Convincing Oliver
Title: Convincing Oliver
Author: thecoalbunker
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Oliver
Summary: Fred drags a reluctant Harry out to a club one night, where he bumps into his old Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood. Sparks fly instantly but can Oliver and Harry get it together?
Thanks: I would like to thank my two Beta readers’, cutter and Kitty-Rose, for helping me with this story.
Disclaimer: All the characters and the wizarding world etc, belong to JK Rowling et al…
Warning: This story contains slash (which means at some point Harry and Oliver will in someway be ‘romantically’ involved. There is also some swearing and quite bit drunkenness involved. If any of this offends you DON’T read this story! Thanks.
Disclaimer: All the Harry Potter characters and world etc… don’t belong to me…
Authors Note: There is an NC17 version of this story available of this story, check out my site if you want to read that version, it doesn’t really apply until chapter thirteen and I'll be posting most of the story here anyway. My site will just have longer and more in depth shagging bits really.
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Chapter One: Harry’s House
Harry sat at the kitchen table and sipped at his tea lazily as Fred droned on about some new wizarding club he loved. Since arriving just over an hour ago, Fred had refused to talk of anything else. He seemed set on taking Harry there later and no matter how many times Harry said he wouldn’t go, Fred continued with his glowing testimony of the club.
Harry didn’t care how big the club was or who was playing there, he really didn’t feel like going. Whenever he went out to clubs and pubs, he found himself inundated with autograph hunters and sleazy people, both male and female, desperate to take home someone ‘famous’. Shy in the company of people he didn’t know, and embarrassed by the attention, Harry preferred to avoid such situations entirely.
“Come on, Harry! You have to come with me,” Fred said somehow managing to sound pleading and demanding at the same time. He gestured widely with his hands as he spoke, emphasizing how determined he was to take Harry to this club of his.
“I can’t be bothered, Fred,” Harry groaned, looking pleadingly at his friend.
“Please, Harry?” Fred pouted. “It’ll be so much fun… We can get really drunk,” Fred said. He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and added in a sly voice, “We might even pick up.”
Thinking Fred looked creepy rather then sexy when he wriggled his eyebrows like that, Harry chuckled. “Don’t try that tonight or you definitely wont score,” Harry said, gesturing vaguely towards Fred’s face.
Ignoring the insult, Fred’s grinned. “So you’re coming with me then,” Fred said eagerly. He rubbed his hands together in excited anticipation. “Great!”
“I never said I was coming with you,” Harry mumbled confusedly.
Realizing Harry couldn’t be tricked so easily; Fred’s decided to change his tactics. “What are you going to do instead? Ron’s gone over to Lavender’s place so you can’t hang out with him. Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?” Fred asked sounding outraged at the prospect.
“Pretty much,” Harry agreed, grinning at his friend. It sounded like a wonderful nights entertainment. He could play his Playstation Two and if he was really lucky, get onto the second Island of Grand Theft Auto Three. Ron would be so jealous if he managed to get over, they’d been trying for months with no success. And they played it everyday!
“Oh come on, Harry,” Fred whined. “You promised!”
“When?”
“Last time I saw you,” Fred muttered vaguely before continuing in a rush. “How about we just go check it out and if you don’t like it, I promise you can leave?”
“No, Fred!”
“I promise you wont get hounded like you usually do… if that’s what you’re worrying about. It’s pretty exclusive, Harry,” Fred said and Harry could feel his resolve crumbling. Fred really wasn’t going to give in this time. “Please, Harry,” Fred pouted.
Looking at the pathetic, yet amusing display, Harry accepted defeat. “Urgh okay, just stop whining,” he mumbled sourly.
“Great! I’ll just wait here while you go change… unless you need some help?” Fred said happily, doing that thing with his eyebrows again.
Obviously deciding Harry was in definite need of assistance, Fred jumped out of his seat excitedly and pulled Harry to his feet. “What’s wrong with this outfit?” Harry teased, holding his arms out wide.
“Harry… you look like a house elf,” Fred muttered dismissively. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and steered them towards Harry’s bedroom.
“They’re not that bad,” Harry said quietly. His jeans might be old and frayed but they were comfortable and Harry loved them. He could accept they weren’t exactly suitable for a club but he knew he looked nothing like a house elf.
“Harry, you have such nice clothes. Why do you dress like this at home?” Fred muttered as he rummaged through Harry’s wardrobe.
“Because they’re comfortable?” Harry said, watching Fred in bemusement.
“Here put these on,” Fred said, and chucked Harry a pair of black, snug fitting trousers.
Harry gladly accepted Fred’s choice. They were almost as comfortable as his jeans, only they were a little tighter and made from a softer fabric. Dropping his jeans to the floor and kicking them aside, Harry quickly pulled on the trousers.
“You shouldn’t hide yourself so much Harry,” Fred said, flicking through the tops in Harry’s wardrobe with a disgusted look on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled reassuringly at Harry, “You’re beautiful you know, you should show everybody.”
For someone who flirted shamelessly with just about anyone, Fred sounded surprisingly sincere and Harry felt himself blush. When you grew up in a cupboard under the stairs, thinking you were some sort of freak of nature, compliments were rather hard to take – even if they did come from a close friend.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled.
Satisfied, Fred turned back to the cupboard to continue his search.
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed. He didn’t know exactly why he did it but whenever he put on his shoes he had to be seated. Perhaps he was a freak, Harry thought amusedly, smiling as he did up the laces on his shoes.
“Ah huh,” Fred screeched in triumph pulling a small, black top out of the cupboard.
“No Fred!” Harry yelled, “I don’t like that one.” He jumped up and tried to wrestle the top from Fred.
Holding Harry back with one hand and clutching the top in the other, Fred chuckled. “Yes, Harry. This top is perfect. You’ll pick up in no time.”
Harry shook his head stubbornly.
“Harry it’s either this,” Fred grinned, “or that little mesh number I bought you a couple of months ago.” Fred said, referring to the hideous ensemble of mesh and sequins he’d given Harry as a joke.
“Give it here,” Harry sighed, taking the top from his friend. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head, Harry regretted ever buying the stupid muscle top. Impulsive shopping and overly friendly shop assistants never lead to the most prudent of purchases, Harry thought bitterly. He loathed the tight fitting abomination.
Harry struggled into the top and ignoring Fred’s approving whistle, he went to look at himself in the mirror. He looked like a prat, Harry decided.
“Ready Harry?” Fred beamed, obviously happy to have gotten his own way with everything.
Less satisfied with the proceedings so far, Harry gave a small smile that resembled a grimace more then anything else. Backing away from Fred, Harry pulled his leather jacket out the cupboard and quickly pulled it on. “Ready.”
“You know that’s coming off when we get to the club, Harry,” Fred warned.
Chapter Two: The Club
A warm light streaked around the packed room, briefly illuminating small sections of the dancing crowd before whisking off to another. Every couple of minutes the light would flick back to the center of the room where a group of young men, all fit and attractive, danced provocatively on the podium. Whenever the light descended over them, the boy’s gyrated their bodies more enthusiastically, providing a shameless display for those below.
Very much at the center of the group (and loving it), Harry danced energetically to the music. His arms, legs and hips moved in time to the thumping beat. Hot, sweaty bodies surrounded him, their hands traveling sensuously over his body, causing shockwaves of pleasure to ricochet along his spine. Running his hands over the tanned chest of the boy in front of him, Harry thanked the moment of weakness that had made him give into Fred’s pleas. The club had turned out to be very different from any of the others he'd been to before. There were so many famous people there no one could care less about Harry's presence and so far, it was living up to all that Fred had promised.
His leather coat was stashed away in the cloakroom and Harry had long since forgotten about it. Fred had steadfastly stuck by his threat, forcibly removing the coat as soon as they’d arrived.
Disgruntled at first, it had taken four vodka and tonics for Harry to stop feeling self-conscious in his muscle top. Six drinks later and with his inhibitions gone, Harry was seriously considering taking even that off. Not only was the club itself a little on the hot side but Harry also had to contend with having many bodies pressed so closely to his own; he felt like he was burning.
As the track change to an even livelier number, Harry sped up his movements. He was just thinking how much he loved the song and that Fred had finally found him the perfect club, when a burst of smoke shot out from the smoke machine. It wafted over the crowded dance floor and, much to his dismay, seemed to settle over the podium. Nothing could pull Harry from dancing quite like a face full of smoke. His nostrils curled away from its foul stench and he coughed a little.
It was time for more Vodka, Harry realized.
Disentangling himself from the mass of limbs, Harry said in the ear of one of his companions, “I’m going for a drink.” When the man looked at him confusedly, Harry made a drinking gesture with his hand. Comprehension dawned on his face and smiling brightly at Harry the man kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Come back soon,” he said against Harry’s ear, smacking Harry playfully on the bottom for good measure.
Grinning, Harry hopped off the podium and made his way through the crowded dance floor. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that one of the other men he’d been dancing with had followed him off the podium. Bastion was his name. Harry shrugged his shoulders uncaringly and continued on his way.
Fred hadn’t been kidding. The club was huge. When they’d first arrived, Fred had duly taken Harry on a tour. There were at least four layers and so many rooms; Harry had forced himself to stick to one section of the club lest he got lost. Which was a definite possibility since Fred had nicked off to cavort with an Irish boy, Kevin, that he’d picked up while dancing on the podium with Harry.
Pushing open a pair of swing doors, Harry stepped into his favorite bar area. It was quieter in there, the music was different and most importantly, the bar staff were by far the most attractive in the club. Harry scuttled over to the bar and bopping along to the music, waited patiently for the barman to come take his order.
A hard body pressed against his back, pushing him closer to the bar. “What are you having?” Bastion breathed against Harry’s ear.
“Vodka and tonic,” Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at the other man. Bastion nodded and then placed his hands on either side of Harry, pressing himself more firmly against Harry’s back.
Not wanting Bastion that close to him, Harry turned back around, ignoring the tell tale hardness pressing against his cleft. He had no intention of going home with Bastion but he really couldn’t be bothered starting a scene. And anyway, once he got back to the podium and those dancing boy’s (who’s names he was yet to discover), he could forget all about Bastion.
When the barman finally came to serve them, Bastion leaned over Harry’s shoulder, and yelled to the man, “Two vodka and tonics.” Thankfully he stepped back from Harry so he could get some money out his pocket and Harry took the opportunity to take a step sideways.
Greg, the beautiful barman – as Harry had dubbed him over the course of the night- returned quickly with their drinks. “Thank you,” Harry said sweetly, smiling flirtatiously with the barman. Greg grinned back and winked at Harry before scurrying off to serve another customer.
Harry sighed happily and took a quick sip of his drink. In his opinion, the staff behind the bar could really make or break a place. A club just wasn’t complete unless there was at least one beautiful person behind the counter to flirt with; it was like a brief, pseudo-affair.
“Do you want to go sit down for a bit?” Bastion asked, pointing towards a darkened corner of the room where there was an empty couch.
“No,” Harry said honestly, “I think I’ll just finish this and then do back out there.” Harry flicked his head in the vague direction of the room they’d just left. Harry took a large gulp from his drink, enjoying the sensation as the cold liquid flowed down his throat and settled nicely in his stomach.
Intent on getting back to the podium, Harry made his way towards the exit, sipping from his drink as he moved. He didn’t look back to check if Bastion was following him, he knew the other boy would. His interest in Harry was readily apparent for anyone who cared to look.
Harry stopped by a table full of people to finish off his drink. Smiling apologetically at the people around the table, but not really looking at them closely, Harry slid the glass onto the top and turned to leave.
Before Harry had the chance to take a step, strong fingers curled around his wrist. Thinking he was in trouble for putting his glass on their table, Harry spun around, prepared for some fast-talking.
The words died on his lips when he met the most amazing pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. Flecks of gold could be seen amidst the brown pools, giving them a depth and vibrancy that Harry thought breathtaking. Flicking his gaze to the person’s mouth, Harry noticed it was curled in a smile and, realizing that he wasn’t in trouble, he sighed in relief.
“Don’t you recognize me, Harry?” The man said in a deep, amused voice. Harry flicked his eyes back over the mans face, finally taking in the full picture.
“Oliver Wood?” Harry said in amazement, belated recognizing his old Quidditch Captain.
“Yep,” Oliver clicked, smiling brightly at Harry and letting go of Harry’s wrist. The skin tingled where Oliver’s hand had been. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Bastion step forward.
“What…” Bastion started, stopping when Harry placed his a hand on his chest.
“Its okay - I know him,” Harry said, “Why don’t you go get us another round of drinks?” Harry added, smiling encouragingly when Bastion looked set to refuse.
“Boyfriend?” Oliver asked amusedly, once Bastion had left.
“Just a friend,” Harry said hastily and Oliver nodded.
Remembering that Oliver was sitting at a table full of people, Harry spared the others a glance. He noticed that two sets of eyes (and Oliver’s) were staring at him with interest. A couple at the far end of the table were far too engrossed in their private conversation to even notice his presence.
“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said to Oliver’s friends.
“Oh shit - sorry Harry,” Oliver said, grinning cheekily at Harry. “This is Jackson,” Oliver pointed at the man sitting opposite him; he had a large, round face and was beaming at Harry. He reached out to shake his hand.
“And this is Siobhan,” Oliver added, inclining his head towards the girl sitting next to him at the table.
Wondering if she was Oliver’s girlfriend, Harry smiled at her shakily, and felt a little pang of unjustified jealousy when she placed her hand proprietarily on Oliver’s arm. She greeted him happily enough but Harry couldn’t help noticing her eyes were cold and calculating.
With the introductions out the way, Oliver asked brightly, “How have you been Harry? I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Oh I’ve been good. I’m not doing very much at the moment, still trying to work out what I want to do and stuff,” Harry said, feeling dumb.
Even though he hadn’t seen Oliver for at least three years, he knew Oliver played professional Quidditch for Puddlemere United. He shouldn’t have cared whether he could impress Oliver but he did. “How have you been?” Harry asked, eager to shift the conversation off the topic of himself; Oliver was far more interesting.
“Good yeah,” Oliver said nodding his head. “Just moved in to a new place with Jackson here,” Oliver said pointing at his friend who grinned at Harry before starting up a conversation with Siobhan. Harry wondered if it was him instead of Siobhan that Oliver was dating but dared not ask. “Actually we’re having a house-warming on Friday night, you should come along, Harry.”
“Ahh, sure,” Harry said, surprising himself by how causal he managed to sound.
“I’ll send you an invite,” Oliver said, smiling at Harry again. Not knowing what to say, Harry just nodded and an awkward silence rose between them. Harry wished he could think of something witty to say, something that would start an engaging conversation, but he could think of nothing.
The only thing that sprung to mind was Quidditch and Harry quickly vetoed that idea. Now that he played professional Quidditch, the last thing Oliver would want to talk about was Quidditch, Harry thought.
“Have you seen Fred around?” Oliver asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, I came with Fred,” Harry said, and then chuckling he added, “He’s gone off with some boy.”
“Ahh that’s Fred for you,” Oliver said, laughing knowingly. He stared at Harry thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “Did… what was his name?”
“Bastion,” Harry supplied quickly, realizing Oliver was referring to his annoying new shadow.
“Did Bastion come with you and Fred?” Oliver asked interestedly.
“No, we met him here,” Harry said, “He sort of started following us around.”
“Ahh okay,” Oliver said, “Oh, speak of the devil, and here he comes with your drink.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder. Oliver was right. Bastion was making his way over to them. He had two drinks balanced between his fingers and seemed to be glaring at Oliver and Harry.
“I better go, Oliver,” Harry said reluctantly. “I’ll see you around I guess.”
“Don’t forget my party,” Oliver warned, though he smiled brightly at Harry.
As Harry turned to leave, Oliver patted him on the back by way of a good bye. “Bye,” they said at the same time.
Very reluctantly, Harry moved away from Oliver and his friends. When had he gotten so good looking, Harry wondered, taking the drink from Bastion and making his way out the room?
Chapter Three: On The Podium
A couple of hours, and a number of drinks later, Harry was back on the podium for the third time that night. He had finally succumbed to the heat of the club and had taken his top off, now pushed into the back pocket of his trousers.
Bastion had disappeared a little while ago, claiming he needed to use the bathroom. He’d tried to get Harry to accompany him; Harry had politely refused. He seriously suspected Bastion was now trying his luck with someone else and he was glad. The man was a nuisance.
Back amidst the dancing bodies, Harry moved along to the music. With so many hands traveling over his body, it took Harry a while to notice the persistent tapping against his leg. When he finally noticed, Harry glanced down and what felt like a thousand butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
It was Oliver.
He was standing on the dance floor, reaching up to tap at Harry’s leg. When he saw Harry looking down at him, Oliver gestured with his hand, beckoning Harry to get off the podium. Nervous excitement coursed along his spine as he clambered down to greet Oliver.
“Hello again,” Oliver yelled, his eyes straying over Harry’s bared torso. Harry smiled brightly, hoping he wasn’t misreading the interest in Oliver’s gaze.
To make himself heard over the music, Oliver leaned into Harry. “I see you’re quite popular,” Oliver chuckled, pointing to the group of boys on the podium.
Heart beating a million miles a minute because of Oliver’s closeness, Harry forced himself to remain outwardly calm. He grinned at Oliver and said, “You’re not doing to badly yourself.” He could see Oliver’s group dancing a little way off and they all appeared to be having a good time, except for Siobhan who was glaring in their direction.
“They’re just my friends, Harry,” Oliver said, still leaning impossibly close to Harry.
Judging by the size of the daggers Siobhan was shooting in his direction, Harry doubted Oliver was being entirely truthful but he didn’t mention it. Instead Harry opted, for the neutral, “How come you’re not dancing?”
“I can’t dance,” Oliver yelled. He stepped back from Harry and moved awkwardly for a moment, before yelling, “See!”
Harry couldn’t really understand what Oliver was talking about; he thought Oliver looked adorable. A little awkward perhaps but that just added to the attraction. He didn’t however; mention any of this to Oliver.
“Who cares?” Harry yelled. He stepped closer to Oliver and pointed over his shoulder at the podium, “No one will notice you when you’re in the middle of all that.”
When Harry went to take a step back, Oliver put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I noticed you.”
Harry just managed to stop himself from gasping out loud. Surely Oliver didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Harry thought in confusion, failing to notice Oliver’s lustful gaze roving over his body. Perhaps Oliver was drunk, Harry mused. Now that he thought about it, he could smell the strong scent of whiskey on Oliver’s breath and Oliver did sway ever so slightly on his feet.
Oliver let go of Harry and took a step back. His face was expressionless, but his eyes latched onto Harry’s intently. “You dance… well.”
Harry did the worst thing imaginable – as far as he was concerned at least – he blushed. “Its easy up there. You don’t feel as if anyone can see you,” Harry said, his blush deepening because he had to lean closer to Oliver to be heard over the music.
“You’re just being modest,” Oliver teased quickly, grinning fetchingly at Harry.
“Why don’t you come up there and see for yourself?” Harry found himself replying before he had to the chance to think about what he was saying.
Expecting Oliver to knock him back, he was surprised when the other boy smiled at him and nodded. “Okay Harry… Show me,” Oliver said with a grin.
They climbed up onto the podium and edged their way to the center. The other boy’s adjusted around them, not minding the new addition at all. As Harry started moving in time to the music, Oliver just stood there watching with a small smile on his face.
“Come on,” Harry mouthed encouragingly, grinning when Oliver started shuffling his feet. Oliver’s arms hung stiffly by his side and his face contorted into a grimace as he moved. Oliver obviously didn’t enjoy dancing, Harry thought, amused. He also couldn’t help noticing that whatever beat Oliver was dancing to, it certainly wasn’t the track currently pumping through the club.
Chuckling Harry said, “Move your hips more.”
“Like this?” Oliver said moving his hips a little haphazardly. Harry gulped. Not like that, he thought, the way Oliver was moving his hips would be far more appropriate in the bedroom.
Reaching out, Harry placed the tips of his fingers tentatively on Oliver’s hips. When Oliver didn’t shift away from his touch, he gently guided Oliver’s hips in time to the music. “Like that,” Harry grinned.
“I feel like a prat,” Oliver chuckled, though he settled his hands on Harry’s hips and continued to move according to Harry’s lead.
Oliver didn’t bat an eye when the boy behind ran his hands down his chest, plucking at the fabric of his top. Mesmerised and envious, Harry followed the progress of those hands. He barely noticed that one of the other boys was pressing himself flat against his back, trailing his hands over his naked back and shoulders.
Harry was looking so intently at Oliver’s chest area, he failed to notice the jealousy flash in Oliver’s brown eyes. When Oliver’s fingers started circling Harry’s hips lazily, Harry flicked his gaze up to Oliver’s face in surprise. The boy grinned and stepped a little closer. Harry could feel the heat of Oliver’s body and his skin tingled where Oliver’s fingers rested.
They kept dancing together, until a thoroughly annoyed Siobhan came over to talk to Oliver. Harry watched as Oliver leaned down to talk to her and he couldn’t help noticing Oliver had a very delectable backside.
With the music playing so loudly, Harry couldn’t hear what they were saying but they looked as though they were arguing. Siobhan was gesturing wildly as she yelled something to Oliver. She didn’t look very pretty when she was pissed off, Harry noticed. After what seemed an age, but couldn’t have been longer then a minute or two, Oliver rose to his feet and turned back to Harry.
“I have to go.” Oliver threw a dark look over his shoulder to Siobhan. “I’ll send you that invite tomorrow,” Oliver said, shouting to be heard over the music.
Harry didn’t show his incredible disappointment, and just nodded.
“Bye,” Harry said, and offered Oliver a shaky smile. Oliver grinned at him one final time, before hopping off the podium and charging through the crowd with Siobhan following quickly behind.
Strong arms settled around his shoulders comfortingly, and the deep voice of the man behind him, sounded in his ear, “Bloody women!”
Harry sniggered at that and allowed the man to coax him into dancing as he pondered what might have been…
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An hour later Harry could be found slouching on one of the couches in a quieter section of the club. Unfortunately, he had been reunited with Bastion. Seated next to him on the couch, Bastion kept trying to run his hands over Harry’s body. Every time he tried, Harry would smack his hand away and Bastion would stop only to try again a couple of minutes later.
Harry belatedly realized the error he had made leaving the podium. Not only did he have Bastion to deal with but also, as soon as he’d sat down tiredness had descended over his body. All the drinks he consumed that night had seemed to finally kick and, Harry felt bloated and a little sick.
Harry managed a smile when he saw Fred making his way across the room. As he drew nearer, Fred glared at Bastion. “You alright, Harry?” Fred asked, sitting down next to Harry on the couch.
“Yeah, but I think I’m ready to go home,” Harry said, turning his head to smile tiredly at Fred. He was absolutely knackered.
Fred sighed and what looked like relief crossed his face. “Come on then, get up,” Fred said, patting Harry’s leg encouragingly.
“You don’t have to leave Fred. I can get home by myself,” Harry assured him, “Stay and have fun.”
Smiling falsely at Fred, Bastion insisted, “I will make sure he gets home safely.”
Fred looked at Harry thoughtfully for a moment and then glowered at Bastion. “No it’s okay, I’ll take him home,” he said with forced politeness.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
“Yeah, it shuts in an hour and Kevin’s gone home anyway,” Fred said, getting up from the couch. “Come on, Harry,” Fred added, pulling Harry to his feet.
“Wait a moment, Harry,” Bastion said smoothly when they turned to leave. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small card. “Give me a call sometime,” he said, smiling confidently at Harry and handing over the card.
“Sure, I’ll give you a call,” Harry lied quickly. He looked down at the card, it had Bastion’s name on it, his address and contact details. He was connected to the floo network, Harry noticed. “Well… see ya,” Harry said, grinning because he was glad to be getting away from Bastion and his wondering hands.
He allowed Fred to steer him away from Bastion and they stopped to pick up Harry’s leather jacket before stepping out into the cold night.
“You’re not going to call him are you, Harry?” Fred asked, sounding worried.
“No,” Harry said quickly, grinning up at Fred. He didn’t feel so tired, now that they were out in the open.
“Good because after Kevin left I bumped into some people and he told me some things about Bastion… He’s a creep, Harry,” Fred said seriously and then smiled. “Come on, we’ll go to the Leaky Cauldron so you can Floo home.”
“Why can’t I just apparate?”
“You’re too pissed to apparate. Who knows where you’d end up,” Fred teased, dragging Harry up the street.
“Did you see Oliver tonight?” Harry asked quietly as they walked along the pavement.
“Yeah I did,” Fred smiled down at him, “You obviously did as well.”
“Yeah. I hadn’t seen him for ages, it was good to catch up.”
“I can imagine,” said Fred, smiling slyly at Harry, “He’s changed quite a bit since school hasn’t he?”
“Ah yeah,” Harry agreed, unable to stop the blush rising on his cheeks.
Chapter Four: Invitations and Hangovers
Moaning in pain, Harry rolled onto his side and looked despairingly at his beside table. The vile of hangover cure he usually kept there seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.
‘Stupid Ron,’ Harry thought miserably.
