Harry shakes his head silently. What the fuck hasn't?
Ben looks kind of stumped for a moment, like he can't even imagine a world where things like that have any right to exist. Lucky guy. "How have I never seen this before?" he mutters to himself. When it becomes obvious Harry is not going to address it in any way, he wets his lips thoughtfully. "I'm not kidding myself that I know everything there is to know about what's happening in the world. But I'm not going to stop asking questions," he warns him gently. "I can both trust you and ask questions at the same time. I can't see this," he indicates Harry's hand, "and not ask."
His fingers start to caress the ugly scar carefully, and Harry stares at them, feeling a growing lump in his throat. This is the amount of faith he hasn't been prepared for. "It's going to be difficult," he utters with effort. "There will only be more secrets."
"But not forever." There's a hint of a question there.
Harry takes a deep breath. This admission costs him a lot. "Not forever, no."
Ben's face relaxes, and he leans in until his nose is touching Harry's. He grins a little. "Then bring it," he says boldly. Harry's heart skips a bit when he realises what he's doing. Leaving the topic of the scar behind them. Steering clear of trauma. "I'm going to figure it out before you tell me. Wanna bet?" Ben gives him a lopsided smile. "Just keep giving me clues."
Harry can't help but laugh. He has no idea if Ben knows that it's the best tactic he could adopt or if it's a pure coincidence. There's nothing he loves more than a challenge. He looks up at him, slightly awed. "I really like you too," he blurts out, then giggles when Ben moves closer to bite his lower lip gently and then kiss him briefly and once more before retreating.
"Okay, ground rules," he says, suddenly serious.
Harry almost gets a whiplash. "Ground rules?" he echoes, confused.
"I still need some guarantees."
Here they go. "Shoot," Harry sighs.
"Exactly how big of a mess am I getting myself into?"
"Enormous," Harry deadpans. "You're going to hate it."
Ben barks a laugh. "But is it a 'no one will ever find my body' type of mess?"
"No!" Harry protests vehemently. "I would never put you in any danger. It's crazy, but not outright dangerous. I mean," he hesitates, "we do have a killer on the loose, so there's that. But other people have been brought in before, and they're completely fine," he assures him. Ben looks sceptical. "What?" Harry asks desperately.
"Now it sounds like you're trying to drag me into a sect."
Well. If the shoe fits... "Okay, look," he says firmly. "I can't confirm anything. But I can tell you what it's not. So, I'm not in a sect. And I'm not a criminal."
Ben nods slowly. "Sects and crime are kind of my dealbreakers. So if it's either, just tell me and I..." he pauses and then sighs. "I'm probably going to try and rescue you."
Harry smiles. "I thought you would say you're going to walk out the door," he admits.
"I don't give up that easily."
"This is easy?" Harry raises his eyebrows with disbelief. "Again, completely legitimate. Actually, wait here," he says before jumping abruptly to his feet and heading upstairs.
"Can I snoop?" Ben calls after him.
He doesn't spend more than a split second thinking about it. "You can snoop!" he yells from his bedroom. There shouldn't be anything suspicious lying around. Only he thought so before too.
Fuck it. If he wants to collect clues only to feel like he's losing his mind when he can't make them fit, that's his prerogative.
Ben is indeed snooping when he comes back downstairs, but he must not find anything of interest, because his attention fixes back on Harry.
"I didn't really want to do that; it feels tacky, but come on, take it," Harry says, shoving the box towards him.
Ben takes it, opens it slowly, and stares at the content. And stares. "What did you do?" he asks quietly.
"It says, 'For outstanding contribution to the crown' on the piece of paper I got with it."
Ben barks a laugh before swiftly smoothing his expression. "Civilian or military?"
Harry hesitates for one beat of heart. "Military," he admits reluctantly. Which is wild, considering that if he really wanted to, he could apply for veteran benefits and probably even get them. He has no idea how it's cleared up with the actual army.
Ben stares some more. "What did you do?" he repeats blankly before looking up. "Harry?"
But Harry just shakes his head again, and Ben exhales loudly, looking slightly overwhelmed. Not letting Harry out of his sight, he puts the box aside.
Maybe it hasn't been the best idea after all. Suddenly Harry's taken over by a strong need to break the tension. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're not impressed," he almost whines.
The corners of Ben's lips twitch. "I'm not really a monarchist," he admits with a shrug.
It takes Harry a moment to register before he bursts into laughter. "Oh, fuck you!" he exclaims before jumping him impulsively. Ben ends up on his back with Harry pinning his wrists to the couch. His smile is almost blinding. "Me neither," Harry whispers, looking down at him. "The point is, I'm not a bad guy."
"I didn't need to see that to know that you at least think you're a good guy," Ben says, suddenly sobered up, because sometimes he sees the world as a little too grey. Nothing is ever simple with him. To Ben, the same queen can be the very source of the issues that need to be squashed by people she later honours with medals.
And the thing is, Harry can't help but agree with him. Doesn't he doubt if he's doing the right thing all the time? "I do. I try to be," he corrects himself. "But the world is a very fucked-up place."
Ben nods slowly, getting one of his hands free from Harry's grasp to cup his face. "I know, doll." If he said it any more tenderly, Harry would probably fall into pieces. "Auror Office," he mutters to himself, as if he's tasting the words on his tongue.
Harry straightens, because he completely let it slide before. "How do you know about the Auror Office?"
Ben shrugs. "Teddy told me." Then he hurries to explain when Harry narrows his eyes at him. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't interrogate the kid. He told me of his own volition."
Harry hangs his head. Of course, most of Teddy's rambling could be blamed on vivid imagination, but Ben is way too smart to not connect it to the abbreviation he's seen on Harry's badge before.
"Is it derived from 'aurora'? Or 'auris'?" Ben asks with a hint of academic interest.
Harry shrugs. "No idea. My Latin isn't that great," he's ashamed to admit.
Ben cracks a smile. "It means 'ear'. Have you people got ears everywhere?"
Since he's already straddling him, maybe it's time to try to distract him with sex again, Harry thinks, leaning in to mouth on his jaw.
"Can I get a bonus round?" Ben asks, his breath quickening slightly. Harry barely hums in response. "Who has been putting my stuff away?" He sounds indignant and like it's been giving him sleepless nights. "Last week you weren't even there. It just magically sorted itself out."
Damn Kreacher. "Pass," Harry mutters, not pausing in his journey down the column of his neck.
Ben groans and throws his head back, partly out of being fed up and partly to give Harry more room. "I give up," he announces.
"Good," Harry pants, pulling his shirt up to reveal his quite impressive abs.
Chat time over. They've survived.