There wasn’t even a glass of water on the table to quench his thirst or get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth. Realising he would have to get up, Harry rolled out of bed and landed on the floor with a dull thump.
“Ow,” Harry moaned painfully, clutching his aching head in his hands. His temples pounded so ferociously Harry thought his head might literally explode.
Desperate to get rid of the pain, Harry forced himself to stand. Spots of white light flickered in front of his eyes and he swayed on the spot for a moment before he took a calming breath and managed to make his way to the bedroom door. He groaned all the way to the kitchen, with his arms curled loosely around his stomach.
As he drew closer to the kitchen, he picked up the scent of bacon and his stomach rolled violently. Fighting the urge to heave, Harry staggered into the kitchen where he met an annoyingly chirpy Ron.
“You look like shit,” Ron said amusedly, by way of a greeting.
“Thanks,” Harry muttered darkly.
Smiling evilly at Harry, Ron flipped out some bacon onto a plate and asked, “How do you feel?”
“Seedy… And you’re not helping,” Harry whined, looking at the bacon in disgust.
He pulled open the cupboard closest to him and grabbed a vile of hangover cure. Not stopping to even check the use by date, Harry gulped down the contents quickly. It tasted awful and Harry gagged a little but he forced himself to take in every last drop.
Dropping the vile on the bench, Harry sank into on of the chairs around the kitchen table and waited for the potion to take effect. After a minute his stomach stopped churning and his headache eased. His incredible thirst and the revolting furry feel in his mouth were the only reminders of his excesses, once the potion finished working.
“Bring us the pumpkin juice would you, Ron?” Harry said, unable to muster the energy to get to the fridge.
He heard the clattering of cutlery and the slamming of the fridge door before Ron said, “Here.” He placed the bottle in front of Harry and then slid into the seat opposite.
Harry lifted his head tiredly and picked up the bottle of pumpkin juice. As Ron hadn’t thought to bring him a glass, Harry whipped off the lid and drank straight from the bottle.
“Feeling better now?” Ron asked around a mouthful of bacon and toast.
Still gulping from the bottle, Harry nodded in reply.
“Where did you go last night? I thought you were just going to stay at home?”
“Ahhh,” Harry gasped, putting the empty bottle back on the table. Licking his lips, Harry waited for a moment and when nothing happened a small smile appeared on his face; he was completely cured. Thank god he was a wizard, Harry thought happily, he didn’t know how muggle’s could still get drunk when they had to endure their hangovers.
“I was going to stay at home but your brother came over to drag me out to a club.”
“Fred?” Ron asked amusedly and he grinned when Harry nodded. “Did you have a good time?”
“Ummm,” Harry chuckled quietly. As far as he could recall he’d had a great time but then he was a little sketchy on the details. A series of images came back to him from the night before. He remembered being followed around by a strange man and he remembered dancing… Harry groaned, had he really danced on the podium?
What stuck out most in his mind however, was Oliver. How could anyone forget him? A picture of the man appeared in his mind and Harry grinned, Oliver really had got exceptionally good looking since finishing school. He’d always been cute, but now… Pity he had a girlfriend, Harry thought and his smile deflated a little.
Remembering that Ron had asked him a question, Harry replied quietly, “It was good yeah… How was Lavender?”
“Same old, same old,” Ron said, getting up from the table. “She kept hinting that I should ask her to marry me,” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes skywards as he dropped his plate carelessly into the sink.
“Are you going to?” Harry asked, knowing the answer already.
“No! I’m nineteen Harry – that’s far too young to get married… If we’re still going out when I’m thirty, I’ll marry her but until then I need to be a bachelor.”
“If you’re going out with her all that time, it’d sort of defeat the purpose of being a bachelor, wouldn’t it?” Harry teased. “It’s not like you’d get to shag anyone else is it?”
“Ohh don’t think I haven’t tried to get her into that – I have and she got really mad at me, for some strange reason,” Ron muttered, throwing the rest of the dishes and pans into the washbasin.
“I’m not surprised,” Harry said, chuckling quietly to himself. “I’m going to go shower,” he said, in a louder voice, “Start up the Playstation would you”
“Gladly,” Ron grinned, clapping his hands together excitedly his problems with Lavender apparently forgotten.
______________
Feeling fully refreshed after his shower, Harry settled in the beanbag next to Ron’s and watched his friend try to pass one of the missions on Grand Theft Auto III. They sat so close to the obscenely large television, they had to keep turning their heads as the character ran across the screen.
“Run you little barstard, Run!” Ron yelled hysterically.
He always did that, Harry thought amusedly. Ron always panicked when someone, be it the police or someone else from Liberty City, chased the little man. Harry had to admit, when he was in control his heart tended to beat faster –as though it were he and not the character being chased – but Ron was by far the worst.
Happy to watch Ron play, Harry wriggled in the beanbag until he was comfortable. It took precision and skill to get the beans to sit just as he wanted them to but it was worth all the effort. Beanbags might very well be tacky, as George frequently informed them, but when you got them just right, they were they best chairs on earth.
Ron and Harry both agreed on this simple point, as they had on so many of the issues regarding the house. As far as they were concerned the beanbags would remain a core part of the décor as long as they lived together in Harry’s house. They had however, after George’s incessant complaining, agreed to buy a couch for visitors. Harry and Ron though, never sat in it as most of the time it was piled with the odds and ends they dumped in the lounge.
Ron and Harry had been living together since finishing school two years ago. Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather bought him the house as a congratulation present for doing well on his NEWTS. It was a small house with just two bedrooms and Harry loved it dearly. It was a home, his first real home.
Employed as the manager at one of Fred and George’s London stores, Ron finally had enough money to buy what ever he wanted and that seemed to make him happy. As did Lavender, his girlfriend of three years. Although they fought a lot and Ron complained about her constantly, they were a great couple. Harry seriously doubted Ron would make it to thirty before they got married.
As for Harry, he didn’t have a job as such. He lived off the money he got from investing in Fred and George’s company during the early days. With the success of the twins’ company, the small percentage of the profits Harry received was more then adequate to provide a comfortable existence. One day soon, he told himself, he would find a career. He just had to work out what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
Unlike Ron, he didn’t have anyone special in his life but most of the time he didn’t feel as though something was missing. Harry was content to just enjoy what he did have; the rest could take care of itself.
The only less than perfect aspect of their lives was the absence of Hermione, their best friend. She lived in Bulgaria, with her boyfriend Viktor, and rarely came home these days. They missed her a lot but whenever she did come home, their friendship seemed to pick up where they left off. Sometimes however, Harry thought it would have been nice to have her there – even though she probably wouldn’t have gotten into the whole Playstation thing.
“Oh shit, oh shit! It’s the police Harry. You have to take over,” Ron said frantically, pausing the game quickly and passing the controller to Harry.
“You always give it to me when the bloody police are after you,” Harry muttered, and took the game off pause. Chased the whole way by police, Harry made the car drive through the city until he got to paint and spray. Once the car was repainted, and the police were unable to recognize it, Harry continued unhindered.
“You always do that,” Ron noted, watching Harry back over a pedestrian till the car tyres were all bloody.
“At least I don’t hit the little old lady with a baseball bat,” Harry said. He grinned madly as he took out another pedestrian.
“Hey! It’s the closet thing to a wand in the whole game,” Ron said, doubling over with mirth at his own joke. His laughter subsided when a loud screech sounded from outside and a persistent tapping started against the lounge room window.
Looking up Harry saw a cute owl and he smiled when he saw that the parchment strapped to its leg was luminous orange. He didn’t recognise the owl, so he had no idea to whom it belonged or whether the letter was for Ron or himself, but he liked the eccentric choice of parchment.
“I’ll get it,” Ron said, getting up awkwardly. Harry grunted in response and then returned to playing the game as Ron dealt with the owl.
“Oh its for you Harry,” Ron said, sounding slightly disappointed. He slammed the window shut – they really needed to repair that one, it had the tendency to get stuck – and then he retuned to his beanbag. “Here,” Ron said, dropping the letter on Harry’s lap as he wriggled in the beanbag, forcing the beans to mould comfortably around his bottom.
“You take over then.” Harry handed over the controller. “And avoid the police this time. I want to get to the other island today.”
Ignoring Ron’s muttering about Triads, fish vans and impossible missions, Harry opened the envelope. Inside was a card just as bright as the envelope. On the front it had a moving picture of a drunken pirate, stumbling around on a peg leg. Smiling, Harry flicked open the card and read the invitation, it said:
Dear Harry + Friend,
You’re invited to Oliver and Jackson’s House Warming
Date: 15th November
Place: Flow and Apparate to ‘The Pirate Ship’
Feel free to come dressed as a pirate and don’t forget to bring us a present.
Harry smiled when he saw the handwritten addition at the bottom:
Ps – Harry we don’t really live in a ship. It’s just the name of the house. What can I say? We love pirates. Hope to see you there,
Oliver
When Oliver had mentioned the party the night before, Harry hadn’t thought he was serious about inviting him along. Whenever he bumped into acquaintances from school, they would always promise each other that they would get together but nothing ever came of their plans. So he was a little surprised to actually receive Oliver’s invitation. Oliver hadn’t just been making polite conversation.
Glancing sideways at Harry, Ron asked interestedly, “Who’s it from?”
“Oliver Wood,” Harry said slowly.
Pausing the game, Ron turned to look at Harry through wide eyes. “What does he want?” Ron asked eagerly.
“To invite me to his house warming,” Harry said, knowing his casual tone of voice would annoy Ron. His best friend loved Quidditch and consequently, held Oliver in high regard now that the boy played for a professional team.
“How come I didn’t get one?” Ron whined, looking at Harry almost accusingly. “Here give me that,” Ron said, dropping the controller and all but snatching the invite from Harry. He read over it quickly and then smiled brightly at Harry. “You know it says ‘plus friend’ here,” He said, hinting unsubtly.
“I know! Who am I going to take?” Harry teased, pretending to think it over.
“Harry, if you don’t take me, you aren’t going,” Ron said, assuming a parental tone of voice.
“Imagine how many Quidditch players are going to be there,” Ron continued awestruck, “I know he plays for Puddlemere United but do you think there will be any Chudley Cannon players there?”
“I don’t know Ron. I don’t know much about Oliver,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.
“So how come you’re invited then?” Ron said, face scrunched in confusion as he stared at Harry.
“I bumped into him last night,” Harry explained. “We talked for a bit and then he invited me to his house warming.”
“Hmm, I’ll have to ask Fred then. He’ll know for sure. He sees Oliver quite a bit,” Ron said thoughtfully.
“What am I going to wear?” Ron muttered after a moment, more to himself then to Harry.
What was he going to wear, Harry thought. He couldn’t go dressed as a pirate, he didn’t know the boy’s well enough to know if they were serious about the whole ‘come dressed as a pirate’ idea and the last thing he wanted was to be embarrassed in front of Oliver. He knew he didn’t stand a chance with the other man, he’d seen a girl hanging off Oliver’s arm quite clearly the night before, but he couldn’t help wanting to look his best.
“Maybe we should go shopping?” After all, they did have to buy a house-warming present. What harm could a new outfit do?
Chapter Five: Camel Walking
In typical Harry fashion, he’d forgotten to turn on the bathroom fan. Steam billowed out the top of the shower to fill the small room and just about everything in there was damp. On the bathroom counter, the muggle radio crackled dangerously from time to time, though somehow Harry’s favourite radio station kept pumping out the speakers at top volume.
Completely oblivious to the mess he was making in the bathroom, Harry alternated between washing and dancing under the waters spray. The shower screen was made of a cloudy glass, dark in colour and Harry always felt as though he’d entered his own private little world, where he could do anything. Unlike his ability on the dance floor, his shower time moves were jerky and exaggerated. Reminiscent of the tragic dancing he’d seen over the years in eighties video clips. Harry found it very liberating and had the shower been a little bigger, he just might have started doing the running man. But perhaps that would be taking things too far…
Half way through rubbing shampoo into his hair a song he loved started to play on the radio and Harry gave a great whoop of delight. He hadn’t heard the song in ages and it was just thing he needed to send him in full party mode.
Dancing with renewed exuberance, Harry sang loudly into the shampoo bottle come microphone, “…Let us walk through this very desert, in search of truth and some pointy boots; and maybe a few snap crackers.” He thought he did an excellent job mimicking the voice of the American singer until Mattias, the magical bathroom mirror, burst his bubble.
“Harry, you’re killing me here,” Mattias groaned from above the sink.
Far too happy to let Mattias’ sarcastic comments get to him, Harry ignored the surly mirror in favour of dancing and singing more boisterously. When the song reached its silly chorus, Harry adopted his best southern twang and sang along with feeling, “Baby… you make me want to walk… like a camel.” A picture of Oliver quickly sprang to mind and Harry sniggered, imaging himself doing a bizarre walk as he circled around Oliver.
He couldn’t remember exactly how it was that camels walked but he knew that if anyone could get him to walk like one it would be Oliver Wood. The man was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome and with (what Harry imagined was) the most amazing body, Oliver had featured in all of Harry’s fantasies over the last week. No matter how hard he tried to keep Oliver out of his mind, the boy was never very far from his thoughts. Even when he was doing something as fantastically mind numbing as playing the Playstation, Oliver was there at the back of his mind. All it would take for Oliver to shoot to center stage was for some random character with brown hair to appear on screen.
From there it was all down hill, albeit with a pleasurable descent. He would remember how they had danced together on the podium and how Oliver could bring his senses to red alert with the simplest of touches. While reminiscing, Harry would become so hot and bothered he would have to nip off to his bedroom to fix the problem. And at this rate he was in serious danger of getting wrister of the year…
Needless to say, Harry was very excited at the prospect of seeing Oliver again. All day he’d been counting down the hours till he got to leave. Not that Harry was expecting anything to happen with the older boy. He grudgingly accepted Oliver had a girlfriend and a very beautiful on at that. But he was prepared to enjoy the simple pleasure of looking at Oliver. Sure a (rather large) part of him hoped he would be able to enact one of the many fantasies he’d concocted over the last week. However, he was willing to settle for looking.
And that had a whole unique charm of its own, Harry thought, smiling to himself as he set about cleaning his body. With Oliver not far from his mind, Harry couldn’t help lingering a little longer on some of his more sensitive body parts.
When the hot water started to run out, Harry switched off the taps and slid open the shower screen. Seeing how steamy the bathroom was, he giggled and made a mental note to switch the fan on the next time he showered. As he toweled himself dry, Harry did his best to ignore Mattias’ catcalls. However, once he was done he couldn’t resist grinning into the mirror as he tied the towel around his waist.
“Spoil sport,” Mattias muttered grumpily.
‘Perverted mirror’, Harry thought back as he sprayed deodorant under his arms. After he finished brushing his teeth Harry quickly put on some cologne and then took a step towards the mirror. Ordinarily his ‘beauty’ regime would have ended with the cologne but Harry was excited about the party and he felt he should at least attempt to make an effort.
Leaning over the bathroom counter, Harry stared at his reflection thoughtfully. “Hmm,” Harry mumbled, “What to do, what to do.” Feeling a little poncy, Harry smoothed out his eyebrows until they were neat lines. He then ran a hand along his jaw. Nothing. Good, Harry thought; he hated shaving.
When he shifted his gaze to his hair, Harry groaned. It was worse than usual. His dark locks stuck out at such peculiar angles, Harry wondered if his hair had some how managed to defy gravity. He cast a drying charm and, with some trepidation, picked up the brush from the counter. Gingerly, Harry started brushing his hair, trying to put it into some sort of order.
“Oh that will never work,” Mattias informed him unhelpfully.
“Shut up,” Harry grumbled. The mirror was right though, Harry realised belatedly, when his hair insisted on springing back to its original position almost as soon as he took the brush away. “Stupid hair,” Harry muttered, banging the brush down on the bathroom counter.
Harry heard Mattias’ quietly say “I told you so” but chose to ignore it; really what did it matter if his hair didn’t sit neatly? He’d had messy hair his entire life; everyone knew that and some people had even mentioned they thought it sexy. Hoping Oliver was one such person, he turned his attention to the clothes he’d left in a neat pile on top of the laundry hamper.
They were all new and sad though it was, he’d bought them especially for the party. He pulled off the tags and dropped them carelessly onto the floor and after letting go of his towel, Harry quickly pulled on the new silk boxer shorts. Unfortunately he wasn’t quickly enough for the bane of the bathroom…
“You’re a bit smaller than Ron, you know?”
Strangely, Harry hadn’t known, nor had he ever wanted to know, about the size of Ron’s appendage. He couldn’t help the mental image that sprang to mind and he glared at the mirror in retaliation. Harry decided to relocate Mattias somewhere more out of the way, like the garden shed, the next time he had five minutes to spare.
Once he’d struggled into his jeans and t-shirt, Harry looked at himself in the full-length mirror, stuck on the back of the bathroom door. Thankfully, it was a simple muggle mirror so he didn’t have to listen to any witty comments. Harry spun around, checking himself out from all angles. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he looked amazing and he seriously doubted his outfit would blow Oliver’s mind but he did look nice.
The jeans rode low on his hips, fitting snugly at the thighs before gradually loosening out towards the ends. They were boot cut, the shop assistant had told him but Harry liked to think of them as mini flares. His simple t-shirt, was a rich red colour with a simple image on the front in white. Of a comfortable fit, it hung to the top of his jeans and the sleeves were shorter than normal, showing off his arms rather nicely he decided.
“You’re being unusually vain, you know?” Mattias chuckled from across the room. “Do you have a date?”
Ignoring Mattias, Harry whipped open the door and exited the bathroom. He stopped briefly in the laundry to pick up some clean socks and then headed out to the kitchen in search of his black runners. He found one under the kitchen table and after retrieving it he quickly pulled in on. The other one was a little harder to uncover but he eventually managed to find it hiding under the fridge.
As he bent over to try and get it out, Harry heard the warning siren that indicated someone was flooing into the house. As the floo system automatically blocked anyone not authorized to enter, Harry continued trying to get his runner. He managed to catch a hold of the laces and was just pulling it out when Fred tumbled inelegantly out of the fireplace.
“Hey Fred,” Harry chuckled as he watched Fred get up off the floor. He heard Fred grunt something that sounded more like an obscenity than a greeting but he let it slip.
When Fred finally finished dusting himself off, he looked up at Harry and his face sank in disappointment. “Damn Harry, you’re dressed. I was hoping to get here in time to pick your outfit,” Fred said, running his gaze critically over Harry.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? These clothes are new! I bought them yesterday,” Harry said defensively.
“Calm down,” Fred said, holding up his hand apologetically. “There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with what you’re wearing. Its not what I would have picked, mind you, but…” Fred trailed off shrugging his shoulders.
“Sorry,” Harry grinned, feeling like a bit of an idiot for getting defensive over something so unimportant.
Noticing Fred was staring at him with a thoughtful expression on his face, Harry couldn’t help snapping, “What?”
“Did you say those were new clothes, Harry?” When Harry nodded Fred’s face broke out in a big, knowing grin. “Why would that be I wonder?” Fred teased, “Hmm, let me think…. It wouldn’t have anything to do with Oliver, would it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry lied and he could feel his cheeks turning red as a result, “I just saw them while I was out, so I bought them.” One look at Fred and Harry knew he’d failed to convince his friend.
Fred was pretending his fingers were puppets and getting them to kiss while he made sound effects. It was hard to believe he was actually the older of the two when he acted that way.
Frowning at Fred’s display, Harry said, “He has a girlfriend anyway.”
Fred stopped what he was doing and looked at Harry with a confused expression on his face, “I don’t think so, Harry,” he said in a serious tone of voice, “These days I doubt he goes out with anyone long enough for them to reach the girlfriend status.”
Harry thought it very strange that Fred didn’t sound proud of Oliver’s roguish ways. Fred was incredibly fond of living a foot loose existence and Harry couldn’t really understand why Fred would disapprove of Oliver doing they same.
“He hasn’t been into commitment for a while now,” Fred continued, “He had a bit of a bad experience two years ago.” Fred smiled at Harry sadly but didn’t offer anything further.
Sensing Fred didn’t feel comfortable talking about his friend behind his back, Harry resisted the urge to pump him for information. Never having been very good a subtle conversation changes, Harry said rather lamely, “So does this look okay?”
“Like I said Harry, it’s not what I had in mind, but it does look good. The jeans are especially nice.” Fred smiled reassuringly.
“Thanks…”
“Oh,” Fred cried suddenly as if he’d just remembered something important, “Did you get them a house warming present?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, pointing to the wrapped present on the kitchen table, “We got them this Quidditch set from the 16th century.”
“Shit, that must have cost a bit Harry,” Fred muttered, staring at Harry as if he’d gone mad.
Harry shrugged. It had been a little pricey but he didn’t really know Oliver or Jackson that well and after hours of searching he’d decided to go with something he was pretty sure they’d like. “Do you think they’ll like it?”
“For sure. They have heaps of old Quidditch stuff… Oliver in particular,” Fred said, wriggling his eyebrows at Harry. “Can I put my name on the card?”
“Ron already put it on,” Harry informed him dryly. They both knew how ‘forgetful’ Fred could be when it came to doing practical things.
“Ron knows me so well,” Fred chuckled, “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry shrugged, “You can carry it there in lieu of paying.”
“No problem,” Fred muttered as he pulled out his wand. He shrunk the present to the size of a matchbox and slipped it into his pocket. “Now where’s Ron?” Fred said, clapping his hands together, “We should probably get going, it’s ten already.”
“Hang on, I think he’s in the lounge room,” Harry said to Fred and then yelled out, “RON!” Turning his attention back to Fred, Harry grinned sheepishly, “He said he wanted to have some drinks before we left.”
“You could have just gone into the lounge Harry…”
“Effort, Fred, effort,” Harry shrugged. When he heard Ron yell something that sounded like ‘what’, Harry called out again, “Are you ready?”
He could hear Ron banging around in the lounge and he wondered what he was doing. Neither Fred nor Harry was expecting Ron to look quite as he did when he burst into the room and before he could stop himself, Harry burst out laughing.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Fred gasped disbelievingly.
“How do I look?” Ron said, sounding immensely proud of himself and he smiled at them, revealing a couple of blackened out teeth.
“Like an idiot?” Fred offered unhelpfully.
Harry tried to stifle his laughter as he struggled to think of a tactful reply. All the elements were certainly there, the patch over the eye, the hook for a hand, the peg leg and not to mention those ‘missing’ teeth. “You look like,” Harry chuckled, “…a pirate.”
“Funny, Harry, really funny,” Ron muttered sarcastically before continuing in a whine. “Seriously how do I look?”
“You look fine, though…” Harry paused to select his next words carefully. “Are you sure you want to go dressed as a pirate?”
“Yeah, it said to on the invitation,” Ron said exasperatedly.
“They were joking!” Fred said, shaking his head to indicate he didn’t care anymore. “Let’s just go.”
“I’ll just get my beer,” Ron said quickly and he scampered out of the room before Fred could make another comment.
“He’s a bit excited about this isn’t he?” Fred said, staring off in the direction Ron had just left.
“A bit? That’s got to be the understatement of the century… He bought a new autograph book for the occasion…”
“He didn’t!” Fred said sounding scandalized.
------------
A little while later the boys apparated to Oliver and Jackson’s house, landing in what appeared to be the main entrance hall. Directly in front of them stood a large staircase and a couple of people could be seen loitering on its steps. With a quick glance over his shoulder Harry confirmed that the front door was directly behind them. The doors positioned at intervals along the sides of the hall were open, inviting the guests to move freely about the house. Harry could hear the sound of people talking and the faint murmur of music that was playing somewhere in the house.
“Wow,” Ron gasped in amazement as he looked about the hall eagerly.
Harry had to agree. The house, or rather the one room he’d seen, was very impressive. If he’d ever doubted that Quidditch players were well paid he had a definitive answer now. Oliver and Jackson were loaded. Not for the first time, he wondered why they lived together…
“Come on,” Fred said as he walked towards the first open door.
Harry and Ron exchanged a shrug and then took off after Fred. They entered a room, that was packed full of people. They stood in groups all around the room, spilling out the open French doors and into the courtyard. In the corner of the room was a makeshift dance area where a few people could be seen dancing to the music thumping out the rather impressive stereo system. Although changes had obviously been made for the party, Harry could tell the room ordinarily served as Jackson and Oliver’s lounge room.
Ron cleared his throat, “Has anybody else noticed that I’m the only person wearing pirate clothes?” He sounded very distressed.
“I tried to warn you,” Harry said and he couldn’t help chuckling when he looked at his friend. Ron, who merely half an hour ago had been so proud of his outfit, was nervously tugging at his pirate shirt.
“Shut it, Harry,” Ron muttered.
“Do you know what you need, little Ronniekins?” Fred said, grinning up at his baby brother with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“What?” Ron asked warily. He had been on the receiving end of far too many of his brother’s pranks to treat a seemingly helpful Fred with anything less than suspicion.
“You need more drinks,” Fred grinned, “Once you’re absolutely sloshed you wouldn’t even care if you’d come wearing a pink fluffy bunny costume.” His voice had that ‘trust me I’d know’ ring about it.
Just as Ron opened his mouth to reply a voice called out from behind them, “Harry! Fred!” All three boy’s spun on there heels.
Recognising the man instantly, Harry smiled politely, “Hello, Jackson.”
“Harry, that’s Jackson Byrne,” Ron said excitedly, nudging Harry in the ribs.
As Harry watched Fred and Jackson greet each other like long lost friends he tried his best to shush his star struck friend. “You been here long?” Harry heard Jackson ask. He didn’t hear what Fred said in reply because the music changed to a louder track and he wasn’t standing close enough to hear.
They talked for a couple of minutes before Jackson leaned towards Harry and said in rather loud voice, “Wait here while I get Oliver. He told me to come and find him if I saw you first.” Harry nodded and Jackson gave him a quick smile before walking off, presumably in search of Oliver.
“Ohhhh….” Fred cooed in his ear, sounding like a schoolgirl. “Its like I don’t even exist to Oliver anymore…”
“Shut up Fred,” Harry said, though he couldn’t help smiling.
“Well he didn’t care whether I got here or not did he?” Fred grinned, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Harry seriously doubted Fred’s suspicions were correct but he did wonder why Oliver would tell Jackson to keep a look out. Perhaps Oliver had assumed he would come on his own and he hadn’t wanted him to feel left out? Harry decided that was most likely, after all apart from his friends and Jackson he hadn’t seen anyone he knew.
Still, a little part of him couldn’t help hoping that Oliver was as excited at the prospect of seeing him as he was of seeing Oliver. Knowing this wouldn’t help him in the long run, Harry forced himself to remember that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Girlfriend or not, Oliver wouldn’t be interested.
“Will you be okay here if I take this idiot to get a drink?” Fred said, nodding his head in Ron’s direction. When Harry nodded, Fred continued amusedly, “Well if you get bored, come and find me…” His tone suggested he thought it highly unlikely that Harry would tire of Oliver.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…” Fred chuckled as he dragged Ron away.
Author’s Note:
(The song Harry was listening to in the bathroom is by Southern Culture on the Skids and it’s called Camel Walk (I think), if anyone’s interested. It’s a great song. My all time favourite romance song in fact.)
Chapter Six: The Pirate Ship
After Fred and Ron left, Harry backed up against the wall and waited for Oliver. As the minutes ticked by, he became increasingly nervous. Would they have anything to talk about? Did he still look okay? These were just some of the thoughts plaguing Harry as he waited for the other boy. By the time Oliver finally stepped through the door, Harry was in such a state of agitation that his heart pounded furiously against his ribcage and his hands were all sweaty. Worriedly, Harry brushed his fingers across his brow and sighed in relief when he felt nothing but dry skin.
Unfortunately, the sight of Oliver did nothing to calm his nerves. His stomach dropped heavily when he looked at the other boy and nervous butterflies flitted around his insides. Oliver was even better looking then he remembered. He had on a very similar outfit to Harry, though he noticed enviously that Oliver looked much better in simple jeans and a t-shirt than he ever could.
As he was looking in the other direction, Oliver didn’t notice him immediately and Harry had to yell out his name to get his attention. When he saw how close Harry had been without his noticing, Oliver pulled a funny face.
“Hey, Harry,” Oliver said brightly, “I don’t know how I missed you there.” He took Harry’s hand in his and shook it gently.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Harry said as he stepped back.
“Glad you could make it, Harry,” Oliver smiled sincerely.
The smile lit up Oliver’s face and it hit Harry like a punch to the solar plexus. Considering Oliver was a famous Quidditch player, Harry didn’t even want to guess how many people he had charmed with that smile. It was the sort of smile that made Harry just want to grab onto Oliver and go for ‘it’, in every sense of the word.
Oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle, Oliver looked around them quickly as though he was searching for something and then asked, “Did you come on your own?”
“No,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “Fred and Ron.”
“Ron?”
Oliver said it in quite a clipped tone and Harry could have sworn he’d heard just the teensiest bit of jealously in Oliver’s voice. However, he rejected the idea as wishful thinking.
“You know Ron,” Harry smiled. “He’s Fred’s youngest brother… my best friend from Hogwarts.”
“Oh right,” Oliver grinned when the penny dropped. “Where are they?” Harry made a drinking gesture with his hand and Oliver chuckled. “Well seeing as they’re busy and all, I’ll give you a tour of the house if you want?”
Yes! Harry’s mind screamed but thankfully he managed to utter a more reserved, “I’d like that, Oliver.” Harry didn’t need a mirror to tell him he was blushing, his face felt incredibly hot. He just hoped Oliver wouldn’t notice how red his cheeks were going.
To Harry’s pleasant surprise, Oliver placed a hand on the small of his back and guided them out the room. The area directly underneath Oliver’s hand tingled at the contact and Harry had to suppress his grin as Oliver took them through the hall and out the front doors. “I thought we should start out the front,” Oliver smiled as he pulled the front door shut behind them.
Realizing he was staring at Oliver and not the house, Harry reluctantly shifted his gaze from Oliver and took a look around. By London standards it was a very contemporary looking house. When he told the other boy this, Oliver explained that the previous house had burnt down and the owners had built this in its place.
“Obviously it was a muggle house,” Oliver grinned, pointing towards the double garage at the side of the house. “I thought we should get rid of them but Jackson likes cars so we kept it… not that he can drive,” Oliver added wryly and Harry found himself chuckling. “Come on, enough of outside. There isn’t much out here I just thought you should know what it looked like from the outside.”
With that Oliver reclaimed the spot one Harry’s back and pushed him gently back up the front steps. He leaned in close behind Harry so he could open the door and Harry could smell his spicy scent. He smelled wonderful and, as slyly as he could, Harry sniffed deeply.
Harry expected Oliver to take him on a whirlwind tour but as they made their way around, Harry realized that Oliver seemed intent on showing him everything. At a leisurely pace, they went through all the rooms on the ground floor. Sometimes they lingered in a room and Harry would ask questions, or they’d get distracted and end up talking until Oliver remembered he was supposed to be showing Harry around. And every so often he would stop to introduce Harry to someone or another. Harry seriously doubted he would be able to remember a single name should he have to speak to any of them again.
Sometimes as they moved around the house Oliver would rest his hand on Harry’s back, guiding him along, while at other times he would walk on a head. Harry couldn’t decide which he preferred. The touching was wonderful but when Oliver lead the way Harry got to watch his arse as he walked and Oliver did have a very nice bottom.
“This is my pride and joy,” Oliver grinned once they were back in the hall. Harry thought the whole house had been rather amazing and he couldn’t wait to see what would be in Oliver’s favorite room. When he stepped though the doorway he instantly understood why Oliver liked it so much. “The billiard room,” Oliver grinned, taking his hand from Harry’s back so he could make a grand sweeping gesture.
It was a very ‘masculine’ room. The walls and floorboards were dark in colour. Hung about the room was various pieces of Quidditch memorabilia, from the early days of Quidditch right on through to the modern time. Thankfully, Harry couldn’t see any evidence of a Quidditch set like the one they’d given Oliver and Jackson. Though, it did please him to know that when they finally opened it they were bound to like the present.
In the middle of the room a large billiard table took pride of place. A group of people stood around it and Harry could see that they were involved in a game. Over in the far corner was a dartboard and there too, a couple of girls stood playing a game of darts. They both swayed on their feet and Harry wondered whether it was wise to let them play with something as sharp as a dart in their ‘condition’. In the other corner and running along just about the whole side of the wall was the most extraordinary bar Harry had ever seen. It was like the sort of bar one would see in a club and it looked to be well stocked.
“This is amazing,” Harry said just as he heard a very loud, drunk voice yell his name. He recognized the owner of the voice instantly and he spun around in search of Ron. Harry grinned when he caught sight of Ron, sitting in the corner of the room on one of the couches. “Better go say hello,” Harry said quietly and, as they made their way over, Harry could hear Oliver chuckling at his side.
“That’s Ron, isn’t it?” Oliver whispered in his ear. Oliver’s breath ghosted over Harry’s skin and he couldn’t help the little gasp that fell from his lips. Hoping Oliver didn’t hear him and not trusting himself to speak, Harry nodded in reply. “I’ll have to take a picture of him later, that pirate outfit is cool,” Oliver chuckled.
“Come sit, Harry,” Ron beckoned, “We’re playing a drinking game.” When Harry shook his head, “You sure?” Kind though the offer was, he really didn’t want to leave Oliver and there wasn’t any room on the couch anyway. Ron was squished between five burly boy’s, Harry recognized as Chudley Cannon players. As they turned to leave, Harry caught sight of a very happy Fred who bouncing in their direction.
“Oh there you are, Harry,” Fred said brightly and he gave Oliver a slap on the back by way of a greeting. “What have you two been doing?”
“I’ve been taking Harry on a tour.”
“Oh do I get one too?”
“Get Jackson to take you,” Oliver grinned and then taking Harry by the arm, he walked off towards the exit. Harry glanced over his shoulder and when he saw Fred wriggling those eyebrows at him. Harry glared in return. He didn’t want Fred to go jumping to the wrong conclusions; he had the tendency to become annoying when he thought Harry was interested in someone. Not to mention downright embarrassing.
“Just upstairs and then we’re done,” Oliver smiled.
Apart from the study and a small lounge, which they only looked at briefly, the upstairs area had a more private feel. Harry couldn’t believe Oliver took him into Jackson’s bedroom and he felt rather rude going in so he just poked his head around the door. But when Oliver took them out onto the balcony Harry didn’t know where to look. In the decadent looking spa, a group of naked women pampered a rather excited young man. When Harry asked, Oliver told him it was Puddlemere United’s seeker. Oliver seemed terribly amused by Harry’s embarrassment and he teased him about it as he dragged Harry to the last stop on the tour.
Oliver pushed opened a large white door, “And this is my bedroom,” he said, stepping inside.
Suddenly nervous, Harry took a calming breath before following Oliver into the room. He knew he was being silly and that it was just a bedroom but, in light of his recent fantasies, he couldn’t help feeling self-conscious.
The first thing he noticed about the room was the bed. It was huge. The covers appeared to be made of rich silks in varying shades of gray and it all looked incredibly sinful to Harry. His wayward mind insisted on flashing up images of all the things they could do on such a magnificent bed and Harry just managed to stop himself from groaning out loud.
When he finally managed to drag his eyes from the bed, Harry noticed that Oliver was watching him in apparent amusement. As their eyes locked, Oliver smirked at him and Harry felt himself blush. Harry realized that Oliver had guessed what was going through his mind; it must have been written all over his face.
“Come on, we’ll go get some drinks,” Oliver said in a husky voice.
Feeling incredibly embarrassed, Harry tried to calm himself down as he scampered out the room after Oliver.
Chapter Seven: Get Your Pants Around Your Ankles!
“So what do you think?” Oliver said over his shoulder as they clambered down the stairs.
“To be honest,” Harry said in a serious tone of voice. When he saw Oliver brace himself as though preparing to hear some bad news, Harry added in a chuckle, “…I was expecting there to be a lot more pirate stuff.”
Oliver laughed at that and turned around to whack Harry playfully on the arm. “It’s around I promise you,” he chortled, “It’s just, our old place was a lot smaller so their seemed to be a shit load more.”
Harry doubted that, he’d seen very little pirate paraphernalia on his trip around the house and, he’d been looking. The odd painting here and the stuffed parrot in the study didn’t really show Oliver and Jackson as having a pirate obsession in Harry’s opinion.
While they’d been upstairs, more guests seemed to have arrived. The entrance hall which, had been relatively quiet when Harry and his friends got there, was now full of people. Oliver led Harry back into the billiard room and it too was much more crowded than before. Perhaps because it was where the bar was located Harry thought as he followed the other boy.
On the way to the bar, new comers who wanted to chat to Oliver stopped them countless times. Oliver would chat for a moment, thank them for coming and then make his excuses, dragging Harry along with him as he left. It took a while but they got there in the end and as Harry perched on the edge of a bar stool he could only watch in surprise as Oliver casually leapt over the counter.
“What can I get you?” Oliver grinned as he took up a spot behind the bar.
“A beer?”
“A beer? I don’t think so Harry... You need something stronger and I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you,” He said in a serious tone, though Harry could see his eyes sparkling with humor. “I’ll make you one of my special drinks.”
Doing his best to look at home behind the bar, Oliver pulled out a shaker and started adding various spirits. ‘Not mixing one’s drinks’ apparently wasn’t a motto Oliver lived by and Harry could only watch in alarm as Oliver added more and more to the mix. After four different spirits went in, Harry stopped counting. It was best not to know, though he predicted that Oliver’s drink would taste revolting. He knew nothing about cocktails and the like, but he was fairly certain that if there were any rules to making them, Oliver had broken them all.
“Here you go, Mr. Potter,” Oliver said, smiling triumphantly as he held out a glass to Harry.
Warily eyeing the brown concoction Harry muttered, “Thanks… I think.” It looked more revolting than even the rankest of potions Professor Snape had had them make at school.
“Try it… It’ll put hairs on your chest,” Oliver said, watching Harry with amusement.
“That’s if it doesn’t kill me,” said Harry quietly. “Perhaps you should go first?” He added hopefully, pointing to glass sitting on the counter in front of Oliver.
“We’ll do it together,” Oliver said, picking up the glass and looking expectantly at Harry.
It was a challenge Harry realized. He couldn’t work out what it was in aid of, or what Oliver would do if he didn’t drink the thing, and he wasn’t about to find out. Grimacing, Harry raised his glass.
“Cheers,” Oliver said, clicking his glass against Harry’s.
Remembering that a rather large percentage of taste was the smell, Harry carefully avoided breathing as he brought the glass to his lips. Opening his mouth, he let the liquid in and he’d barely managed to swallow a mouthful before he started to splutter. He winced as the bitter taste seeped onto his tongue. “God, its even worse then I expected.”
“Its not that bad actually Harry,” Oliver laughed. Harry looked up to find Oliver calmly sipping the drink. “Jackson and I make these sorts of drinks all the time and I have to tell you, this tastes like pumpkin juice compared to some of the drinks we’ve made.”
Harry seriously doubted anything could possibly taste worse. He’d tried various rocket fuel recipes in his youth and none of them even came close to Oliver’s demon drink.
“You have to finish it Harry… or you’re not getting anything else,” Oliver teased. When Harry looked up as if to say he didn’t mind, Oliver glared. “Don’t wuss out on me Harry,” he said in that Quidditch Captains voice Harry remembered.
Harry whispered a quiet “Come on, Harry” for motivation, and ignoring Oliver’s laughter he downed the drink in two big gulps. He managed to by pass his taste buds completely but the alcohol settled in his stomach like a brick and he retched as he put the glass back on the counter.
“Here,” Oliver smiled and slid a glass of water to Harry, “Drink that, I don’t want you chucking…. and then we’re back on the heavier stuff.”
Oh great, Harry thought, Oliver thought he was piss weak ‘and’ he would have to drink another of Oliver’s brews.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Oliver chuckled, “We’ll stick to normal drinks from now on,” he added, smiling reassuringly at Harry. “Tequila okay?”
Busy drinking his much needed glass of water, Harry nodded dumbly. Oliver quickly collected the things they needed to have tequila shots. He came back carrying a tub of lemons, two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila, which he had balanced in the crook of his arm. “Grab the salt,” Oliver muttered; nodding his head towards the shaker on the counter, “We’ll go sit over by Ron. The other couch is free.”
After picking up the salt, Harry politely squeezed a path through the crowded room until he managed to reach Ron’s corner. His best friend hadn’t moved the whole time they’d been away. He was still sandwiched between his idols – though there were now only three of them – and he seemed to be having the time of his life. Ron waved at Harry but seemed far too interested in the story the boy next to him was telling to pay much attention to Harry and Oliver.
Oliver sat in the center of the couch and Harry was left to decide whether he wanted to be squished on the left or right. It wasn’t a bad choice to have to make, either way he’d be sitting closer to Oliver than necessary. Harry chose the side closet to him, sinking down gratefully onto the comfortable couch.
As Oliver wriggled in the couch to get comfortable, positioning the various ingredients for the drink just so and looking for the entire world as if he’d settled for the night, a horrible thought suddenly occurred to Harry. What if Oliver was just staying with him out of some misguided sense of duty? Before he could stop himself, Harry blurted, “You don’t have to stay with me you know? I’ll be fine by myself.”
Oliver eyebrow shot up in surprise and then he smiled, “Are you trying to get rid of me, Harry?” He said in a deep voice.
“No,” Harry laughed. Getting rid of Oliver was the very last thing he wanted to do but he didn’t want to be responsible for ruining the other boy’s night. “There’s heaps of people here though, I don’t want to hog all your time.”
“I see them all the time,” Oliver scoffed rolling his eyes, indicating he thought little of Harry’s reasoning. “Anyway, I spoke to most of them before you got here, which was quite late, mind you.” His face took on a serious look as he continued, “I thought you weren’t going to come.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat and when he spoke his voice came out in a croaky whisper. “Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
“Good.” Oliver said simply. “Now we’re going to get pissed and you can tell me all about yourself.”
As Oliver poured the shots, Harry glanced around the room quickly. He saw Fred standing with a group of boy’s in the far corner. With rude gestures, he seemed to be recounting some lurid tale to the boy’s who were all incredibly amused by his antics. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out Fred was trying to convince them all to go back to his place.
“Here,” Oliver said, winking at Harry as he handed him the shot glass.
Harry licked the salt off the back of his hand, took the shot in one gulp and followed up by quickly sucking on one of the lemons. He gasped happily as he put the glass on the coffee table. Harry rarely drank tequila but he liked the fiery sensation it provided in his gut.
Once the first shot was out of the way, the boy’s set about getting reacquainted. It was strange at first because even though they ‘knew’ each other from Hogwarts, they quickly realized they both knew very little about the other. While they’d been at school, they’d been at totally different life stages. Harry had just been a kid and Oliver had tended to talk down to him at the time.
Even though their life styles still differed drastically, it was different, and Harry found they could converse as adults. Surprisingly (for Harry at least), Oliver seemed genuinely interested in the things he had to say. As time passed, Harry found himself becoming comfortable in the other boy’s presence and he was able to speak more freely.
Every so often they would take another shot, though Harry forced himself to stop at five. Even if he could take a potion in the morning, he didn’t want a hang over. Nor did he want to be held responsible for what he might say to Oliver, lest he get drunk and his mouth developed a mind of its own. Oliver however, didn’t seem to care about hangovers. Sometimes one or the other of the boys (usually Oliver) would have to make a mad dash for the bathroom, leaving the other behind to guard the couch.
During one such intermission, Harry was waiting patiently for Oliver to return when Fred came over for a chat. The way Fred sauntered across the room, looking at him with a knowing look, immediately set Harry on his guard and he was completely unsurprised by the first thing to come out of Fred’s mouth.
“What’s up with you and Oliver?” Fred asked excitedly as he perched himself in Harry’s lap.
Harry sighed, “Nothings going on, we’re just talking…”
“Just talking?” Fred screeched. “Do I look like an idiot?” He glared at Harry, when the black haired boy nodded his head in response. “He wants you, Harry.”
“It’s not like that Fred. We’re just catching up,” Harry said, not mentioning the part about how much he wished Oliver wanted him…
“Oh look, he’s coming back,” Fred said, snuggling into to Harry’s chest. When Harry looked up, he saw that Fred was right. Oliver was pushing his way through the crowd and scowling in their direction as he moved. “Look how jealous he is that I’m sitting in your lap,” Fred giggled and he made a show of running his hands through Harry’s hair. Harry has to admit Oliver ‘did’ look a little piqued. Perhaps Fred was right, Harry thought hopefully. Maybe he did stand a chance with the other boy.
“Fred,” Oliver said curtly as he reclaimed his seat next to Harry.
“Oliver!” Fred said, making no attempt to hide his amusement at the situation.
In an unsubtle attempt to get rid of Fred, Oliver said pointedly, “I think Jackson’s looking for you.”
“Oh is he? I better go find him then.” Fred winked at Oliver in an exaggerated manner. “I’ll see you two later,” He added, hopping off Harry’s lap. Harry could hear his friend’s laughter as he walked away, leaving Harry and Oliver in silence.
“So….” Harry started and he searched his mind for something to say.
As Oliver turned to look at him Harry noticed the tenseness about his face eased. “Do you want to play billiards?” Oliver smiled.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting Oliver to say but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Umm sure,” Harry said slowly. “I’m not very good though,” he added, following Oliver to the billiard table.
“Good. Let’s make a bet then,” Oliver grinned over his shoulder. “I’m not very good either.”
Harry wasn’t fooled for a minute. He might be particularly bad at billiards but he wasn’t an idiot; he could spot a pool shark a mile away. Deciding to keep his final answer till after he knew what was at stake, Harry asked warily, “What are the terms?”
“Loser has to run about the table ten times with their pants around their ankles!”
Oliver smiled at him as if he was expecting Harry to say no, which was quite funny really because that was the most immediate response that came to mind. As much as he wanted to see Oliver do it, he certainly didn’t want to have to run around the table on display. And the chances of him loosing were 99.99 reoccurring percent.
“Do I get to keep my boxers on?”
“So sure you’re going to lose?” Oliver laughed. “Yes, just the jeans will do.” He stared at Harry intently and asked in a quiet voice, “Are we on or not?”
How could Harry refuse when Oliver looked at him like that? He couldn’t and he felt himself nod, “Okay, rack them up.”
Once the game was set up and the boy’s had selected their cues, they started to play. Oliver kindly let Harry break but he didn’t sink anything. Unsurprisingly, Oliver was the first to succeed, sinking one of the striped balls on his first shot, leaving Harry to play the solids. They quickly drew a crowd and unfortunately almost everyone watching seemed to be on Oliver’s side. Harry prayed that they would lose interest before he lost the game. How he expected to run around the table with his pants around his ankles and for no one to notice, one could only guess.
Oliver sent three balls rocketing into the pockets before Harry was even able to sink his first. When he finally managed to sink one, Harry cheered for himself like he had won the game. Oliver smiled happily at Harry, though he also looked entirely unconcerned. Obviously he still expected to win.
While Oliver played his next shot, Fred came over to congratulate Harry. He teased Harry playfully for a moment, before leaving Harry to his ‘male bonding’ as Fred put it. What Harry didn’t see was that when Fred got back to the group he’d been with before, he took out his wand and muttered something under his breath as he pointed at Harry’s cue stick. However, Harry did notice that he got good all of a sudden and he thought God must have decided to help him out. Either that or God wanted to see Oliver’s pants as badly as Harry did…
“Harry, are you cheating?” Oliver demanded amusedly after watching Harry sink five balls in a row. Harry now had only one ball left to pocket while Oliver still had two.
“No,” Harry said honestly, “I think I’m just getting the hang of it.” He grinned happily at Oliver as he lined up for his next shot. Miraculously, as far as Harry was concerned, the ball slid into a corner pocket. “Yes,” Harry said pumping his fist triumphantly. All he had to do was sink the eight ball to win the game.
“Now I know you’re cheating!”
“You’re just scared now,” Harry chuckled, “And you should be, I’m on fire here!”
Just as Harry was preparing to hit the ball, Oliver bent over to tie up his shoe. No amount of magic in the world could counter the effect that sight had on Harry. He didn’t know if Oliver had done it on purpose (which would be very embarrassing) or if it was just his bad luck that Oliver should need to tie his shoe at the most crucial point of the game. Either way, Harry’s cue skittled over the top of the white ball sending it all of six millimeters across the table.
Harry heard Fred snort loudly and he shot the boy a death glare.
Oliver stood up and looked at the table quickly. When he saw the eight ball still on the table he smiled at Harry. “How could you miss that, Harry?”
Well at least Harry knew now that Oliver hadn’t done it on purpose. He’d wondered because Oliver had seemed to be waving his arse. Who did that while they tied up a shoe?
Harry watched nervously as Oliver sunk his remaining two easily, leaving him with just the eight ball. “Scared now, Harry?” Smirking at Harry, Oliver bent over the table. He gave the white ball a soft nudge and it ghosted over the table, lightly tapping the other ball in the direction of the side pocket. As the ball teetered on the edge, Oliver put up his hands ready for the win. He could only stare in disbelief when the ball didn’t fall.
“Thanks for lining it up for me Oliver,” Harry giggled. “Not even I can miss it from here.” And he didn’t, he gave the ball the barest of taps and the black ball fell into the pocket, leaving the white ball alone on the table.
“I don’t believe it,” Oliver whispered.
“Pants, Mr. Wood,” Harry quirked, feeling more confident now.
“I still say you cheated,” Oliver huffed though he was smiling good-naturedly at Harry.
With his eyes on Harry, Oliver undid the button on his jeans and slowly lowered the zip. There could be no mistaking that; Oliver was definitely flirting with him Harry realised. Mesmerised by Oliver, Harry gulped as Oliver let the jeans fall to his calves, revealing navy blue boxer shorts and pair of tanned legs. Those still watching laughed at Oliver but Harry couldn’t even offer a smile. He was having a terrible time trying to control his pulse rate, not to mention his downstairs was tweaking with interest.
Amidst catcalls from his friends, Oliver started his trek around the table. Every time he passed Harry he would give him the most charming smile. After about five laps, most people lost interest in their bet, retuning to whatever they’d been doing before the show started. Harry however, couldn’t take his eyes off Oliver.
Oliver finished his last lap, drawing to a halt in front of Harry. “How about a rematch,” Oliver grinned, still with his pants around his ankles. Gorgeous though the sight was, Harry wished the boy would pull up his pants.
“Sure,” Harry practically panted. He would play Oliver again, though he could think of at least a hundred other ‘games’ they could play.
“I’ll win this time,” Oliver promised as he bent over to pull up his pants.
“I see you’re wearing the boxers I gave you,” a silky voice purred from behind them. Harry spun around and Oliver stood quickly.
Where the fuck did she come from, Harry wondered bitterly.
There in all her revolting glory, was the woman from the week before. Siobhan. Harry hadn’t seen her all night and she had to show up just when things with Oliver looked promising.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver asked and there was a slight edge to his voice.
“You invited me, silly,” She giggled, tittering slightly on ridiculously high, high-heels. Somehow she managed to get to Oliver and ignoring Harry’s presence completely, she tried to plant a kiss on Oliver’s lips. She didn’t get very far as Oliver stepped back, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her at bay.
Oliver exhaled sharply as though he was trying to calm his anger. “What are you doing here?” He repeated slowly.
Anger flashed across her face at Oliver’s rejection. “There’s no need to ask what you’re doing is there?” She sent a hateful glance in Harry’s direction before turning furious eyes back to Oliver.
Feeling like he was intruding a little, Harry took a step back from the ‘happy’ couple. He couldn’t help noticing she looked entirely unattractive when her claws came out.
“Harry Potter, for fuck’s sake,” She snapped viciously at Oliver.
“Shut up,” he hissed back just as viciously. Taking her roughly by the arm, Oliver dragged her across the room until they were out of Harry’s hearing range.
Harry tried not to stare but he found himself unable to look away. He found the whole thing very strange and he couldn’t for the life of him work out what was going on between the two. Were they a couple? Why hadn’t she been there all night? Harry was fairly certain she had only just arrived because he certainly hadn’t seen her and she didn’t strike him as the type to leave Oliver alone for long.
He smiled gratefully at Fred when the boy came over to stand at his side, “I told you he had a girlfriend.”
“Please,” Fred scoffed. “He doesn’t look very happy to see her does he? She’s just another one of those stupid, skanky girls who thinks she can change him,” Fred said bitterly.
Well that made Oliver sound really nice, Harry thought sadly. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Fred quickly explained what he meant.
“He always tells them that he’s just in it for the fun and most of the time the girls are okay with it. Fucking a Quidditch star is enough for most of them. But that one,” Fred shot a contemptuous look in Siobhan’s direction, “she wants his money and she’ll do anything to get her greedy hands on it.”
“What about boys? Does he treat them the same?” Harry asked curiously.
“He hasn’t really been with that many boys lately,” Fred explained quietly, “But I don’t think he encounters the same problems with the boys…”
They stood in silence, watching Oliver and Siobhan as they argued. Oliver looked incredibly annoyed with her and from what they could tell; she seemed to be trying to coax him into thinking otherwise. Gradually Oliver’s reserves crumbled, his anger subsided and he looked tired and then simply defeated, as she continued to simper all over him. When she kissed him again and Oliver responded this time, Harry wanted to go over and smack her one.
“Robbed in the final hour,” Fred mused at his side and he patted Harry comfortingly on the back.
Fred didn’t even know that it was twice now that she had taken Oliver away just when he dared to think something might happen. That’s what you get for hoping, that nasty little voice at the back of his mind reminded.
“I told you Fred, we were just hanging out,” Harry mumbled, feeling the need to stick to his story.
“Harry, I’m not daft you know?” Fred said, looking down at Harry sadly. “I don’t know what that idiots doing now but he wants you.”
Harry looked from Fred to the kissing couple, raising his eyebrow skeptically.
“Well grow some balls, Harry! Go over there and put that bitch back in her place. You know he was pissed off when she got here and that she’s just whined her way back into his bed. Tomorrow he’ll tell her to fuck off, but if you went over there now, he’d do it a hell of a lot quicker…”
As far as pep talks went, it was a good one. Had Harry been anyone else, he would have marched straight over to Oliver, whipped the wench from his arms and kissed him passionately. However, he was Harry. He just couldn’t go through with Fred’s suggestion. His mind focused on the ‘what ifs’. Oliver had seemed to be flirting with him and Harry could have sworn he was interested in him (why else would he spend all night in his company?) but Harry couldn’t help thinking that he had read the signs wrong. And if the way she was kissing him was any indication, Oliver didn’t seem to mind having her back in his life.
“Are you going over there or not?” Fred prompted. Harry shook his head. “Right! Leave it with me then, I’ll sort him out for you…” He looked as though he was preparing to go into battle.
“No, Fred! Don’t say anything to him,” Harry said quickly. He had been down that road before and when Fred played the matchmaker it only lead to embarrassment.
“Calm down, Harry, I’ll be discreet,” Fred said, apparently not getting that Harry was being deadly serious. He didn’t want Fred to help.
“Fred, I don’t even like him so don’t you dare say anything,” Harry said, his voice coming out in a whine.
“You’re a terrible liar Harry,” Fred chuckled, “Don’t worry just leave it to me.” He patted Harry reassuringly and walked away quickly.
“Shit,” Harry muttered to himself. He contemplated going after Fred but he decided feeling the scene was a much better alternative. Feeling incredibly worried about what Fred would say, Harry disapparated out Oliver’s house without so much as a good bye to anyone.
Chapter Eight: Puddlemere v Falmouth
On Saturdays Harry liked to sleep in late. Before he went to bed he would always remember to shut the curtains tightly so that the morning light would not disturb 'the big sleep' – as he liked to refer to his Saturday lie-in.
He could be found there now, lying curled up on the bed in his darkened room. Locked in the world of his dreams, Harry was blissfully unaware of the red headed menace creeping into his room.
"Pst, Harry," Fred called in a quiet whisper as he shut the door behind him silently. For someone intent on waking Harry, Fred seemed to be going about it the wrong way. His actions and voice were far too quiet. "Harry," Fred cooed in an amused whisper. Apart from a slight stirring, Fred's words had little affect on Harry.
"I tried it the easy way, Harry," Fred said, shaking his head apologetically. "You've only brought this upon yourself." Fred backed up against the bedroom door. Grinning madly at the sleeping boy, Fred took a run up and launched himself at Harry. In a tangle of limbs, he landed half on top of Harry and half on the bed.
Just as he was getting to the good part of his dream Harry was jerked awake suddenly. Disorientated, it took Harry a moment to notice the heavy weight on his legs. He was slightly alarmed until he heard the sound of choked laughter; he figured that whomever the mysterious visitor was they weren't there to kill him at least.
Squinting in the dark, Harry reached out to pat the body lying on his legs, and recognised his friend by the tell tale spiky hair, "What are you doing, Fred?" Harry said angrily.
Fred didn't answer immediately; he was far too busy laughing. "You should have seen it, Harry, I dive bombed onto the bed… It was a perfect 10." He quickly crawled off Harry's legs and then the bed, lest Harry try to extract any revenge.
"Why?" Harry whined tiredly as he slumped back against the pillows.
"Its 11, lazy bones," Fred informed him happily as he whipped open the curtains.
Harry groaned in despair as the harsh morning light burst into his once beautifully dark room. "Its Saturday, Fred!" Harry snapped grumpily as he pulled one of his pillows over his face. Not caring if he died from a lack of oxygen so long as it kept the light out of his eyes, Harry crossed his arms over the top of the pillow. It was almost as good as having the curtains closed and Harry felt himself drifting back to sleep until Fred, the killjoy, intervened.
"Oh no you don't," Fred said, rushing over to try and wrest the pillow away. Harry kicked out at him with his feet till Fred was forced to take a step back. "You cant go back to sleep Harry, Oliver's given us tickets to his match today!"
At those words wretched the pillow from his face and glaring daggers at Fred he jerked into an upright position. Embarrassment and anger rippled through his body as he stared disbelievingly at his friend. He had told Fred that he was absolutely forbidden from playing matchmaker. "What did you say to him?" Harry demanded, throwing the pillow at Fred.
"Relax, Harry, I haven't said anything to Oliver, yet…" Fred trailed off to grin evilly at Harry and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "He gives me tickets quite often," Fred added quickly when Harry looked set to hit him.
"Oh…" Well that wasn't so bad then, Harry thought, though he wouldn't admit that to Fred.
"I didn't mention you at all when I accepted the tickets. He however, specifically suggested that I bring you along…"
"Really?" Harry asked doubtfully. He wouldn't be at all surprised if this were one of Fred's pranks.
"Uh huh," Fred nodded in confirmation and, surprisingly he looked sincere. "He mentioned it quite a lot, so I think he will be pretty pissed if I take someone else along, but if you don't want to go…"
"No its okay," Harry said quickly, "I'll come with you."
"I thought you might," Fred said, smiling knowingly at Harry. "You go get dressed and I'll make you some breakfast," Fred added before heading out the bedroom.
Harry wanted to call him back and quiz him about what Oliver had said, he wanted to know everything, but he dared not. If Fred knew just how interested he was in Oliver, he doubted his friend's matchmaking attempts would remain very subtle. Fred would try to help, in his own way, and that would probably result in terrible things for Harry.
Carrying the clothes he'd haphazardly selected for the day, Harry traipsed out to the bathroom. He'd briefly considered dressing similarly to Fred – in slacks and a shirt – but had decided against such a move. What would be the point of getting dressed up? Oliver would be playing the game; he wouldn't even see Harry. Asides for which it was a sporting event Harry rationalized; he would wear what he usually wore when he bothered to go to a match.
With Mattias now located in the shed, Harry had a very peaceful shower until Fred started banging on the door, telling him to hurry. Deodorised, dressed and with his hair as messy as ever, Harry swept out the bathroom to find a cup of tea and a plate of toast waiting for him on the kitchen table.
"Good, you're back," Fred said when he heard Harry enter the room. Busy pouring a cup of tea for himself, he had his back to Harry. When he did turn around, cup in hand, Fred gasped, "You're not wearing that are you?"
Harry groaned and banged his head on the table frustratedly. "What is it with you and my clothes?" Harry sighed as Fred sat down in the seat opposite.
"When I was little I used to like dressing up Ginny's dolls," Fred said wistfully and Harry snorted into his tea. He doubted George would have let Fred get away with such behaviour for a second.
"Not really," Fred grinned and then his expression turned serious, "I just feel it's my humanitarian duty to help those who can't help themselves." He ran his eyes pointedly over Harry.
"Its Quidditch, Fred! Quidditch," Harry said, announcing each word clearly. He could have added that as far as he was concerned tracksuit pants and a hooded jumper was a perfectly normal outfit for a sporting venue but he couldn't be bothered.
"Okay, okay. Wear what you want," Fred said, holding up his hand in a gesture of peace.
They sipped their cups of tea in silence until Fred said, "So… Don't you want to know what else Oliver said when he came to give me the tickets?"
He badly wanted to know all they'd talked about, but Harry managed to shrug casually, as though he really didn't care. Harry was very proud of his efforts, especially when he noticed Fred looking disappointed by his response.
"You should have been there," Fred said, obviously deciding to continue regardless of Harry's 'disinterest' and Harry was indeed, inwardly very grateful. "It was so funny. He came over on – I think it was Thursday – for a 'chat' he called it… Anyway, he pretended to make conversation for a while but in the end he was totally pumping me for information about you, Harry dear."
"Really?" Harry said and he felt incredibly proud of himself for getting his voice to sound so relaxed despite the fact that his heart pounded excitedly in his chest.
"Yes really! And you should have seen him when he tried to find out if there was anything going on between you and me…" Fred trailed off laughing tears of amusement welling in his eyes as he remembered the encounter.
Harry nodded and offered a smile to show he was still listening. He tired as best he could to finish the rest of his toast while Fred was trying to stifle his laughter. Harry did however, wish he could have witnessed their chat and it annoyed him greatly that he couldn't ask Fred to submit the memory to a Pensieve without betraying his interest.
"Sorry," Fred said, regaining his composure. "Yeah so he asked about us and I told him that we'd never been together. A little white lie but Oliver can be a bit of a prick when he's jealous. Its that whole Neanderthal slash Alpha male thing he's got going…"
Harry nodded in understanding. He knew exactly what Fred was talking about. Oliver could take control of any situation and he was so strong. It was one of the things Harry found very appealing about the other boy. Well that and the fact that he was fucking gorgeous…
"He seemed to believe me but then he wanted to know whether you were seeing anyone else, etcetera. His questions went on for ages. I seriously can't believe he thought he was being discreet. In the end he gave me the tickets and 'suggested' I bring you along," Fred concluded simply.
Fred grinned over the top of his teacup, "You're in for sure!"
The damnable emotion that was hope flared in Harry again and he tried his best to suppress it. He couldn't really afford to get his hopes up or to get too excited because when nothing eventuated with Oliver (like at the house warming the week before) he had to contend with the disappointment.
"Really? What about Siobhan?" Harry asked quietly, it took all his effort not to spit her name out.
"Gone for good," Fred said, smiling triumphantly, "He told her to piss off in no uncertain terms, just as I told you he would." Fred's expression turned serious once more and he added thoughtfully, "He can be a callous barstard sometimes" – Fred shook his head sadly – "…but in her case it was entirely justified."
Harry had to agree. Siobhan was an absolute nightmare and he was really glad she was out of Oliver's life. He deserved so much better.
"Let's get going," Harry said, getting up and picking up his breakfast dishes. As Harry turned to the sink, he heard Fred give what sounded suspiciously like a groan.
"Oh I take it all back Harry!" Fred said, "Those pants really bring out your… arse."
"Fuck you."
****
Fred and Harry took their seats at the front of the box. "These seats are amazing!" Harry said excitedly as he wriggled his bottom in the plush leather.
Not only were they the most comfortable he'd ever sat in but they also had the most amazing view of the pitch. They reminded him of the seats he'd had when he went to the World Cup with the Weasleys all those years ago, though they hadn't been leather.
He noticed that unlike the pitch he'd gone to for the World Cup, Puddlemere United's ground seemed to have a staggering number of such boxes. On both sides of the pitch, corporate boxes ran the entire length of the field and the regular stands (already chock full of people) extended beneath them all the way to the ground. Harry pitied the poor people with ground level seats; they would definitely end up with sore necks.
Not only that but the masses out in the regular stands had to contend with the elements, while those in the boxes were protected. The wind looked fierce out there and if the clouds in the sky were anything to go by, it would soon rain.
"Is this one of the player's boxes?" Harry asked interestedly.
"Sponsors, I think," Fred said, turning around in his seat to look behind, "Yeah its Butterbeer's box." He pointed to the sign on the back wall.
"I like their seats," Harry grinned as he turned to look at the sign.
Still looking over his shoulder Harry checked out the other occupants of the box. When he'd first arrived, he'd wondered why the wizards were wearing business robes but, now that he knew it was a sponsors box, he understood. This wasn't just a match for them; they were working while pretending to relax. They stood around in little groups chatting about business while their partners stood silently at their sides pretending to look interested. It struck Harry as being very dull and he hoped that whatever he ended up doing with his life he didn't end up like them.
"I see why you told me not to wear this now," Harry laughed though he didn't really care what they thought of him; he'd never see any of them again.
"Don't worry about it Harry," Fred said tugging on the back of Harry's shirt, making him spin back around. "If anyone gives you trouble just flash them your scar, that'll shut them up. Well, either that or you could just bend over," Fred laughed.
"Shut up," Harry said, smacking Fred's knee warningly.
"I'm serious Harry," Fred said, the smirk on his face betraying his words. "I'm reconsidering your sense of style. I never thought the humble tracksuit pant could look so hot."
Embarrassed and amused at the same time, Harry chuckled, "So you'll leave me and my clothes alone from now on?"
"Well, when it comes to casual wear most definitely," he paused to look at Harry, "But with formal and club wear it's an entirely different matter. You're absolutely clueless in those departments."
When the announcers voice crackled out of the speakers, the businessmen stopped talking and slowly made for their seats. As it was a Puddlemere United home game, the Falmouth Falcons were introduced first. The announcer would say the name and number of the player before they would fly out onto the pitch. Harry was surprised to find he had actually heard of some of the Falcons players before but he didn't really care enough to pay much attention to the announcer.
"And now for Puddlemere United," the announcer bellowed and a huge cheer rose up from the crowd. Excited, Harry shifted to the edge of his seat. "Sporting the number one jumper for Puddlemere, Oliver Wood." The noise of the crowd lifted to an almost deafening level as Oliver flew out of the players tunnel, up past the stands and around the pitch.
Harry quickly picked up his Omnioculars and levelled them on Oliver. The man was flying around the pitch waving to the fans as the announcer called out the names of the other team members. Harry was vaguely aware of the announcer calling out Jackson's name but he didn't bother to search for him; he didn't want to take his Omnioculars off Oliver.
"Check out the falcons keeper," Fred said in a snigger. "He has got to be the funniest looking person I've ever seen."
Harry didn't want to take his eyes off Oliver but to keep Fred off his back Harry flicked the Omnioculars to the opposite end of the pitch and took a cursory glance at the keeper. "Ewww," Harry shrieked for Fred's benefit, as he swung back to look at Oliver.
"You didn't even look," Fred huffed.
"I did, he's ugly – big nose, boils all over his face…"
"I don't believe it," Fred said in amazement, "There's some idiot holding up a sign that say's he's sexy. Can you believe it Harry?"
"You never know he may be a very nice person," Harry said distractedly. He really didn't care about the Falcon's keeper.
"It's just because he's famous," Fred scoffed. "Oh look there's Oliver's fan club," Fred chuckled, still scanning the crowd.
"Where?" Harry asked eagerly.
Fred put a hand on Harry's Omnioculars, guiding them until Harry found what he was looking for. There, amidst a sea of people wearing Puddlemere's navy Guernsey's, were ten girls. They weren't wearing very much at all but each had a letter of Oliver's name attached to their chest. Harry hated them instantly.
Feeling uncharacteristically annoyed, Harry whisked his Omnioculars off the Oliver Wood girls and scanned the stands from left to right. He found another group of hussy's rooting for Oliver. This group was smaller, there seemed to be only four of them, but they drew Harry's attention because they had a big sign that said "Oliver Have My Baby!"
Taking his eyes from the Omnioculars, Harry turned to Fred, "He's quite popular isn't he?"
Fred looked at him with an amused smile on his face for a second and then turned back to look at the pitch. "Oh there's the ref… its about to start."
Harry kept his Omnioculars trained on Oliver for the entire match. Other than the occasional cheer, the only thing keeping Harry informed about what happened on the rest of the pitch was the score displayed in the corner of the screen on his Omnioculars.
As the Quaffle remained largely up the other end, Harry didn't get to see Oliver working his skills as frequently as he would have liked. However, whenever he did get to witness Oliver at work, Oliver's talent blew Harry away.
Harry was amazed at just how good a keeper Oliver had become. He'd been an exceptional keeper while at Hogwarts but over the years he had gotten better. Harry wasn't really surprised by this, after all Oliver was a professional Quidditch player, but he was nonetheless in awe of Oliver's ability.
He was surprised at how quickly the game ended; it seemed like they had hardly started playing when the referee blew his whistle, ending the game. After just forty minutes of play, Kirk Fitzpatrick caught the snitch for Puddlemere United. They won the match a staggering two hundred and seventy to a dismal thirty.
The players from the winning side did a lap of honour around the whole pitch. Harry had trouble keeping up with Oliver as he raced around the pitch waving to his fans. When Oliver stopped by the fans sporting the "Oliver Wood" sign across their breasts, Harry found him again easily. He watched with interest as Oliver signed some autographs for the people in the stand.
"Come on, Harry, let's get out of here," Fred said, pulling lightly at Harry's jumper.
Harry reluctantly drew his gaze away from Oliver and nodded at Fred. He didn't want to leave; didn't want the match to be over already. Even though Oliver had won, there was something rather anticlimactic about ending the experience.
Keeping these thoughts to himself, Harry followed Fred out the players box. They joined the throng of people making their way down to the ground floor. Harry self-consciously tugged his cap lower over his brow. Fred led them through the crowd masterfully, squeezing through gaps Harry hadn't even noticed and drawing the pliant Harry along in his wake. Once they managed to get out of the stands, Fred quickened his pace, pulling Harry through the crowd.
Harry pulled on Fred's hand to get his attention and drew to a halt outside the main souvenir stall. They were going the wrong way. The apparation zone was back in the opposite direction. "We're supposed to be going that way…" Harry said, speaking in a loud voice.
"We're not leaving yet," Fred said dismissively and he started to walk off, pulling a confused Harry with him.
"Were are we going then?" Harry asked as he trotted along behind Fred.
Grinning at Harry over his shoulder, Fred sniggered, "The locker rooms…"
'Oh God,' Harry thought.
Chapter Nine: Locker Rooms
Fred and Harry easily slipped into the members' area. The security guard had only glanced at Harry for a second before he was smiling widely and ushering them inside. He didn't even bother to check their names against the guest list, though he did manage to get Harry to sign his autograph book. So much for the disguise, Harry thought, patting his cap lower on his head.
The player's lounge was already full of people. Harry had never seen most of them but he did recognize a couple from Oliver's party. He couldn't remember their names so he just smiled politely as he tagged along behind Fred. Harry also saw that two of Oliver's fan squad girls, Miss L and Miss D, had managed to sneak in. From what he remembered, they were by far and away the prettiest of the ten and he noted jealously that Oliver's autograph was slashed across one of the girl's breasts.
"Its sort of backstage without the rock stars isn't it?" he observed as he looked around the members' area.
"Yep," Fred grinned.
Instead of stopping so they could find a place to wait for the team as Harry had expected, Fred steered a path towards the far end of the room where another security man stood. "Shouldn't we wait for Oliver out here?" Harry asked a little nervously. Although Harry had never been in the members' area before, he could tell the man was guarding the door to the locker room.
"And miss all the fun?" Fred said, grinning at Harry over his shoulder. "It's the only reason I come to these games at all."
"But you have no shame," Harry groaned.
"No, I just don't lie. I know you want to see Oliver's dangly bits…"
Obviously Harry wanted to see that very badly, but he seriously doubted it would be a wise course of action. If Oliver in the flesh was anything like his imaginings, he was likely to drop dead on the spot. Realising that arguing with Fred would be entirely pointless; Harry had no choice but to follow his friend.
Much to his amusement, Harry noticed that there was a sign above the door requesting that female members refrain from entering the locker rooms out of respect to the players. Obviously they hadn't anticipated people like Fred entering the area. Either that or they didn't really care. Harry wondered how it all worked when the team had female players on the team.
The security guard only spared them a brief glance before opening the door, allowing them to enter the busy room.
"Oh, to be male," Fred said in a happy voice as he traipsed into the locker rooms.
The first thing Harry noticed about the room was the heat. He saw the steam billowing out from behind a dividing wall and assumed that the shower area was behind there. As he adjusted to the conditions Harry saw the locker room was a mass of people. Most of the men in the room were trainers, runners and the like who looked after the team.
Harry took a glance at his friend but Fred was looking at the scene directly in front of him. He looked dazed, like a child looked in a sweet shop. Harry followed the direction of his gaze and blushed. Oliver wasn't there yet but the players that had already finished showering, were wearing absolutely nothing! Harry didn't know where to look. As much as he wanted to see Oliver in a similar state, Harry hoped the keeper would come out wearing a towel (at least) or things could get very embarrassing.
"Over here," Fred said, snapping from his lust filled trance. He took a hold of Harry's jumper, dragging Harry across the room. "Hey Jackson," he called out cheerily. Jackson was in the process of packing his Quidditch bag. Harry noted thankfully that he was already dressed.
"Hey, Freddy me boy," Jackson said and then he smiled at Harry politely, "I see you bought Harry along with you… Oliver will be thrilled." He exchanged a look with Fred and they both started laughing, making Harry feel very uncomfortable. He wasn't stupid, he knew what they were implying and he wished they would just leave him alone.
"You'll have to forgive Harry," Fred said slyly, "he likes to pretend he's not interested in Oliver."
"Fred!" Harry screeched angrily and he felt his cheeks burning. Fred had the audacity to smirk at him and Harry had never wanted to hit some so badly in his life – well, except for Siobhan but he'd rather not remember that incident.
"You can be a prick sometimes, Fred," Jackson muttered with a shake of his head. "Did you enjoy the match Harry?" he asked, kindly changing the topic.
Harry glared in Fred's direction one last time before answering, "Yeah, it was a really great game." Harry meant it, sure for the entire match he had only watched Oliver but that had been very enjoyable. "Congratulations on winning by the way," Harry added belatedly.
"Ahh thanks, though I had nothing to do with it today," Jackson laughed. "Did you see when the two Falmouth beaters collided?" He asked, looking from Fred to Harry excitedly.
"How funny was that?" Fred said quickly.
Even though he hadn't seen it, Harry forced himself to chuckle along with the other boy's. "I was laughing so much I had a terrible time trying to stay on my broom…" Jackson said between laughs.
Not really having watched the game, Harry only half listened to their discussion of the match. He sat down on the bench, right next to Jackson's bag, staring straight ahead and waiting for Oliver to get out the showers. Whenever they mentioned Oliver, he would perk up and even commented on some of his great saves. If they noticed anything strange about his behaviour, or his lack of knowledge on most aspects of the match, they kept it to themselves.
"Oh, did you by any chance get a good look at the Falcons' keeper?" Fred asked excitedly. Jackson threw his head back and roared with laughter. "So you did see him then!"
"Fuck, Fred, he's a good keeper. He's not there to look pretty!"
"You and Harry are the bloody same," Fred said, rolling his eyes, "He tried to tell me the guy was a nice person." Fred scoffed as though he thought that had been a particularly dumb thing to say. "All I'm saying is that some boil relief solvent wouldn't go astray!" Fred said defensively when he noticed both Jackson and Harry looking at him unimpressed.
Whatever Jackson said in reply was lost to Harry because out the corner of his eye he caught sight of very wet and nearly naked Oliver slipping out the shower area. Harry whipped around in his seat to get a better look and he almost groaned out loud.
Oliver looked as though he had just stepped out of one of Harry's fantasies. Droplets of water dripped from Oliver's wet hair to slide down his strong neck and over his toned chest. Harry followed their progress, his eyes travelling down Oliver's body and he gulped. Oliver had a towel slung low on his hips and Harry could plainly see a sexy trail of dark hair leading from Oliver's belly button to the groin hidden beneath the white towel.
'Fuck' Harry groaned to himself. He quickly crossed his legs and tried to think of horrible things to keep his erection at bay. Not even the thought of Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid going for it helped ease the situation. He tried looking away but he couldn't for the life of him take his eyes off Oliver as he made his way across the room.
Oliver must have felt as though someone was watching him because when he was half way to his locker he looked up sharply. He looked straight at Harry and his steps faltered slightly. As their eyes locked a sexy, lop sided smile appeared on Oliver's face. Harry almost came in his pants.
"Shut your mouth, Harry, you're drooling," Fred snorted at his side.
With some difficulty, Harry tore his gaze from Oliver to find Fred and Jackson staring at him in open amusement. He let his mouth snap shut and he tried to tell Fred to shut up but he couldn't get his mouth to work.
"Hey, Oliver," Fred greeted cheerily.
"Hello, boys." Oliver said smoothly, smiling at Harry and Fred as he stopped in front of his locker.
"Hello," Harry said shyly, his voice coming out in a squeak. Feeling very embarrassed, Harry nervously cleared his throat and avoided looking at Oliver.
"We'll be back in a minute. I need to speak to Kirk about something," Jackson said in an amused voice before disappearing with Fred, leaving Harry and Oliver all alone.
Subtle. Really subtle!
"How have you been, Harry?" Oliver asked as he searched through his locker for something.
Harry could see him out the corner of his eye and he was fascinated by the way Oliver's muscles moved as he rummaged through his locker. Remembering that Oliver had asked him a question, Harry said in a quiet voice, "Good thanks." He wished he could have thought of something witty or interesting to say but with Oliver so close and in such a state of undress it was really quite a feat that he could speak at all.
"Good to hear," Oliver said distractedly, "Ahh here it is."
Harry looked up to see Oliver pulling a can of deodorant out of his locker. Who would have thought watching someone put on deodorant could be exotic? Harry thought as he watched Oliver. When Oliver grinned at him through a cloud of anti-perspirant, Harry blushed crimson and offered a shaky smile.
He searched his mind for something to say but came up short. Oliver however, didn't seem to mind. Nor did he seem particularly concerned about getting dressed in a hurry, much to Harry's dismay. Great though seeing Oliver in noting but a towel was, Harry knew he would eventually have to stand up and with certain parts of his anatomy overly excited, that would be very embarrassing. Tracksuit pants hid nothing!
"Did you like the match, Harry?" Oliver asked, mid way through brushing his hair.
"Yep," Harry nodded, "You were really great out there." He sounded like a one of Oliver's fans, Harry realised and he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
"Thanks, Harry," Oliver said, patting him on the head before sitting down on the bench next to Harry. He noticed Oliver had his trousers and pants in hand.
"It was a bit boring for me though," Oliver continued. He quickly unhooked his towel, letting it fall open. "The ball was always up the other end. I don't know what was wrong with the Falcons today…." He trailed off shaking his head, apparently entirely unembarrassed sitting naked in front of Harry.
Harry tried his best to keep his eyes staring straight a head but they seemed to develop of mind of their own. When Oliver stood suddenly, Harry forced them shut. 'Please put your pants on', Harry prayed silently. Even though Harry had his eyes shut the image of Oliver seemed to have burnt itself into his eyes and he could still see him in all his naked glory. All the beautiful, bronze skin and that….
"You can open your eyes now," Oliver said in an amused voice.
When he opened his eyes he found Oliver looking at him, eyes sparkling with laughter. Once again Harry blushed like a schoolgirl. He noticed thankfully that Oliver had finally put on his pants, though even that did nothing to calm Harry's nerves. Feeling the need to say something, Harry uttered the first thing that popped into his head. "It's very h-hot in here," he stammered pretending to fan himself with his hand.
"Yeah it's always like this," Oliver smiled good-naturedly.
As Oliver turned back to his locker, Harry looked around desperately for Fred. He needed some help! He was babbling around like an idiot and staring at Oliver as if he'd never seen another man's flesh before. Harry located Fred fairly quickly, he was standing with Jackson on the other side of the room and they were looking in his direction. He caught Fred's eye and gave him a pleading look. Fred and Jackson looked amused at this but obviously deciding to help him out, they made a move in his direction.
Jackson and Fred got there just as Oliver was doing up the buttons on his black shirt. "Good you're dressed," Jackson said, "I was talking to Kirk and he said the boys are just going to go to the pub down the road for drinks…"
"Are we going anywhere after?" Oliver asked sounding slightly disappointed with the plans.
"Revolver maybe, I dunno," Jackson shrugged as though he didn't really care, "We'll probably decide later."
While Oliver and Jackson were speaking Fred leaned down and whispered in Harry's ear, "Are you enjoying yourself, Harry?" He countered his teasing words by rubbing Harry's back comfortingly. It helped to ease a little of Harry's nervousness but he still felt very uncomfortable and very self-aware.
"You two are coming with aren't you?" Oliver asked looking from Fred to Harry.
"Try keeping me away," Fred said cheerily.
Harry however, was far to busy cursing his decision to wear tracksuit pants to reply. Why hadn't he listened to Fred? Whether his arse looked good or not wasn't really important. He wanted to go out with the boys.
"Harry?" Oliver pressed.
"I'm not really dressed for it," Harry said awkwardly and he pointed to his tracksuit pants.
"Don't worry about that, I'm sure we can come up with something," Jackson said cheerfully.
"I have another pair of pants here somewhere," Oliver said, turning back to his locker.
Oh god, Harry thought. All the times he'd imagined getting into Oliver's pants and it had to happen literally.
Oliver rummaged through his locker, pulling out a pair of black pants very similar to the ones he had on himself. "They'll go with the jumper and runners," He smiled, handing the pants to Harry.
"What have you got on underneath," Fred interrupted. Not bothering to wait for a response, Fred manhandled Harry, pulling his jumper up to reveal the ends of a small black t-shirt. "It'll do I suppose. It's cold out there so you can keep this on," – Fred tugged the jumper back down – "but when you get to the bar, it comes off." He spoke in a no nonsense voice very reminiscent of his mother's.
"Piss off, Fred," Harry sniggered, swatting Fred's hands away. He'd really have to do something about Fred's obsession with his appearance; it was getting downright embarrassing.
"Are you four ready?" An impatient voice called from across the room.
"Hang on…" Jackson started to yell back but he stopped when Oliver tugged on his arm. "What?"
"You two go on ahead. I'll wait with Harry."
Shit, Harry thought.
"How kind of you, Oliver," Fred teased playfully, raising a knowing brow at Oliver.
"Shut up, Fred," Jackson laughed, "We'll see you two down there, then," he added and after nodding his goodbyes he quickly departed, dragging Fred with him.
"I'll probably have to shrink them a bit once you've got them on," Oliver said nodding at the pants, "We're totally different sizes."
Harry agreed. From what he'd seen, Oliver was bigger in every department.
As he sat there on the bench, Harry realized he had a very serious problem on his hands. He somehow had to get dressed without Oliver noticing the hardness in his pants. Quite a task considering Oliver was staring at him expectantly and he looked as though he had no intention of looking away.
Clutching Oliver's pants in front of his crotch, Harry got to his feet. He quickly toed off his runners and then, not caring if Oliver thought him prudish, he turned his back. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed his tracksuit pants down to the floor and then bent over to pick them up. With his back turned, he failed to see the spark of desire flare in Oliver's eyes.
"Now what!" Harry thought once he'd managed to slip on the pants. Even though the tightness in his groin had eased a bit, it was still noticeable if one looked. He tried tugging down his jumper but it wasn't long enough.
"Here, let me fix the fit," said Oliver, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and coaxing him to turn around. Harry tried his best to keep a hand in front of his trousers without looking obvious… or perverted.
Oliver took out his wand, adjusting the fit of the pants. The legs were shortened and he tightened the material across Harry's hips and arse. "There, that's better," Oliver smiled, sweeping his eyes over Harry. His gaze lingered over Harry's crotch but if he noticed anything out of the ordinary his face gave nothing away.
"Thanks, Oliver," said Harry, shifting on the spot uncomfortably. Did Oliver have to make the pants quite so tight? Harry thought they might split if he bent over too far. To test it out, Harry carefully bent over to put on his shoes. The fabric didn't split but it certainly wasn't comfortable when stretched to its absolute limits, and Harry was struggling to breathe as he straightened up.
"See that looks good, except," Oliver said, pulling off Harry's cap, "You wont need this." He threw the hat into his locker and slammed it shut.
"Suppose not," Harry agreed quietly, he'd honestly forgotten he'd been wearing the hat. Hoping he didn't have a bad case of hat hair, Harry ran a hand through his dark locks.
"Here, let me," Oliver chuckled, stepping very close to Harry. Using both his hands Oliver ran his fingers through Harry's hair, ruffling it this way and that and Harry couldn't help leaning into the touch. "You have very wild hair you know?" Oliver smiled down at Harry.
"I know, it's awful," Harry chuckled nervously.
The hands in his hair stilled, "I think its cool," whispered Oliver. The briefest of smiles crossed Oliver's face as he stared down at Harry intently.
He tried to get his mouth to form the word thanks, but nothing came out. They were very close, Harry realized belatedly. He could feel Oliver's breath coming out in little rushes of air against his face. Harry flicked his eyes up to meet Oliver's.
He'd never been this close to Oliver before and Harry hadn't realized just how nice his eyes were or how they could bore into him, sending shivers up his spine. Harry watched the brown eyes move over his face and they lingered on his mouth. Nervously, Harry moistened his lips. Oliver's eyes sparkled and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Harry's mouth.
Harry had never wanted to kiss someone so badly, yet he seemed entirely incapable of moving. He couldn't take the plunge and kiss Oliver, nor could he take a step back to break the tension. It was unbearable and Harry closed his eyes to escape Oliver's powerful gaze. He felt Oliver's face looming closer and just as he dared to hope…
"I think we better get going," Oliver said in a husky voice, his hands dropping back to his sides. He took a step back from Harry, leaving the other boy feeling strangely bereft.
Chapter 10: Celebrations
They ended up in a small pub, in the village just down the road from Puddlemere United's stadium. At first Harry had been a little surprised that the team were happy to celebrate their victory in a muggle pub. However, he'd quickly realized that they preferred to party away from the wizarding world where they would be recognized.
The celebratory party was also a lot larger then he'd expected. Lot's of the people he'd seen in the player's lounge were there, though thankfully Oliver's fan squad hadn't managed to invite themselves along.
The group had commandeered a corner of the pub. They filled the booths and took it in turns to play on the muggle Billiard table. Surprisingly, the locals didn't seem to mind the invasion of their usually quiet pub, and there was a festive atmosphere to the place. One of the players put a tab on at the bar and everyone was getting very merry indeed. Every so often the players would break out into a chorus of Puddlemere's anthem. As the alcohol continued to role, the singing got louder and the lyrics became almost unrecognisable.
Leaning causally against the bar, and feeling very much like a wallflower, Harry watched the celebrations from the fringe. As he nursed his drink, Harry half-heartedly kept an eye on the billiard table; though he had trouble keeping track of the game because his eyes kept straying to Oliver. They hadn't really spoken to each other since they'd arrived and Harry was beginning to think he was being avoided.
Who could blame Oliver really? Just remembering his behaviour in the locker room made Harry's face burn with embarrassment. As if getting hard hadn't been bad enough, Harry had had to go that extra step and make a compete fool of himself. He must have looked like such an idiot standing there with his eyes closed, waiting to be kissed. Harry couldn't remember if he'd puckered his lips but he groaned at the very idea, and a hot wave of shame rippled through his body.
Abruptly Harry turned to the bar and motioned to the barman. Getting thoroughly sloshed suddenly seemed like a very good idea to Harry. "I'll have another," he said when the smiling barman came over.
While he was waiting for his drink, Harry noticed an empty bar stool. Not wanting to miss out, Harry quickly snagged it and awkwardly hopped up onto the soft seat. With his elbows resting on the counter and his shoulders hunched, Harry settled in for a night of drinking.
"Thanks," Harry smiled when the barman brought his drink. "Actually could I get another?" The barman chuckled, and after nodding at Harry he left to make the drink.
"Planning on getting pissed are you?" A man chuckled, sliding up to stand next to Harry's stool.
Harry turned in his seat to look at the man and smiled. He was very tall, had blonde hair and Harry couldn't help noticing that he was very handsome. "Yeah," Harry smiled, "I think I'm willing to risk the hangover."
The man smiled, "Do you get bad hangovers?"
"Yes," groaned Harry, "they're dreadful!"
He looked sympathetically at Harry and then he smiled again, "I'm Daniel by the way." He held out his hand for Harry to take.
"Harry," he replied, happily shaking his hand. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if he had someone he could talk to; at least he wouldn't feel so much like a wallflower.
"Who do you know here, Harry?" Daniel asked curiously, "I've heard of you obviously," – his eyes flicked to Harry's scar – "but I've never seen you at any of the matches before."
"Fred," Harry said and Daniel chuckled knowingly. He grinned at Daniel before continuing, "Oliver gave us tickets. And I know Jackson a little bit. I met him a couple of weeks ago. Who are you here with?"
"Kirk Fitzpatrick," Daniel smiled. Harry searched his mind for which one of the players that was and after a minute he recalled that Kirk was the seeker. "We went to Durmstrang together."
"Really? What was that like then?" Harry asked interestedly. He'd always wondered what it would be like to have gone to another wizard school; not that he hadn't loved Hogwarts. Harry gulped down his drink as he listened Daniels reply.
"I know what you're thinking and it really wasn't like that. Its not as bad as everyone makes out. We learnt some dark magic but not much and it was one of the most boring subjects we had…" He paused when the barman finally brought Harry's new drink – "It was just a school… though it was fucking cold…"
Harry laughed. "Did you know Viktor?" Harry smiled, pushing his empty glass away and picking up his new drink.
"Viktor Krum you mean?" Harry nodded. "Not really. We were in the same year but he kept to himself a lot." Harry smiled, that sounded just like Viktor. "Why do you know him?" Daniel asked curiously.
"Yeah, he's going out with one of my best friends – I think they're going to get married…" Harry trailed off, wistfully shrugging his shoulder. Everybody seemed to have someone special but him. How depressing, Harry thought. He gestured to the barman and the man winked. Already anticipating the fresh taste of the next, Harry downed his drink.
"You're a machine," Daniel chuckled as Harry slapped the glass on the counter.
"Another?" The barman teased when he brought over Harry's drink.
"Why not?" Harry giggled. "Take your time though, I still need to have this one to finish."
"What are you drinking?" Daniel asked, looking at Harry's drink with his face twisted thoughtfully, "It looks like water."
"It's a Gin and Tonic," Harry beamed. "Here try it," Harry added, holding the glass out to Daniel.
Daniel calmly took a sip of the offered beverage. He smiled and smacked his lips together appreciatively as he handed the glass back, "It's very refreshing."
"Isn't it just," Harry agreed happily and he playfully patted Daniel's shoulder approvingly.
"Perhaps I should slow down," Harry thought to himself, he was beginning to sound shrill. He took another sip of his drink and changed his mind. Really what did it matter if he ended up screaming like a banshee when the barman (he really did need to find out his name) made such nice Gin and Tonics. Before Harry knew it, he'd drained the glass and was plonking it back on the counter with a loud bang.
As he was turned to face Daniel, he didn't see the other man slide up on his other side. And he had no idea he was even there till a smooth voice whispered in his ear, "I think its time for our rematch Harry."
Harry recognized the voice instantly and he shivered at the feel of Oliver's breath against his ear. Slowly, Harry turned in his seat so he could see the other boy. "Rematch?" Harry asked dumbly, not having the faintest idea what Oliver was talking about.
"The billiard table is free," said Oliver, "I think we should play that game we were going to play last week." Now Harry understood. Oliver was referring to the match they'd planned to play before the wench, Siobhan, had shown up. "I want to win this time," Oliver added cheekily.
Harry had absolutely no doubts in his mind that Oliver would win. Fred had told him of how he'd 'helped' him out at the housewarming. But Harry didn't really care if he lost; at least he knew Oliver wasn't avoiding him. "Okay, I'll play," Harry smiled, "But I just have to wait for my drink."
"Good." Oliver said simply.
"I think I'll get one of your drinks Harry," Daniel said, tapping Harry on the shoulder, and Harry had to turn back around to look at him, "What did you say it was called?"
"Gin and tonic," Harry smiled sweetly.
"I can't believe I've never had one before, they're so nice…"
"Harry?"
Harry smiled apologetically at Daniel and turned back around in his seat to face Oliver. He felt a like a yo-yo constantly having to spin in his seat to acknowledge whomever it was talking to him and he felt bad because when he was talking to one he had his back to the other; effectively cutting them out.
"What have you been doing all week?" Oliver asked and he sounded as though he was making it up on the spot just to keep Harry's attention.
"Umm," Harry said, trying to think, "I can't really remember to be honest. Nothing very exciting." Harry shrugged his shoulders. He could see the barman pouring tonic water into a glass and he hoped that was his drink. "What did you do?" Harry asked for want of something better to say.
"Practice… went out a couple of times… Nothing much," Oliver replied quietly.
"Here you go," the barman winked, depositing the drink in front of Harry.
"Thank you," Harry smiled brightly. "Are you ready for this rematch then?" Harry grinned at Oliver.
Oliver looked relived. "Yes let's go."
As soon as Harry hopped off the stool, he realized just how tipsy he was. Without the chairs support, Harry felt light headed and he swayed on his feet. Daniel kindly put a hand on Harry's shoulder, steadying him, and Harry's world slowly righted itself. "Thanks," Harry smiled politely, feeling much better. "I'm gonna go play billiards now… so I'll talk to you later I guess."
"Sure Harry," Daniel said, giving Harry a tight-lipped smile. He was disappointed Harry realized and he felt slightly guilty for abandoning Daniel as soon as a better offer came along but he allowed Oliver to drag him away.
"Oliver you're back," Kirk said glumly. He'd just finished setting up the table and looked very disappointed at Harry and Oliver's sudden appearance. "A minute longer and you would have lost the table."
"Out of my way Fitzpatrick," Oliver said, "This is an important game were playing and I have to win this time."
And win he did. Quite convincingly. Harry only managed to sink two balls! To be fair, he was a little pissed and he found himself entirely distracted by the sight of Oliver bending over the table to take his shots. He could never tire of seeing Oliver's firm arse so perfectly displayed. The images would linger in Harry's mind and he managed to mess up just about every shot he took.
"I knew you cheated," Oliver said when the game was over.
"Come on," Oliver smirked sexily, "Pants off."
Harry eyes opened wide in shock and he felt himself sober up immediately. Oliver couldn't be serious! It was one thing to run around at a party with his pants off, but quite another thing entirely, to do it in a pub. "You can't carry a bet across," Harry stammered.
"Piker!" Oliver teased. When he noticed Harry was looking at him fearfully, he smiled, "I'm just kidding Harry," – he put an arm around Harry's shoulders, shaking him against his side – " I wouldn't make you do that in here."
"I wouldn't do it in here!"
"Like I said, piker," Oliver chuckled, guiding them over to one of the booths. He let his arm fall from around Harry and slid onto the comfortable seat. "Are you going to sit down?" Oliver said, patting the space next to him.
Even though the other side of the booth was empty, Harry did as the other boy requested, sliding in next to Oliver.
"Do you want another drink?" Oliver asked, "I'm going to get one."
"Yeah sure," Harry said and he had to turn slightly so that he could look at Oliver. Their legs brushed under the table and Harry's skin tingled at the contact.
Oliver signalled for the waitress, ordering two drinks. "Do you want to play another game after this?" Oliver said after she left to fill out their order, "That'll make it the best of three!"
"I really don't think we need to," Harry giggled, deciding to come clean. "You'll definitely win. Fred put a spell on me last week so I could play…"
"I knew it," Oliver laughed heartily, "No offence, but you are really bad at billiards."
"I know, I know," Harry agreed whole-heartedly. "But I didn't know I was cheating till after…" Harry added, feeling the need to clarify, "It was all Fred's idea…"
Once the waitress came back, Harry and Oliver quietly sipped their drinks as they watched Kirk try to beat Jackson at Billiards. While Kirk wasn't as bad as Harry, he certainly wasn't very good. For a while Oliver provided a very amusing commentary to the match but they eventually settled into a contented silence. In the end, Jackson thumped the other boy convincingly.
Whenever they weren't talking Harry couldn't help feeling very aware of the boy beside him. Where their legs touched under the table, Harry's skin felt as though it were on fire and his stomach fluttered excitedly. He wondered if Oliver felt it, or if it was nothing to the other boy.
"I forgot to mention before," Oliver said interrupting Harry from his thoughts, "Thanks for the present."
"Did you like it?" Harry asked curiously.
"We love it," Oliver said, smiling sincerely at Harry, "We're already fighting over who gets to keep it when we grow up and stop rooming together."
Harry chuckled. Ron and himself had the same argument about certain things in their house. The main source of contention was a particularly snazzy blender, neither boy knew how to use it, or even wanted to learn, but they were both very in love with it nonetheless. He explained some of the arguments he'd had with Ron and the other boy chuckled at his side.
From there the conversation led to a full-blown discussion on share house living and ladsy things. Oliver kept the barmaid busy, frequently requesting drinks, and he had Harry in stitches with his Quidditch tales from the road. Harry couldn't believe some of the things the players got up to when they were playing away games. Their rowdy singing tonight was nothing in comparison to Oliver's stories.
"The loved ones are here tonight," Oliver chuckled, "It has a bit of a sobering effect on the boy's."
Boys being boys, Harry could just imagine.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Harry said a little while later, the niggling sensation in his bladder finally getting to him, "I'll be back in a bit." Harry smiled, sliding out of the booth.
Harry rushed off quickly. Now that he was standing, he really needed the toilet and he hurried to the bathroom as quickly as he could. He sighed in contentment when he finally had the chance to let all the alcohol out. He felt great after, more than ready for some fresh drinks and some more of Oliver.
He was making his way back to Oliver when he saw Fred dancing in front of the jukebox. No one else in the pub was dancing; just Fred, and he didn't seem to care. Harry smiled at Fred when he caught his friends eye and the other boy beckoned him over.
"Dance with me, Harry," Fred smiled, holding out his hand for Harry to take.
It was one thing for Fred to do it (which was funny) and quite another thing entirely for himself, "You're not really supposed to…"
"Just dance with me Harry," Fred said firmly.
Sighing, Harry took his hand and half-heartedly moved to the music. "Work it a little, Harry," Fred demanded.
"I'm not a whore," Harry sniggered but he started to move more in time to the music and with a little more energy. It was by no means the dancing prowess he could show on a podium and even though he was pissed, he was rather conscious of the fact that they were the only people dancing.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, noticing Fred was staring at something across the room.
"Just checking something," Fred murmured absentmindedly.
Harry followed the direction of Fred's gaze and his feet stopped moving in time to the music. Oliver was twisted around in the booth, looking right at him. When he noticed Harry was looking, he spun back around quickly.
"Maybe I should get back," said Harry, making as if to leave, "I said I'd only be a minute."
"Don't you dare stop dancing!" Fred commanded. He made a funny gesture to someone across the room but Harry didn't see whom it was. "Just stay for one more song," Fred said, turning his attention back to Harry.
Just then a song by The Cure started to play on the jukebox and Harry smiled. "Okay. One song," he agreed.
Forgetting about the other people in the pub, Harry sung along to the song as he moved to the music. Fred also sang along, only his efforts were louder and his dancing downright dangerous. When the song ended and a heavier one came on in its place, Harry stopped. "I'm going to go back now," Harry yelled over the music, motioning to the corner of the room where their party was. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed that Jackson was sitting in his seat beside Oliver.
"Before you go I want you to promise me something."
"What?" Harry asked in surprise.
"When you get back, you'll make a move on Oliver."
"Fred!" said Harry annoyed, "I'm not going to do that…"
"You will!" Fred said stubbornly. "For God's sake Harry, your bumbling around each other like two bitches in heat and neither of you has the balls to do anything about it," Fred spoke passionately, "I don't mind telling you that it's very frustrating to watch!"
Harry burst out laughing and he had to put a hand out to stop Fred, who had obviously decided to try and beat some sense into him. "I'll try," Harry lied so Fred would leave him alone.
"Thank God for that!" Fred said, "Jackson is giving Oliver the same talk, so hopefully we'll see some action soon." He sounded very excited at the prospect and, with a smack to Harry's rear; he pushed him in Oliver's general direction.
Harry nervously made his back. When he was half way there, Jackson left Oliver and Harry felt himself blush. Fred and Jackson's interference, while nicely intended, made Harry feel thoroughly set up. It was like he was fifteen again and he needed his friends help to score. It was humiliating and when he finally reached the booth, Harry avoided looking at Oliver and he made to sit on the other side.
Oliver however, had other ideas. He took a hold on Harry's wrist and gently tugged, until Harry fell awkwardly into the booth. Harry had to put a hand on Oliver's chest to stop himself from colliding with the other boy.
"Sorry," Harry laughed nervously, lifting his eyes to meet the other boys.
He gulped.
"S'alright," Oliver said in a husky voice. Giving Harry a sexy little smile, Oliver lowered his head and touched his lips to Harry's softly.
Not quite believing it was happening, Harry tentatively moved his lips over Oliver's. Soft, warm flesh moved sweetly against his, taking the first steps of exploration. They were real, Harry thought, this wasn't one of his vivid fantasies. When Oliver nibbled on his bottom lip, Harry shivered and gave an involuntary whimper. Oliver smiled against his lips, gave Harry a peck and drew back slightly.
"I've wanted to do that since I saw you at the club," Oliver smiled and Harry noticed his cheeks were a little red. Harry himself was grinning like a Cheshire cat, which Oliver obviously took as a good sign because he said, "Do you want to get out of here?"
Harry nodded, "Are we going with the other's or…"
"Look at them Harry," Oliver said, nodding to something over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned around in time to see Fred bent over a table with Jackson standing behind. They both gave Harry a thumbs up sign, "Do you really want to go to a club with them? They'll be unbearable…"
"I suppose you're right," Harry chuckled.
"Good," Oliver grinned, coaxing Harry to slide out the booth, "because I want you to teach me to dance again." He slipped an arm across Harry's shoulder. "And I'd really rather Jackson wasn't there. You should have heard how much shit he gave me last time…"
Chapter Eleven: Manticore
After spending the better part of an hour searching for a club Oliver thought he remembered, Harry and Oliver settled on staying at one they stumbled across by accident. It was called Manticore and, much like the beast it was named after, the club wasn't particularly nice.
It was dark inside, but not so dark that Harry couldn't notice the paint peeling off the walls and that the decorations throughout were of the shabbiest, most mismatched furniture he'd ever seen. A strange, wizarding form of heavy metal thumped through the club so loudly, the distortion alone made it almost painful to hear. As if all this wasn't bad enough, the club was small and dangerously hot due to being packed full of wizards – who all looked as though they came from the shadier side of the wizarding community.
Locked together on the over crowded dance floor, Harry and Oliver didn't seem to mind their less than ideal surroundings. Under their feet lay the t-shirts and jumpers they'd carelessly tossed aside. Oliver hands hovered over Harry's arse and he thrust his hips into Harry, who found Oliver's movements so distracting, he'd given up trying to teach Oliver to dance. Instead, Harry was far too busy getting used to the fact that he could touch Oliver whenever and wherever he wanted. So far he'd erred on the side of decency, keeping his caresses to safe areas like Oliver's shoulders, chest, back and the occasional brush across the backside. It was all wonderfully strange to Harry and it made him feel giddy.
Oliver's hips stilled against his and he pulled Harry closer, "I need another drink," he said in Harry's ear, tongue flicking out to lick Harry's sensitive lobe. Harry shivered against him and he gave a shaky nod. "Take my hand, okay?" said Oliver, glancing around them with distaste, "I don't want to loose you in here."
He led Harry across the crowded dance floor, through an archway and out into the section where the bar was located. Although it was just as crowded in there, the lighting wasn't as dim and the music played at a softer volume. Harry decided he liked in much better in there. Oliver pushed his way towards the bar, making sure Harry kept very close behind. Just as they got near the counter, Harry felt someone take hold of his arm and he was pulled backwards with a violent tug.
"Aren't you just the tastiest little thing," cooed a drag queen, who might have been more convincing if 'she' hadn't had a beard. 'She' pulled Harry up against her fake breast and, shivering in disgust, Harry attempted to pull himself free of 'her' death grip. He was about to give 'her' a nice uppercut to the ribs when Oliver came to his rescue.
"Fuck off," Oliver snarled, pulling Harry free with an almighty tug. He stepped in front of Harry and stared angrily at the 'woman'. Harry had never seen Oliver look so furious and he honestly thought he was going to hit 'her'. Obviously 'she' did as well because 'she' scampered off quickly, looking terrified. "You okay?" Oliver asked turning back to Harry with a concerned look on his face.
"I'm fine," Harry said, struggling not to laugh.
"Maybe we should leave?" Oliver said, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth.
"Oliver, its fine," Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. "I've been in worse places." Oliver didn't look very happy at that bit of news but when Harry said, "Come on," and stepped up to the bar, Oliver followed. He stood very close behind Harry, his clenched fists resting on the counter, either side of Harry, and he glanced around him menacingly as though daring anyone to try and touch Harry.
Harry couldn't help it - he burst out laughing. Ordinarily he would have found such behaviour insulting – after all, he was more than capable of looking after himself – but there was just something amusing, not to mention adorable, about Oliver acting so protectively. It made him feel a bit special.
"Are you laughing at me?" Oliver whispered in his ear. Harry glanced at Oliver over his shoulder and barely managed to choke out a 'yes' because he was laughing so much. "Fuck you," Oliver snorted amusedly, though he relaxed his stance and stopped looking about him as though he expected to be attacked at any second.
Oliver rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and asked, "Do you want the same drink as before?"
Harry nodded and had to turn his neck awkwardly so he could grin at Oliver. As he looked at the other boy, Harry was struck anew by how attractive Oliver had become. Oliver had the most amazing eyes, they were dark brown and they sparkled beautifully, and Harry envied the boy his chiselled features. Harry was rather amazed that Oliver actually wanted to be with him – at least for the night. Harry hoped it would last longer, whatever it was that they had going, but if he had to he would settle for one night with Oliver.
When the barman finally came over, Oliver had to press right up against Harry and yell the order over Harry's shoulder so he could be heard over the noise in the bar. Harry could feel Oliver's hard length against the top of his backside and he shivered. With a great deal of effort, Harry managed to turn around to face Oliver. The bar cut into his back uncomfortably but Harry didn't care. He could feel Oliver against his belly and he shifted his legs a bit so he could push his own arousal against Oliver's thigh.
"What are you doing?" Oliver smirked down at him, rubbing himself against Harry, tormenting.
"Nothing," Harry said, smiling innocently at Oliver as he flexed his hips against Oliver's thigh.
Oliver chuckled and leaned down to give Harry a quick kiss. "You're not as innocent as you look," he murmured, ruffling Harry's hair playfully, "I love your hair, you know… it's very wild."
Oliver had said something similar not so long ago but Harry had been far to preoccupied trying to hide his erection to get very excited about the compliment. He smiled this time, pleased that there was something Oliver loved about him and, gesturing from Oliver to himself, Harry said, "This sort of reminds me of the locker rooms." He flicked his eyes up to meet Oliver's and blushed, "I was so…" fucking hard, he left unsaid.
Knowing exactly what Harry was referring to, Oliver chuckled, "I noticed, and can I just say, I did my damnedest to get you that way." Harry's eyes opened wide in surprise and Oliver had to grin. "I'm not that much of an exhibitionist… usually I get dressed pretty quickly."
"Oliver!" Harry chided though he was laughing along with the other boy. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice," he snorted, "Which was probably a bit silly of me really because I was as hard as a rock."
"You looked so cute when you had your eyes shut," Oliver said, smoothing his thumb affectionately over Harry's cheek. "Fuck it was funny," Oliver chuckled and he was still laughing when the barman returned with their drinks a moment later. After paying, Oliver passed Harry his Gin and Tonic and picked up his own drink.
Staring at Oliver over the top of his glass Harry asked curiously, "After you took off my cap were you going to kiss me?" Even though it didn't really matter anymore if he'd looked like an idiot, Oliver was with him now, Harry still wondered.
"I thought about it… I mean I wanted to but I dunno Harry," he paused to take a big swig of his drink. "With you it's a bit different, harder or something because you make me so nervous. There were so many times I wanted to kiss you but I didn't have the balls…" Oliver shrugged and then gulped down the rest of his drink, seemingly oblivious to the effect his words had on Harry.
Unable to believe that he could make Oliver feel that way, Harry stared at the other boy with a bemused expression on his face. It was positively the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him - though not nauseatingly so, which in Harry's opinion was a very good thing. And it made Harry think that maybe, just maybe, Oliver wanted him for more than one night.
He smiled at Oliver shyly, putting his glass on the bar before taking Oliver's empty glass and disposing of it in the same way. "Come here," Harry said, curling his finger beckoningly.
Oliver shifted his weight a little and leaned closer. Harry slipped his arms around Oliver's neck and pulled him closer still. It was the first time Harry had taken the initiative with Oliver and he didn't waste any time taking things slowly. No sooner had their lips met, he slid his tongue out, invading Oliver's hot mouth. He tasted like bourbon and something else; a taste Harry could only assume was unique to the other boy.
Harry put everything he had into the kiss, exploring the other boy with a dedicated thoroughness, showing Oliver just how much he desired him. Oliver brought his hands up to cup Harry's face, driving his tongue into Harry desperately, easily matching Harry's passion. He felt like he was drowning in the exquisiteness of it all and Harry moaned into the kiss as he wantonly ground his hips against Oliver.
"Fuck, Harry," Oliver gasped breathlessly as he pulled his mouth away.
He could feel Oliver's breath coming out in pants against his lips and Harry curiously opened his eyes. Through glazed, hooded eyes Oliver looked back at him. Harry had never seen anyone look as hot as Oliver looked right then, and he laughed softly, nervously. The sides of Oliver's mouth flickered in the hint of a smile and he placed a kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth.
"Do you want to go in there?" Harry murmured, flicking his head in the direction of the dark room.
Oliver shut his eyes as though he couldn't believe what Harry was asking. After a moment, they flicked open again and Oliver whispered, "Yes."
Slipping his hand in Oliver's, Harry followed the other boy to a door, just to the side of the bar area. He held his breath as he stepped into the room. The place was poorly lit and Harry couldn't see very much, just the shapes of what he assumed were people. The room stank of sex and Harry could hear the groans of the other people in the room, they seemed to be having a good time. Oliver led them to a clear space, gently pushing Harry back against the wall before settling against him.
Now that he was there, Harry couldn't help feeling nervous. It wasn't Oliver, or what they were about to do, that made him feel that way, it was the room in general. The whole thing was very decadent, bordering on crass. "I've never been in a room like this before," Harry whispered shyly into Oliver's shoulder.
"Really?" Oliver asked, bringing Harry's face up so he could look in his eyes. He looked worried, Harry noticed. "Never?"
Harry shook his head in response. He'd heard about these sorts of rooms before, Fred had told him many a lurid tale, and of course he knew how to find them and that a lot of the clubs they went to had such rooms, but he'd never actually been in one until now.
"We can leave if you want?" Oliver said, "We don't have to…"
"No I want to," Harry interrupted, "I'm just nervous." With that, Harry put a hand behind Oliver's head, bringing the boy's face closer.
"Tell me if you want to stop," Oliver breathed against his lips. He waited for Harry to nod before capturing Harry's lips in a soft, lingering kiss - sweet, tender and meant to calm Harry's nerves. It worked. Harry relaxed against Oliver, letting one hand trace lazy circles over Oliver's hip while the other played with Oliver's hair.
When Oliver's tongue snaked out to probe at his lips, Harry opened his mouth obligingly. As his tongue rubbed alongside Oliver's, Harry let his hands roam all over Oliver's chest and back. Firm muscles contracted beneath his palms as he ran his hands over Oliver's smooth skin. Strong hands cupped his arse, pulling him up and hard against Oliver. When their erections rubbed together for the first time, Harry tore his mouth from Oliver's with a tortured groan. Any lingering nervousness, left Harry, and he completely forgot about the other people in the room. All he could focus on was Oliver.
Harry ran his hands all over Oliver's naked chest as the other boy trailed light kisses over his cheek. Oliver kissed lightly behind Harry's ear before continuing a path down Harry's neck. Harry leaned his head back, giving Oliver better access and was rewarded for his efforts with Oliver's hot mouth on his sensitive skin licking, biting and sucking the soft, tender flesh.
When Oliver found the special spot at the base of his neck, Harry shuddered against him and he couldn't stop the desperate groan that came from his throat. The sensations shot straight to his groin and Harry tried pressing himself more firmly against Oliver. Knowing what Harry was looking for, Oliver unbuttoned Harry's trousers, pressing his hand flat against the hardness as he masterfully pulled down the zip.
Harry moaned deep in his throat and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when Oliver took him in hand. He sucked desperately at Harry's neck as he toyed with Harry's length, running his thumb over the tip and stroking with light touches. When Harry tried to thrust into the hand, Oliver brought his other to Harry's hip, pushing him back against the wall.
With tremendous effort, Harry forced himself to stop being so passive and he worked open Oliver's trousers. He grabbed Oliver's cock and gasped. It felt so big and hard. The tip was wet with precome and Harry rubbed it all over before he began to stroke. Oliver ripped his mouth from Harry's neck and reclaimed Harry's lips in a bruising kiss. He made a strange gurgling sound at the back of his throat and thrust his cock into Harry's hand desperately. Harry didn't even think to stop him, all he could do was moan at the feelings Oliver's skilful touches produced.
Gasping for breath, Harry pulled back. "Do you want me to," he said in a husky voice, "…suck you off." Never having been a very verbose lover, he blushed as he uttered the last part out loud.
Oliver stared down at him with lustful eyes and his grip around Harry tightened, but he shook his head. With his free hand, he reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Harry's ear, "I don't want to do anything like that here…"
He stroked his hand over Harry as he continued to speak in a rasping whisper, "I want to see you when we do all that," – Harry shivered at the sound of his voice and the maddening hand on his cock – "and I don't want anyone else to see you." He murmured against Harry's lips before kissing him hungrily.
With the sole purpose of bringing release, Oliver and Harry fisted one another. It was awkward, their hands and arms kept getting in the way. But the boys worked around it, thrusting into each others hands as their tongues battled furiously. Harry was the first to succumb, and he said Oliver's name in a throaty pant as he came, shuddering and shooting his orgasm over Oliver's hand and his own belly.
Harry's knees threatened to buckle beneath him but through sheer strength of will, he managed to keep his hand working over Oliver and it wasn't long before he came as well, grunting out something that sounded like Harry's name. He sagged against Harry heavily, panting against his neck. They stayed like that for a long while, recovering from their orgasms in silence until Oliver mumbled against his neck, "Harry?"
Oliver's breath tickled Harry's skin and his voice came out in a giggle as he said, "Yeah?"
"You can let go of my cock now," Oliver said, straightening up so he could look at Harry, eyes sparkling with amusement and desire, "It's giving me ideas."
"Sorry," Harry chuckled, letting go of Oliver. He reached up on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on the other boy's lips. "I forgot I was holding it," He snorted.
"You can play with it later," Oliver promised and he kissed Harry soundly.
"Ahh, Harry," Oliver laughed tearing his mouth away when Harry moaned, "We should get out of here before…"
"Are you sure you don't want to do anything now?" Harry asked hopefully. He was fairly certain his body could rise to the occasion, he could feel it stirring already and they'd only been kissing.
"Not here," Oliver said determinedly, his face serious all of a sudden. "I told you, Harry. I want to see you the first time I fuck you," Oliver continued in a throaty whisper as he stared down at Harry intently, "I want to explore every inch of this beautiful body." He trailed his hand lightly over Harry's chest and stomach, stopping at the top of Harry's trousers. Harry shivered at the touch and the sound of Oliver's voice. "Most of all though, I want to see you come."
"Okay?" Oliver smiled down at him.
Not really, Harry wanted to say. He was just about ready to melt in a pool of desire and Oliver was asking him if it was okay if they waited for the right location?
"Okay?" Oliver prompted; tilting Harry's chin up so Harry had to look him in the eye.
"Yes," Harry agreed, giving Oliver a small smile. "I suppose its time for your next dance lesson anyway." Harry joked and he managed to give a feeble laugh.
"We'll have to stop at the bar on the way," Oliver chuckled, "I seem to have worked up a bit of a thirst." He kissed Harry's check lightly and stepped away. "But first we need to clean up."
Chapter Twelve: Staunton Island
Harry woke from a deep, unsatisfying sleep. His head ached horribly, a persistent and painful throbbing had taken up residence somewhere between his temples, and it felt as though something small and fury had died on his tongue. As he did just about every time he had a hangover, Harry vowed never to drink again and with a ragged groan, he let his eyes flutter open, blinking furiously as they adjusted to the brightness of his bedroom. Curtains, Harry thought to himself miserably, he'd forgotten to shut the flipping curtains. After a moment, Harry tried to sit up only to find he didn't have the energy to lift more than his head and shoulders. He sighed in frustration and slumped back against the pillows.
As he lay there on his back, omitting the occasional groan of agony, it occurred to Harry that he was extremely uncomfortable. His toes were tingling and for some strange reason, his feet felt heavy and restricted. Rubbing his hand over a leg, Harry felt the soft material of the pants he'd borrowed from Oliver beneath his fingers. Lifting his foot the barest of inches, Harry realised he was still wearing his shoes. No wonder he was uncomfortable, Harry thought to himself. He hadn't even bothered to get changed before going to bed. He awkwardly kicked off each shoe in turn and then wriggled his toes, bringing life back into his feet. It made him feel a little bit better but his head still pounded painfully and Harry couldn't help shifting restlessly on his bed, searching for a comfortable position.
When Harry rolled over onto his side he got the shock of his life. His eyes opened in surprise, so wide they almost shot out of his head, before a small smile crept onto his face. Lying next to him on the bed was Oliver. How had he not noticed him sooner? Harry wondered and, little flashes of the night before came to him in an instant - their first kiss, dancing on the podium, their pleasurable trip to the dark room… Sheer joy managed to shine through his pain for a moment before the pounding in his head regained control.
Needing to get rid of his headache so he could watch the beautiful boy in peace, Harry forced himself to stop looking at Oliver and rolled onto his back. As quietly as he could, Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and tapped around until he found two hangover potions. Thank god he'd replenished his stock, Harry thought, rolling back to face Oliver. If he remembered correctly, Oliver had a lot more to drink than he had and he would definitely be in need of a potion when he woke.
Harry quickly took his and waited patiently for the potion to take effect. When he felt better, he propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at the boy in his bed. Oliver was sleeping peacefully on his stomach, his face turned towards Harry. Even though his face was a tad white and he must have been uncomfortable because he too was still wearing his clothes from the night before, Oliver looked very cute lying there. Harry wondered if he should take off Oliver's shoes but quickly decided against it; he might wake him and he was quite enjoying having the chance to look at Oliver.
As he lay there on the bed watching Oliver, Harry tried to recall the night before. After their stint in the back room he couldn't really remember much, he knew they'd gone to get more drinks and he vaguely remembered going to dance but after that things got blurry. Judging by the fact that they were both still dressed, he worked out that they hadn't ended up shagging and Harry was glad. The last thing he wanted was to have no recollection of such a significant event. If last night was any indication, it would be amazing and Harry couldn't wait for it to happen. Hopefully, Oliver would think the same when he woke, Harry thought, idly running a finger lightly over his lips, remembering what it felt like to kiss Oliver.
When the body beside him started to stir, Harry picked up the second potion he got out of the drawer, ready to make Oliver feel better. As Oliver's tired eyes flicked reluctantly open, Harry grinned.
"Morning," he said and, although his voice sounded happy enough, he carefully kept it at a low volume.
"I feel like shit," Oliver groaned into the pillow.
"Here," said Harry, uncorking the potion, "open your mouth. This'll make you feel better." Oliver turned his head awkwardly and opened his mouth for Harry, choking a little when Harry tipped the potion in his mouth but he somehow managed to swallow it all.
"Thanks," Oliver mumbled, rubbing his face against the pillow.
Harry smiled but didn't say anything, giving Oliver the chance to recover from his hangover in peace. When Harry saw him smacking his lips together, he chuckled sympathetically.
"Sorry I forgot to get some water before I went to bed last night," Harry said quietly.
"You say that like you were actually conscious when we got home," Oliver chuckled, lifting his face out of the pillow, "I had to carry you to bed."
"Sorry," Harry laughed embarrassedly; he hadn't realised he been quite that bad last night.
"Its alright," smiled Oliver, "I'm sure you'll have to return the favour sometime."
Harry's heart thumped against his chest excitedly. By the sounds of things, Oliver wasn't regretting what happened the night before.
"How did we get home last night?" Harry asked curiously. He hated being in the dark about things he'd done.
"Muggle Taxi," Oliver said slowly rolling onto his side to face Harry with a smile on his face. "On the way home, you crawled into my lap, snogged me senseless and then fell into the sleep of the dead."
"Oh… sorry," Harry mumbled shamefully; he really couldn't remember any of that.
Deciding he should apologise properly, Harry wriggled over towards Oliver and kissed the other boy lightly on the cheek. Obviously expecting more for his forgiveness, Oliver claimed his lips in a soft kiss and a warm hand slid up to rest on Harry's hip.
"Mm, morning breath mixed with the left over taste of Gin," Oliver teased, as he drew back, "You've never tasted so good."
"You don't exactly taste like pumpkin juice you know…"
Oliver smacked his lips thirstily. "Mmm pumpkin juice…"
"We should go get some," Harry said, trying to lift himself up, but he sank back down quickly. "My shoulders feel so heavy…"
"I know what you mean, I can't remember ever having been this thirsty but I can't even be arsed trying to get up," Oliver mumbled.
Harry rolled onto his back. "I have a plan…"
"What," Oliver grunted.
"We'll get up, get some juice. Then you can have a shower and I'll make us some breakfast," Harry said, already cringing at the amount of energy his plan would require.
"Sounds good," Oliver agreed, "Except I think you should get up and then you can pull me up."
Harry opened his mouth; ready to argue that Oliver's idea was a bit unfair. However, the words died in his throat when the sexy boy shot him one of his gorgeous smiles. With a tremendous burst of effort Harry managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.
"Okay I'm up," Harry muttered tiredly as he got up off the bed. He had to adjust the pants that had twisted rather awkwardly during the night.
"Well done Harry," Oliver chuckled wearily, "you're a team player."
Wondering how Oliver could manage to look slothful and gorgeous at the same time, Harry walked around to Oliver's side of the bed. He took one of Oliver's hands in his and pulled with all his might. Nothing happened.
"You could help me a little," said Harry in a whine. Oliver chuckled but did as he was told, making it much easier for Harry to pull him to his feet.
"Thanks," Oliver muttered as he used the bedside table to steady himself.
"What do you want to wear?" Harry pulled open his wardrobe.
"Huh?"
"After your shower…"
"Oh… um, whatever," Oliver shrugged.
Well that was helpful Harry thought in amusement. He rummaged through his wardrobe pulling out two pairs of tracksuit pants, some t-shirts and a couple of jumpers. He hesitated over pulling out a pair of boxers for Oliver. Would Oliver be revolted if he gave him a pair of his underpants? Harry wondered briefly. Shrugging, he pulled out a pair for Oliver anyway, and some socks for them both. He'd just give them to Oliver and let the other boy decide if he wanted to wear them or not Harry decided.
"You ready?" he asked, separating the clothes into two neat piles.
"Yep," Oliver yawned loudly and then he laughed; "now I'm ready." He made his way over to Harry. "Thanks," he said, depositing a kiss on Harry's cheek as he took his pile of clothes.
Dragging their feet as they walked, the boys clambered down the hall. Once they reached the lounge room door, Harry paused; he could here the faint murmur of voices from the other side. Please be Lavender and Ron, Harry prayed silently. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, his face sinking when he saw that it was Ron and Fred. His roommate was sitting in his usual spot, on his beanbag in front of the television, and he had the Playstation controller in hand, while Fred was sprawled across the couch.
"Finally, Harry, I was about to come and wake…" Fred trailed off looking positively delighted when he caught sight of Oliver over Harry's shoulder. "Morning, Oliver," he grinned, "Did you sleep well?"
Harry shot him a warning glare but Fred just beamed at him merrily.
Oliver mumbled something that sounded like 'yes' and then added politely, "Hey Ron."
Ron looked up from the Playstation just long enough to give a quick smile.
"Where did you two sneak off to last night?" Fred asked curiously.
"Can't remember," Harry lied quickly and before Fred could say anything else, he scuttled across the room with Oliver nipping at his heels.
"Well that was uncomfortable," Oliver snorted, tapping the kitchen door shut behind him.
"Sorry," Harry replied. "I didn't know Fred would be here," - he opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of pumpkin juice - "though I probably should have guessed," Harry added wryly.
Tossing Oliver one of the bottles, Harry called out, "Catch!"
As they threw back their heads, gobbling down the cool, refreshing liquid greedily, they looked like an advertisement for pumpkin juice. Neither stopped until their bottle was empty and, when they were done, they gave identical sighs of satisfaction.
"Fuck I feel better now," Oliver panted, putting the bottle on the counter carefully. He clutched his stomach and belched loudly. "Sorry," Oliver sniggered.
Harry shrugged; better out than in. "Right," he said, feeling much better now, "You can shower first."
No sooner had they stepped into the bathroom, a very excited Mattias whistled from his spot above the sink. "Fresh meat!"
"What are you doing back in here?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Ron was missing me," Mattias replied snidely.
If it were possible to slap a mirror…
"Just ignore Mattias," Harry said, turning to smile at a bemused Oliver. "There are towels in there," - Harry waved at the counter beneath the sink - "and soap in the shower…"
"Thanks, Harry," Oliver smiled and he started to undo his pants.
"Yes well," Harry giggled nervously, "I'll go make breakfast." Harry quickly scurried out the bathroom. It was silly to be embarrassed after everything they'd done, but Harry couldn't help his feelings. Oliver had barely managed to undo one button and he was already hot and bothered.
He skidded to a halt in the kitchen, just as Fred barged through with a curious Ron in tow. "Why is Mattias back in the bathroom, Ron?" Harry asked, before Fred's inquisition could begin.
"I missed the little bugger," Ron grinned sheepishly, "He always tells me I'm hot and stuff… it just wasn't the same with out him…"
No wonder Mattias was always incredibly disappointed with his own bathroom routine, Harry thought amusedly.
"I don't even want to know what you do in front of that mirror, Ron," Harry laughed, shaking his head.
"Yeah, trust me you don't," Fred snorted, "But why are we talking about this when there's far more interesting things to discuss?"
"Oh, Fred, leave him alone," Ron said hitting his brother upside the head, "Oliver's still here!"
"Stop it, Ron," Fred said, catching Ron's arm and twisting it behind his back, "I just want to know the bare details… I can find out the rest later."
"Let go," Ron whined in pain.
"I don't think so." Fred turned his head to smile at Harry, "So did you fuck him?"
"Fred!" Harry snorted. Honestly he could be unbearable sometimes.
"Harry, tell me or I wont leave," Fred said slyly.
"Harry, just tell him something because this is really uncomfortable."
"Okay, Fred," Harry said looking at Ron sympathetically, "But you have to let Ron go…"
"Done," Fred said, letting go of Ron's arm and pushing his brother towards the door. Either he was uninterested, or just intent on getting away from his brother, because Ron scampered back into the lounge, not once looking back.
"I can't remember everything," Harry started. And in a hushed voice, he gave Fred a basic run down of the night's adventures. However, he kept the more personal moments, like the things Oliver had said that had left him practically swooning, to himself. Fred seemed happy enough with the details, though he did make Harry promise to organize a date with Oliver. Saying something about needing to visit George, Fred left quite quickly.
With Fred out of his hair, Harry started making breakfast. He fixed some tea and toast for himself and then, nibbling on his breakfast, he slowly set about making the same for Oliver. He was just putting butter on Oliver's toast when he heard the other boy come back into the room.
"I feel so much better," Oliver said sounding much more awake than he had before.
Harry glanced at him over his shoulder and smiled. "I see you got it all to fit okay." Oliver looked very nice in his tracksuit pants and jumper. Harry wondered if he was wearing his boxers and made a mental note to check the laundry hamper when he went to the bathroom.
"It took a great deal of effort, I don't mind telling you," Oliver said, making his way over to Harry. "I know I'm taller then you an all that but shit, I had to readjust everything before I could even get them on."
"Don't rub it in," Harry chuckled, sliding Oliver's plate of toast across the counter. "Here's your breakfast."
"Thanks," Oliver said, accepting the cup of warm tea Harry passed him and he leaned down to kiss Harry's cheek. "Where's my pipe and slippers?"
"I don't know," said Harry, trying his best to look menacing as he held up his fist threateningly, "but I've got your black eye right here."
Oliver caught Harry's wrist easily and tugged him closer. He leaned down and kissed Harry, lingering over his lips before he pulled back and said amusedly, "Where's your breakfast?"
"I ate it already," Harry smiled, enjoying being so close to Oliver again. It couldn't be said enough, Oliver was gorgeous.
"Piggy." Oliver whispered and, after kissing the corner of Harry's mouth again, he grimaced. "Are you gonna go shower now?"
"Are you saying I stink, Oliver?" Harry asked, amused.
"Just a little," Oliver snorted and he ducked away as Harry playfully tried to hit him.
"Yeah I'm going," Harry grinned, turning to leave. "Ron's in there if you want someone to talk to while you eat your breakfast." Harry added, pointing at the lounge room door. "I shan't be long."
Bristling from yet another annoying showering experience because of Mattias, the bane of the bathroom, Harry burst ungraciously into the lounge room. The door banged against the wall loudly and Oliver and Ron turned to look at him quickly. "Sorry," Harry chuckled, "Don't know my own strength."
Seated on Harry's beanbag in front of the television, Oliver just smiled at him. Ron, who occupied the beanbag next to Oliver's, said excitedly, "You should see how good Oliver is at this."
"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. He had noticed Oliver was holding the Playstation controller but he'd just assumed Ron was letting him have a turn.
"He's already passed one mission!" Ron reached over to pat Oliver fondly.
Harry took that as Ron's seal of approval and chuckled as he settled himself on the couch. He propped up the cushions and lay down comfortably. "What's the next mission?"
"I have to take Salvatore's girlfriend out to score, and then to a party," Oliver said, glancing at Harry over his shoulder. He really was very good Harry realised, because while he had his eyes off the game he didn't even crash the car.
While Oliver raced around completing the mission, Harry and Ron sat in excited silence. He looked so causal about the whole thing he could have just as easily been reading a book. Harry and Ron were very impressed, and they exchanged many envious glances as Oliver cruised through Liberty City in the limousine. He didn't even look particularly happy when he got the girl back to her house safely, passing the mission, Harry and Ron however, made up for it by cheering loudly.
When they finally calmed down, Ron asked, "Is it two o'clock yet, Harry?" He didn't even bother to glance in Harry's direction as he spoke because Oliver moved onto the next mission and the introduction movie was playing.
Harry craned his neck around till he could see the clock, "Yeah its a quarter past."
"Fuck, it's not is it?" Ron said springing out the beanbag like a man possessed. He took one look at the clock and his face sank. "Lavender is gonna be pissed."
"Why? Where are you going?" said Harry.
"Dinner with her parents, but she wants to stop off and visit Parvati on the way," said Ron, rolling his eyes to show how little he thought of that plan. He never made any secret of the fact that he thought Parvati was an idiot. "I'm gonna have to go…" He trailed off when there was a large explosion on the television screen; Oliver had just passed yet another mission.
"Don't forget to save the game, Oliver," Ron said patting him sportingly on the back, "That's very important! Harry make sure he saves the game!" He bid his farewells and hightailed it out of the room.
"Do you think he wants me to save the game?" Oliver asked wryly.
"Never mind Ron. I want you to save the game!"
"You not bored of this, are you?" Oliver asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Harry shook his head avidly. If he could, Oliver had to finish some more missions. Asides for which, he quite liked watching Oliver; it was nice to see how the game was supposed to be played.
"Good, because I couldn't help noticing you haven't collected very many of the parcels and I don't think you've done any of the side missions."
Parcels? Side missions?
"Oh, haven't we," Harry said airily, "That would be because we're not very good."
"I'll do them then shall I?" Oliver chuckled, "Because they're an absolute bitch to get once you get to the second Island."
Harry grinned and waved his hand invitingly, "Please go on."
While Oliver cruised around looking for these 'parcels', he caused utter mayhem on the streets of Liberty City. Harry could only marvel at the boy's ability to do drive by shootings and he noticed with envy that Oliver seemed entirely unconcerned by the Island's law enforcement. At one point he had the FBI after him and he managed to get himself out of trouble without going to paint and spray. Harry was quite literally flabbergasted.
"Oliver, you're an absolute psycho," Harry said, amazed.
"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me Harry," Oliver gushed, batting his eyelashes at Harry cutely.
He looked ridiculous and adorable and Harry didn't know whether he should laugh or pounce on the other boy. "Do that again," Harry chuckled and he roared with laughter when Oliver did it again, pursing his lips for good measure.
"Only three missions to go," Oliver said wriggling his eyebrows at Harry like Fred often did.
"How did you get so good at this? And more importantly how the hell do you even know what a Playstation is?" He was pretty sure Oliver was a full blood and they usually had very little knowledge of muggle things.
"One of my cousins is a Squib," Oliver said, shooting Harry an amused glance, "He went to a muggle school and that, so he's big into muggle things… He had one and I got hooked playing it at his house." Oliver shrugged carelessly.
Harry frowned.
"But when I asked you about basket ball, when you were explaining Quidditch to me way back when, you had no idea what basket ball was…"
"Well, I'd never seen it… Max, that's my cousin, he doesn't like basketball. I know what it is now, though, I saw it a couple of years ago, when I was watching television at his house. We flicked onto a channel and it was playing… I remember thinking, what the hell was Harry talking about; its nothing like Quidditch!"
"It is a little bit…" Harry protested.
"There's hoops, Harry and that's about it," Oliver grinned. "And, can I just say, it's a crap sport. Most of the muggle sports, I've seen are crap, except maybe the car racing ones, oh and ice hockey is great… so violent and…."
"Manly," Harry added silently.
Imagining Oliver dressed in ice hockey gear, beating the other boys with his stick, Harry sniggered quietly. He couldn't help thinking Oliver would make a very good ice hockey player, and he would look bloody hot while he played.
"What are you laughing at?" Oliver asked, glancing at Harry briefly.
"Nothing." Harry shook his head. "So what do you have to do now?" He asked, turning his attention back to the Playstation.
Oliver explained that he had to pick up 8-ball (the explosives expert) and they were going to blow up a boat. It was Oliver's job to be sniper and make sure no one shot at 8-ball while he set the bombs.
"It sounds really hard."
"It's the first Island, Harry," Oliver said, looking at him with pity on his face, "its easy."
And really it did all look very easy when Oliver showed him how to complete the final couple of missions. However, Harry knew it would be considerably more difficult if he tried. He had never really mastered the art of aiming the guns; he much preferred to run people over with the car and Ron was psychotically fond of the baseball bat.
"There you go, Harry," Oliver yawned a little while later, pausing the game and putting the controller on the floor.
"Do you think Ron will believe me if I tell him I did it?" Harry kidded.
"Some how, Harry, I don't think so."
"Well then you have my hugest thanks…"
Smirking at Harry, Oliver got off the beanbag. His jumper rode up, revealing a bit of bronze skin as he stretched his arms above his head. "I don't think your thanks is enough," Oliver made his way over to the couch and perched on the edge. "I've been slaving away for ages now… I mean I think that deserves some kind of reward."
"What's it gonna cost me?" Harry smiled at Oliver.
"This," Oliver said, leaning over a pecking Harry on the lips, "To start with."
"What else?"
"Well," Oliver paused as if to think it over, "I could be a little more comfortable like this." Oliver lay down half over Harry, half on the couch. Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Nope there's still something missing," Oliver whispered against Harry's lips.
Brown eyes disappeared behind soft eyelids as Oliver pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. Harry smiled into the kiss, and bringing a hand up to cup the back of Oliver's head, he started to move his lips against Oliver's. He could feel the older boys heart pounding against his side, a beat very similar to his own thumping pulse.
Surely Oliver wasn't as nervous as he was?
Definitely not, Harry realised when Oliver shifted, covering Harry's body almost completely with his own. Harry moaned appreciatively; he loved having a hard body pinning him down. Feeling a sleek tongue lapping at his bottom lip, Harry opened his mouth, encouraging Oliver to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met, sliding alongside one another, until they reached their goal, and Harry thought he might literally burst with joy. It felt so much better than it had the night before, great though that had been. Without the alcohol clouding his mind, he could savour the feel and taste of Oliver. It was intoxicating, providing a much nicer haze than alcohol ever could.
Oliver drew back slightly and stared into Harry's eyes with a small smile on his face. Running his fingers through Oliver's short hair, Harry smiled back. He felt so comfortable beneath Oliver, like he'd been there all afternoon, that it was a little hard to believe a couple of minutes earlier Oliver had been on the other side of the room.
"That was very smooth of you," Harry teased playfully and he noticed Oliver's cheeks had a pink tinge.
"I told you, Harry, you make me nervous," said Oliver, lowering his face to Harry's neck.
"And you rock out the smooth moves when you're nervous?" Harry asked sceptically. "What do you do when you're not nervous?"
Oliver chuckled against his throat," I'm blunt. I say things like - Bitch get into bed…"
"You don't…"
Oliver lifted his face and looked down at Harry with eyes sparkling with amusement, "Well maybe not quite that crudely…"
Laughing, Harry pulled Oliver back down and rubbed his nose against Oliver's before pecking him on the lips sweetly. He stared into Oliver's brown eyes and smiled lazily. It felt strange, lying there with Oliver, wonderful, but strange. There faces were so close, Harry only had to move his head a little to kiss Oliver again but he didn't, and neither did Oliver. He seemed content to look into Harry's eyes with a pensive look on his face. The mood between them was comfortable, as though they spent every Sunday that way. Lazing in front of the television (Playstation), snogging just because they could. At the same time, an exciting undercurrent sizzled away, revealing the newness of it all.
Taking his eyes off Harry to glance at the clock, Oliver's face visibly sank. "I have to go in a minute," he said regretfully, "We always have a family dinner on Sunday." He didn't sound very excited about going and Harry was disappointed that he was leaving. He wanted Oliver to stay. "Do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow?"
Tomorrow? That was very soon, Harry thought, smiling happily at Oliver. "Yeah I'd like that."
"Good," Oliver whispered, lowering his mouth back to Harry's.
The next moment Oliver seemed to forget that he had to leave because he became forceful, his tongue driving into Harry searchingly. Strong hands sneaked under Harry's jumper and those calloused fingers ran over soft skin. It felt wonderful and Harry found himself arching into Oliver's touch and hooking a leg around the other boy, pulling him closer. He slid his hands beneath Oliver's clothing, feeling the back he liked so much; the hard ridges of Oliver's shoulder blades and down over the smooth, firm muscles. When Harry squeezed Oliver's perfect arse, they both groaned into the kiss, before Oliver seemed to come to his senses, ripping his mouth away from Harry with a gasp.
"You're too bloody tempting, Harry," Oliver panted, and he got up from the couch before Harry could do anything to stop him. "I really have to go, I need to go home and get some robes first," Oliver said as he stared down at Harry, who was still lying on the couch. "I'll drop by about seven tomorrow night?"
"Seven sounds good," Harry said, smiling at Oliver as he slowly sat up. Oliver took a step towards him, as though he was going to kiss him goodbye, but stopped.
"I better not," Oliver grinned, "Bye, Harry."
And then he was gone.
When it came to goodbyes, apparation was too instantaneous. It was the one thing Harry absolutely hated about a wizard's ability to apparate and disparate at will. At least muggles got the chance to watch their partner leave; watch them walk out the garden, get into their car and drive away. There was none of that for Harry. One second Oliver was there and the next he was gone. He was missing him already, Harry realised, and he snorted in amusement.
Harry got up and sat in his beanbag, picked up the Playstation controller and unpaused the game. While he was directing the figure on screen to the new hideout, Harry smiled suddenly. The full meaning of what had happened with Oliver, finally sank through the Oliver induced haze that clouded his mind. While they'd been at the club the night before, Harry had wondered what Oliver wanted from him. And he realised, now that Oliver was gone, that they were starting something much more serious than a casual affair. Oliver had spent hours with him today, just hanging out. He hadn't even tried to get him into bed, not that Harry would have really minded if Oliver had tried, but it had been nice just being with Oliver.
And he was amazing.
Apart from being nice, interesting and very amusing, he was as sexy as hell. And as if all that wasn't enough, he was good at Playstation games. He had gotten them to the second island.
Staunton Island.
He's perfect, Harry thought happily.
Chapter Thirteen: "The Date"
Shifting agitatedly in his seat, Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the kitchen table. Although it was still only twenty to seven, Harry was already dressed for his date and he was just beginning to realise what a mistake it had been to get ready so early. There was absolutely nothing for him to do for the next twenty minutes. All he could do was wait for Oliver to arrive. Well, that and worry. As he sat there watching Ron eating his dinner, Harry couldn't help imaging all the things that could go wrong on his date.
Ron stared at him from across the table; he had his fork paused half way to his mouth and a thoughtful look on his face. "It's funny seeing you like this."
"Like what?" Harry asked, glancing down to see if there was anything wrong with his clothes.
"So nervous…"
"Oh…"
Nervous. Yes, he was nervous. He couldn't actually remember having ever felt this nervous before. The very last thing he wanted to do was mess thing's up with Oliver.
"You really like him, don't you?"
"Yes," Harry groaned, banging his head down on the table.
Ron chuckled at Harry's dramatic behaviour though he did also manage to say reassuringly, "Harry, it will be fine… He spent all day here yesterday for Merlin's sake, I think its pretty safe to say he likes you."
Harry didn't bother to reply, he wasn't up to the effort. He would find out soon enough if Ron was right and although he hoped so, he couldn't feel as confident as his best friend. Things may have gone well with Oliver the day before but Harry was very aware that that was yesterday. Anything could have happened since then! Oliver might have met someone amazing overnight or Siobhan, the evil demon, could have wormed her way back into his life. The possibilities were endless and Harry wanted things to work out so badly, he couldn't help fretting.
Surprisingly, just about the only thing Harry wasn't worrying over was his appearance and that was only because Fred had popped over earlier to help Harry get ready. Although the older boy had proved to be a bit of a nuisance, teasing Harry about 'the date', he had ended up helping. He'd selected a very nice outfit for Harry, combing a white shirt with a pair of blue corduroys, making sure that Harry felt comfortable and looked good. As usual his hair was a messy mass of dark locks that jutted out a peculiar angles but Harry knew that Oliver liked it that way so he didn't worry about it. Before he left, Fred had assured Harry that he was looking very shaggable indeed. Harry hoped so because if things went well at dinner because he was really looking forward to the after dinner entertainment.
"It's pretty funny though, don't you reckon?" Ron asked after a while.
"What's funny?"
"You and Oliver."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
"Well, he's a big time Quidditch star, Harry," Ron said, excitedly. "I was talking about it with Lavender last night and she said, if you start going out with Oliver you'll get to go to all the important events he gets invited to because he's famous and you'll have to get dressed up a lot, be the pretty piece of fluff at his side…"
"Shut up, Ron," Harry groaned. Being Oliver's piece of fluff didn't sound too bad but Harry would much prefer to be it in private.
Ron laughed and little pieces of his dinner shot out his mouth to land on the table. "That's really gross, Ron," Harry said, looking down at the table in distaste.
"Sorry, couldn't help it… And I was just teasing, Harry."
"I know," Harry murmured. He flicked his gaze to Ron's plate. Harry couldn't be sure, Ron definitely wasn't the best cook around and it did look more like scrambled eggs, but his friend seemed to be having an omelette. "Does that taste any good?"
"Surprisingly, it tastes quite nice. It does look a sight though, doesn't it?" Ron said, grinning as he looked down at his plate.
Harry reached over to pinch a piece off Ron's plate and popped it in his mouth. It didn't taste too bad at all, Harry decided as he swallowed the mouthful. "What are you doing tonight?" He asked, reaching for a serviette so he could wipe his fingers.
"Lavender is coming over…" Ron paused when the warning siren sounded, alerting them to the immanent arrival of Harry's date.
"Ohhh," he cooed teasingly, but he quickly got up from the table and picked up his plate. "I'll leave you to it." He patted Harry encouragingly on the back and, before Oliver could see him, Ron and the half eaten dinner scurried out to the lounge.
Left alone, Harry took a deep, calming breath and turned slightly so he could see the fireplace. He'd wanted to assume a casual look before Oliver arrived, so the other boy wouldn't think him too desperate, but as the fire in the hearth turned green, Harry felt his heart leap into his chest, and he realised he'd have to settle for looking like an overly excited kid instead. Next moment Harry's excitement doubled because Oliver appeared, landing perfectly in the kitchen, looking unruffled and gorgeous in a pair of black pants and a leather jacket that was zipped almost to the top.
"Hello, Harry," Oliver said in a deep voice that literally shot straight to Harry's nether regions.
"Hi," he said and although his voice came out slightly squeaky, he managed not to blush for once. Thank Christ for small mercies, he thought as he got up from the table.
"Are you ready to go?" asked Oliver, brown eyes travelling appreciatively over Harry's body.
"Yeah, I'm ready." Harry shrugged on his denim jacket, making sure it hung nicely around his shirt. "Where are we going?"
"I can't tell you that, it's a surprise," Oliver said mysteriously. "But I can tell you, we need to apparate to Piccadilly," Oliver said, lifting his eyebrows and smirking at Harry.
Harry had no idea what that look was meant to be but it too shot straight to his nether regions…
"It wasn't really a surprise," Oliver grinned sheepishly, a little while later. "I was just trying to make it sound exciting."
"It's nice though," Harry said, glancing around the room with a smile on his face. Oliver had taken them to a small, Italian restaurant where they had managed to get a very cosy table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. The place had a warm, informal atmosphere and Harry felt very comfortable being there with Oliver.
"I like it here. My cousin brought me years ago and I've been coming back ever since," - Which explained why the owner, a small excitable man named Gino, had greeted Oliver like he was a long lost relative - "We wouldn't get any peace and quiet at a restaurant in our world so I thought I'd bring you to the muggle one instead. I didn't think you'd want to end up in the gossip columns."
Oliver was right on that account; Harry did hate appearing in the media in any shape or form. However, Harry knew that if Oliver did ever want to take him to a wizarding restaurant, he would gladly go anyway. Oliver was too special (sexy) to let an annoying thing like the media get in the way.
"Do they photograph you a lot when you're out?"
"All the bloody time! Haven't you seen me in the Daily Prophet? I get in the society pages more than I do the sports," Oliver groaned.
"I don't really read that bit! I just check the front page, make sure nothing terrible has happened and then skip straight to the sport." Harry laughed as though he'd just revealed something shocking.
"So I should cross current events off my list of discussion topics?"
"Something like that," Harry agreed.
They continued to chat about everything and nothing until Gino returned to tease Oliver and, almost as an afterthought, to take their orders. Both Harry and Oliver ended up ordering the exact same thing, lasagne followed by ice cream and after Gino left again, they picked up their conversation easily. As they chatted, waiting for their meals to arrive, Harry realised it had been silly of him to worry about their date going badly. They really were very compatible, having many share interests and opinions.
"Thanks, Gino," Oliver said happily, when the small man returned with their meals.
"I don't mean to boast, Oliver," Gino said as he placed a large plate of food in front of the boy. "I think I've excelled myself this time."
"Doesn't your wife do all the cooking?" Oliver grinned at the man cheekily. Far from being embarrassed, Gino waved Oliver's comment aside as if it were of no importance and set Harry plate on the table. "There you are, Harry."
"Er- Thanks," Harry said, eyes nearly bulging out his head. On his plate was the most enormous serving of lasagne he'd ever seen. Harry knew instantly that there was no way he would be able to eat it all without exploding and he decided to undo the top button of his trousers in preparation.
"Enjoy," Gino smirked devilishly and then he scurried away.
"Don't worry, you don't have to eat it all," Oliver said, looking in open amusement at Harry, who still looked somewhat shocked. "Gino always gives me heaps and what I don't eat, I get to take home in a doggy bag."
"Oh good," Harry sighed, relieved. "I didn't want to have to hurt his feelings but there is no way I can eat all this… I think even Hagrid would have trouble finish this lot."
Fork in hand, Oliver gestured at Harry's plate. "Try it."
Harry picked up his knife and fork, cutting for himself a small chunk. As he lifted his fork to his mouth, steam ghosted out the lasagne and he had to blow on it, cooling it down a little, before he could pop it in him mouth. When he did, Harry gave a small moan of appreciation. It was rich and almost creamy.
"It's delicious!" Harry said once he'd swallowed the mouthful.
"It's the best." Oliver agreed. "I actually had this last night as well but my mums version is no where near as nice."
"Oh, that's right, you had your family dinner last night. How was it? Did you have a nice time?" Harry popped another forkful in his mouth, chewing as he listened to the other boy speak.
"It was okay, eventually," Oliver said and he grinned at Harry. "I was in a lot of trouble when I arrived because, thanks to you, I ended up getting there quite late."
"Sorry," Harry said with a little chuckle, though he didn't feel in the least sorry.
"You will be," - Harry's head snapped up at those ominous words - "I can't lie to my mum, directly, and she wouldn't forgive me for being late till I told her all where I'd been. So I said I'd been hanging out with you and now she's expecting you to come to dinner."
"I'd be happy to meet your mum again," Harry said, remembering that he'd briefly met her at the Quidditch world cup, though he couldn't remember much about her.
"You say that now but wait till you meet her," Oliver said in warning and when he continued speaking it was in a strange, girlish voice. "Oh, little Harry… How is he?"
Harry laughed at the boy's impersonation, he had no idea if it was accurate or not but it was funny. "She wouldn't call me little Harry to my face would she?"
"Probably. She still calls me her baby boy…"
As they continued to eat their dinner, Harry learnt all sorts of things about Oliver's family. The boy seemed to be very close to his mother, though Harry didn't think it went to such an extent one would call Oliver a mummy's boy. The older boy seemed to be fairly self-sufficient. He had two sisters, Sarah and Brigitte, both of them much older than he was and neither was married. Harry got the impression that Oliver's relationship with his father was tense. The older boy didn't have much to say about the man, except that he worked at the Ministry of magic and that he'd always wanted Oliver to play professional Quidditch.
Once they'd eaten what they could of their meal and gobbled down their desert, Oliver asked for the bill and in a matter of minutes, they were leaving the restaurant with their doggy bags in hand. It was cold outside and, even though the street was rather quiet, Oliver and Harry back up against the wall, keeping out of the way, just in case anyone came along the pavement.
"Do you want to come back to my place for a bit?" Oliver asked, nervously and his cheeks tinged a light pink colour. "We can… play Playstation, or something…"
"Sure," Harry said, hoping they could skip straight to the something. He loved the console tremendously but he would gladly bypass it to get to what he hoped would be the shagging. He'd been dreaming about it for weeks and he didn't even want to think about their evening ending any other way.
"We'll go down there to apparate," Oliver said, pointing at an alley across the road. "No one will see us there."
As soon as they got back to Oliver's place, the older boy decided they needed some coffee, so they headed straight for the kitchen. Harry didn't particularly want any but he thought it might be rude to refuse.
Making coffee at Oliver house, turned out to be considerably easier than at his house. All Oliver did was mutter what he wanted into a strange cone shaped object that lived on the kitchen bench and it seemed to do the rest. The kettle flew over to the kitchen sink and the tap magically started to run, filling the kettle with water. Two mugs zipped out of one of the kitchen cabinets and Harry had to duck his head slightly, to avoid getting hit when they whizzed through the air to land gently by the kettle.
"How the hell did you get that to work?" Harry asked, amazed.
"It's a Spellmaster. We had it installed because Jackson and I aren't all that good at cooking and Jackson wont let us get a house elf. It's pretty cool actually. Whatever you tell it to make, it'll make," Oliver said, pulling open one of the kitchen drawers. He rifled though some papers and pulled out a small, white card. "Here," he muttered, handing it to Harry.
"Spellmaster - we can create any spell to suit your needs," Harry read from the card out loud.
"Stupid slogan isn't it… It should say, Spellmaster - for the rich and lazy, because really that's what its all about," Oliver said in a dry voice and he hopped up to sit on the bench.
Harry made his way over to the kettle, and peered into the cups. The Spellmaster still hadn't even got around to putting milk and sugar in the mugs. "Your Spellmaster's not very quick, is it?" Harry observed, smiling at Oliver.
Oliver shrugged, "As long as I don't have to make anything, I don't really care."
Harry grinned, thinking to himself that Oliver had a point there. Perhaps he should get one at his house? Ron would definitely go for the idea. Harry wondered how he could politely go about asking how much something like the Spellmaster cost but dismissed the idea in the end. It might seem rude. He would just make Ron call over to the company and ask, Harry thought, slipping the business card into his pocket.
"Where's Jackson tonight?" Harry asked, curiously.
"I think he's off visiting one of his many love interests."
"Many?"
"Yeah, there's a couple I think. He's a bit like Fred in that respect… Still busy playing around and all that," Oliver explained.
"Oh, right," murmured Harry, thinking it rather amusing that Oliver hadn't included himself in that list. From what he'd heard, Oliver wasn't exactly a chaste little choirboy.
Harry glanced back at the cups and frowned. There still wasn't any milk in them and the kettle still hadn't boiled. Perhaps it was faulty, Harry thought and he turned to ask Oliver about it, only to have the words die in his throat when his eyes landed on the other boy. Oliver looked extremely nervous. He had his brows creased as though he was thinking about something important, his eyes were lowered and he was picking at the skin around one of his fingernails. For some strange reason, it made Harry suddenly very aware of the near silence in the room and as he looked at Oliver, his breath hitched in his throat and he felt the need to kiss Oliver. He'd wanted to do that since the boy had arrived at his house but now he had too.
Both of them knew Harry wasn't there to play the Playstation or to have coffee and Harry decided he would just have to do something about their 'problem'. He slowly inched his way over to the boy. As he shuffled, Harry couldn't help thinking that he was being very sneaky and it made him want to laugh. He managed to stifle it though and when he finally got to Oliver's side, Harry said in a whisper, "Oliver?" His lips twitched into a smile and he looked up at the other boy, sliding a trembling hand up one of Oliver's thighs.
Looking down at Harry, Oliver ran his eyes from the hand on his thigh up to Harry's face and he laughed. "Who's pulling out the smooth moves now?" Oliver teased and he seemed more relaxed than he had a minute ago.
"Well, I have been learning from the master." Harry grinned cheekily, enjoying the rich sound of Oliver's laughter that followed that look. He stepped between Oliver's legs and reached up to cup the back of his head, urging the boy downwards as he stood up on the tips of his toes so he could reach Oliver's lips.
Harry felt the same spark he got whenever he kissed Oliver, little ripples of excited pleasure that made him shiver, though because he was so short and the bench so high, it was a strain to keep their lips together. As if sensing Harry's discomfort, Oliver slid forward on the bench and locked his legs around Harry, making it much easier for him to kiss Oliver like he wanted - passionately and thoroughly.
Ding
"Coffee's ready," a breathless Oliver said, pulling back from Harry.
"I don't really want any to be honest."
Oliver laughed and, staring down at Harry through shiny eyes, he ran a finger lightly over Harry's swollen lips. "Bedroom instead?"
Harry would have been quite willing to settle for the kitchen floor but he murmured his agreement and stepped aside, allowing Oliver to slide off the bench. Kissing and laughing, Harry and Oliver slowly made for Oliver's bedroom. They paused on the stairs to kick off their shoes and socks, and while removing each other's jackets the boys got distracted and they ended up staying on the stairs longer than either boy intended.
Somewhere between the staircase and Oliver's room, the mood between them altered significantly. They stood in the centre of Oliver's large bedroom, staring at one another intently. The happy light heartedness characteristic of their date had all but disappeared, replaced by an intense anticipation that crackled between them palpably. They had both waited so long for this moment and now that it was here, after weeks of bumbling around, neither boy seemed capable of making the first move.
While Harry could easily recognise that Oliver was nervous again, his own emotions were somewhat more mixed. Certainly he was nervous, after all it was his first time with Oliver, but he was also excited, self conscious and a little unsure. His heart was pounding against his chest furiously and his stomach swirled with nerves. Surprisingly though, it was he who made the first move.
Before he really knew what he was doing, Harry reached out with trembling fingers to unbutton Oliver's shirt and then he pushed the fabric apart to reveal a beautifully toned chest. The sight made him forget about his nervousness completely and all he could think about was how much he wanted to taste Oliver's smooth skin. He licked his lips in anticipation and lowered his head.
Unfortunately his assertiveness seemed to spur Oliver into action. Before he was able to so much as lick the chest before him, Oliver shifted, moving slightly out of reach. He chuckled lightly when Harry straightened up, looking thoroughly disappointed. The sound of Oliver's laughter did much to ease Harry's disappoint and, when Oliver reached for him, he shivered excitedly.
With steady fingers, Oliver made short work of Harry's shirt. He pushed it off his shoulders, leaving Harry to shrug his arms free. Oliver lowered his mouth to Harry's chest, running his tongue over firm muscles and along Harry's collarbone. Harry gasped at the sensation that sleek tongue had on his skin but he did manage to keep his hands busy, undoing Oliver's trousers. He sent them and the boy's boxer shorts to the floor with one vigorous push; hands sliding back up Oliver's body to rest on ribs. The older boy stepped out of the pants, kicking them aside carelessly and then broke away from Harry so he could shrug off his shirt.
Smiling lazily, Oliver threw his shirt to the floor and stood proudly before the smaller boy, who couldn't help the soft moan that escaped through his parted lips. He'd known Oliver had an amazing body, had seen it all in brief sections, but Harry hadn't been prepared for the sight Oliver made when he was gloriously naked. The complete package was overwhelming. Oliver was hot. There was no other word for it, Harry thought as his eyes travelled greedily over his beautiful body. Smooth, bronze skin stretched over taut muscles. A thin, wicked trail of dark hair led from Oliver's bellybutton down to his hard cock. Mesmerised by the sight Harry licked his lips appreciatively, his mind filling with ideas. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do more…
"I see all the training I do is worth it," Oliver chuckled, confidently. Bereft of words, Harry could only nod in agreement. Really, Harry would be willing to get down on his hands and knees and kiss the feet of whoever it was that set up Oliver's training schedule.
"Come here," Oliver smirked, reaching out to grip the waist of Harry's trousers, pulling him forward. "You can look later." He promised and deft hands pulled down the zip.
Harry shivered when Oliver's fingers slipped below the waistband of his boxers to flick lightly over his hips and, as Oliver slowly started to pull down both his boxers and pants, Harry had to put his hands on Oliver's muscular shoulders to steady himself. Oliver followed the progress of Harry's clothes, lowering himself to the ground. He trailed his tongue lightly over Harry's cock, making the boy hiss with pleasure before continuing down. He kept his movements agonisingly slow, licking a path down one of Harry's thighs, over his knee and down Harry's calf, until Harry's trousers and boxers were bunched around his ankles.
"Here, let's get rid of these," Oliver murmured, looking up at Harry.
With Oliver's hands gripping the backs of his thighs, steadying him, Harry stepped out of his clothes, flicking them back with his foot.
Oliver sat back on his folded legs, his eyes slowly travelling over Harry. A hot surge of excitement shot straight to the younger boy's already hard length. It twitched eagerly and Oliver's eyes seemed to flare. That Oliver was just as affected by the sight of him, amazed Harry but he knew that it was true; the evidence stood out proudly between Oliver's powerful thighs. When Oliver finally flicked his gaze back up to Harry's face, the younger boy was surprised to see that Oliver looked slightly in awe.
"How come you get to look?" Harry asked, breathlessly.
Oliver grinned up at him wickedly. "I told you I wanted to look at you, Harry," - He swept his eyes over Harry again - "I seem to remember telling you all sorts of things… you might have been a bit too pissed to remember it though…" Oliver teased.
"I remember," Harry whispered, staring down at Oliver in fascination. He remembered that part of the night quite vividly; had spent most of the day reliving it. He remembered Oliver's throaty voice and the feel of Oliver's fingers circling him, bringing him to release.
Oliver sat up again so that his back was straight as he knelt before Harry. "What else did I tell you?" Oliver asked and, smirking up at Harry, he exhaled, making warm air ghost over Harry's cock. It twitched again, excited by the stimulation and by having Oliver so near. Harry could sympathise.
"Um… that you wanted to touch me…"
Feeling strong hands run over the backs of his thighs to grip his arse firmly, Harry trailed off distractedly. He didn't know exactly what Oliver wanted to do to him at that moment but whatever it was he wanted to make it as easy as possible for the other boy and he shifted his feet, spreading his legs a bit to give Oliver better access to thighs and arse.
"And what else?" Oliver prompted.
"There was something about exploring and about watching me cum." As he said the last word, Harry's cheeks reddened slightly but he was staring down at Oliver far to intently, willing him to do something, that he wasn't even aware of his own embarrassment.
Oliver noticed, his eyes darkening at the sight. "I think I'll add taste to the list," Oliver murmured and he lowered his head so he could kiss the smooth skin of Harry's inner thigh.
"Oh god," Harry groaned in relief, grateful to have Oliver's mouth back on him, even if it wasn't exactly where he wanted it to be...
As calloused fingers kneaded the taut flesh of his arse, Oliver ran his tongue lightly over the sensitive skin of his thighs, making Harry shiver with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. He held his breath, waiting for the moment Oliver would get to his hard prick but Oliver didn't move on. He bit and kissed at the smooth skin, paying equal attention to each leg, teasing Harry with each caress. By the time Oliver finally got to his balls, Harry was shaking and moaning so badly it was a wonder he hadn't collapsed to the floor.
"Shit, Oliver," Harry panted. His hands sneaked down to grip Oliver's head, fingers threading through the short locks as Oliver tongued his scrotum, gently lapping, kissing and sucking. The boy was going to kill him at this rate, Harry thought dazedly.
When Oliver let go, Harry whimpered pathetically until he felt Oliver's sinful tongue sneak out to lick the base of his cock. Harry groaned, keeping his eyes locked on Oliver, as the boy trailed his tongue up his length and swirled it teasingly around the head. Looking up at Harry, Oliver settled his lips over the tip of Harry's cock and sucked, his tongue toying with the slit. Harry had never seen anything as erotic as that in his whole life and something about his reaction - it could have been the whimpering, the squirming, or a combination of both - must have pleased Oliver, because the boy smiled around the cock in his mouth.
"Don't tease me, Oliver," Harry pleaded, staring at Oliver through wide delirious eyes.
Oliver pulled his mouth off Harry. "But you like it," Oliver chuckled, brining one his hands around to grip the base of Harry's cock tightly.
Well, he had him there…
Obviously deciding to take pity on Harry, Oliver's mouth descended over his cock, sucking it in inch by inch, using his tongue to massage the underside. Harry's fingers clenched in Oliver's hair and, although it was hard, he resisted the urge to just pump into that hot mouth - Oliver be damned. In the end he didn't really need to because once he'd taken Harry into his mouth, Oliver set a fast pace. Bobbing his head over Harry's cock quickly, sucking on Harry's throbbing length and then swallowing so Harry was buried deep in his throat.
"Ohhh fuck," Harry gasped, throwing his head back and, his hips jerked involuntarily, pushing his cock hard into Oliver's sinful mouth, making the other boy gag. It felt so fucking good - hot, wet, tight - Harry's fingers clenched in Oliver's hair, painfully tight. Oliver didn't seem to mind, far from it; once he got accustomed to Harry's haphazard thrusting, the little tease started humming. The vibrations stimulating Harry's sensitive flesh, making Harry moan.
Oliver was very good at this…
"Please don't," Harry whined when Oliver pulled his mouth away but his fingers unclenched in the boy's hair as Oliver slowly got to his feet to stare Harry in the eye. They shimmered with intensity and something Harry couldn't recognise…
He didn't even get the chance to think about it because Oliver took hold of his face and lips came crashing down over Harry's in a passionate, needy kiss. It seemed as though Oliver was trying to suck out his soul but it wasn't enough for Harry. He wanted more, needed more. So he wound his arms around Oliver's neck, pulling himself upwards. The action forced their firm bodies into alignment, making the smooth skin of their chests meet and their hard lengths rub together. Both boys groaned into the kiss and Oliver's hands moved around Harry's waist, pulling the smaller boy even closer. Never breaking the kiss, Oliver lifted Harry off the ground slightly and walked them back towards the bed. When his calves met the mattress, Harry felt himself being gently lowered back to the ground and he tore his mouth away, gasping for air.
Leaning his head back, Oliver's eyes flicked over Harry's face, taking in the swollen lips, flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes. He smiled fondly and placed a soft kiss to the side of Harry's parted lips. "You're so gorgeous, Harry."
Harry's lips trembled at the sound of Oliver's husky voice...
The older boy reached up to support the back of Harry's head, lowering him carefully onto the bed as though he was something delicate and precious. He then pushed Harry's legs apart gently and settled between them, his hard body pushing Harry into the mattress. Harry wrapped his legs and arms around Oliver, hugging him to his body. Oliver groaned and rocked against the smaller boy, his cock nudging against Harry's cleft.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I wanted to do so many things to you but I cant wait anymore," Oliver breathed into Harry's ear, nudging his cock against Harry's entrance. "I need to be inside you."
Harry groaned, pushing back on the hard prick. "I want it," he panted, the words not even close to conveying just how much he wanted Oliver to pound him into the mattress.
He let his arms fall from around Oliver, allowing the boy to shift off him slightly and, as Oliver tapped a hand under one of his pillows searchingly, Harry turned his head to the side so he could watch the other boy. He gave a throaty laugh when Oliver pulled out a vial of lubricant. "Did you plan this, Oliver?"
"Might have," Oliver said, looking slightly embarrassed as he lowered himself back over Harry.
Harry's heat thumped against his chest; he loved that he could make Oliver react that way. It was refreshing to know he wasn't the only one nervous about how things would work out between them. That said - he didn't want Oliver to be feeling nervous now.
Cupping Oliver's face between his hands and tenderly stroking his thumbs over Oliver's cheeks, Harry kissed him softly. "Please Oliver," Harry gasped as he thrust up against Oliver, "…Fuck me." Oliver groaned and his mouth came crashing down over Harry's in a bruising kiss.
Pulling away, he reached behind his back, encouraging Harry to unlock his legs. He sat up, kneeling between Harry's bent legs and Harry watched in rapt fascination as Oliver squeezed the lubricant onto his hand, rubbing it over his leaking cock. Harry licked his lips; thinking he'd have to get Oliver to wank in front of him sometime, but not right now. He needed Oliver inside him, pounding away as if his very life depended on bringing them both to climax.
A slick finger tapped against him, before slipping inside his willing body, gently loosening the muscle. Harry's pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the swollen skin as the finger was pushed in and out. Oliver's beautiful eyes stayed fixed on him, watching his every reaction as a second finger slid inside. When Oliver's fingers brushed against his prostate Harry groaned deep in his throat and his body twitched.
"Please, Oliver," Harry panted, squeezing around Oliver's fingers. It was enough; he was more than ready to take Oliver.
Oliver's fingers stilled and he stared down at Harry so intently, it seemed as though he was stuck in some sort of daze. Given the chance Harry could have come from Oliver just looking at him like that but he didn't want to; he needed Oliver. He was going to have to make the other boy move, Harry realised and he lifted his legs, popping his feet on Oliver's shoulders.
"Fuck me, Oliver," Harry demanded, clenching his muscles around Oliver's fingers again.
It did the trick, Oliver snapped out of his trance and pulled his fingers free before lowering himself over Harry. He drove his tongue into Harry's mouth desperately as Harry adjusted his legs over his shoulders, getting comfortable and making things easier.
"Are you sure you're ready?" Oliver whispered, rubbing his cheek against Harry's sensuously.
"Yes," Harry hissed, rocking against Oliver's length temptingly.
Oliver propped himself up on one arm and staring straight into Harry's green eyes, he eased himself into Harry's relaxed body with one powerful push. Those eyes shut briefly and Oliver gasped as Harry clenched around his hard cock, proving beyond words just how ready he was for Oliver. He pulled out and slammed back in, hitting Harry's prostate and making him cry out loudly.
Oliver kept his thrusts slow and deep, staring into Harry's eyes as he languidly fucked the smaller boy. His face hovered over Harry's, looking needy and enraptured and Harry was certain he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He didn't want to miss a single expression that crossed Oliver's face. And he fought his natural urge to shut his eyes and just enjoy the feeling of having someone in him, filling him completely. Harry called out, begging Oliver to go faster, harder, but Oliver didn't give into his pleas. He kept to his tortuous pace, running his eyes over Harry's face as he thrust inside, hitting the special spot every couple of thrusts.
His eyes seemed to darken as Harry neared his peak and he reached between their sweaty bodies to take Harry in hand. At first Oliver pumped Harry's prick at the same slow speed at which he fucked him but as Harry got closer, his cries louder, Oliver's grip tightened and his hand worked over Harry furiously.
Harry's fingers clawed at Oliver's back desperately, searching for more and wanting anything. He rocked his hips, driving himself into Oliver's fist. And as Oliver thrust into him again, hitting his prostate, Harry gasped his name breathlessly and his eyes shut tightly as he went spiralling over the edge, coming hard. His body shuddered and he was only vaguely aware that Oliver had stilled inside him. Too gone to feel the kisses that rained over his face, or the hand milking him of everything he had to give.
"Fuck, Harry," Oliver panted into his ear. "You're so fucking beautiful." Oliver let go of Harry's cock and placed his hand on the bed.
Harry opened his eyes to smile lazily at the other boy.
Oliver pulled out and rammed back in fiercely. He sucked on the side of Harry's neck and whispered incoherent things as he finally started to pound Harry into the mattress. It was as though Oliver was now unleashed, free to use Harry's body for his own pleasure and Harry loved it. Each time Oliver drove into him, a wave of pleasure washed over Harry's spent body. When he felt Oliver gasping against his neck, Harry clenched around Oliver, making himself tighter; wanting to bring Oliver to completion. Biting down on the side of Harry's neck, Oliver tensed. Groaning in the back of his throat and came deep inside Harry. Oliver panted, his trembling body collapsing on top of Harry.
For a long while, he lay there recovering from his orgasm. Harry stroked his back rhythmically, soothingly. When his breathing returned to normal and the trembling of his body subsided, Oliver made to lift himself off Harry.
"Stay there," murmured Harry, sleepily; his arms tightening around Oliver's back, stopping the larger boy from moving.
"Aren't I too heavy?" Oliver breathed against his neck.
"No, I like it." For some reason, Harry felt the need to whisper, as though he was revealing a shocking secret.
Oliver wriggled down, laying his head on Harry's chest. "Is this okay?"
"Uh huh," Harry murmured, gazing down at Oliver fondly.
They lay like that for a while before slowly drifting off to sleep…
Chapter Fourteen: House Husband
Next morning, Harry woke alone. He instantly felt something akin to fear start in his gut. Where the hell was Oliver? He wondered, as he stared at the vacant space beside him on the bed, what if? Harry quickly pushed that thought from his mind…
Straining his ears, he listened intently, hoping to pick up a sound to indicate Oliver was somewhere nearby, but there was nothing. He couldn't hear the faint hiss of the shower coming from the bathroom or even far away noises from downstairs. In fact, as he was forced fully awake by the anxious churning in his stomach, Harry realized there was a certain stillness to the air and it made him think that he was alone in the house.
He sat up in a start. His fearful eyes hastily swept the room. When he didn't find Oliver hiding at the foot of the bed as he dared to hope, his face sank with visible disappointment and his mind filled with doubts. What if this was Oliver's way of telling him that now that he had got what he wanted Harry should just run along home? A sort of 'thanks for the shag, I'll call you if I ever feel the urge again'. It would certainly fit with all the things Fred had told him about Oliver's 'love life', Harry thought to himself, eyes still flicking around the room searchingly.
It was then that his gaze fell on the bed and he noticed that on top of Oliver's pillow lay a small piece of parchment. It was folded in half and had his name written on one side in the same messy handwriting he'd seen on his invitation to the house warming.
"Panic pants," Harry muttered under his breath, feeling like the worlds biggest prat. He reached for the parchment eagerly, flipped it open and smiled as he read the words inside:
Harry,
Sorry I had to leave so early, we have practice this morning. Last night was amazing! Please don't leave before I get back, I have plans for you. I should be back around noon, make yourself at home,
Oliver
Talk about panicking over nothing. Oliver hadn't tired of him yet; far from it, the boy had plans for crying out loud. Plans!
Harry felt his heartbeat return to normal, the anxious churning in his stomach fade, and he realised he was going to have to stop overreacting every time Oliver did something odd like disappear. The mental anxiety was bad enough but the effects on his body couldn't be good for him.
He had no real experience in dealing with men with reputations like Oliver's but so far the other boy had given him no reason to think he was just toying with him. At times Oliver seemed just as nervous as Harry frequently felt and, come to think of it, he had spent a great deal of time just getting to know Harry before he had tried to take the relationship to another level. It had been he, Harry, who had initiated their proper sexual encounters, even if Oliver had always quickly taken over.
This might very well end up being on of Oliver's brief meaningless affairs but if they were going to get anywhere, he was going to have to start thinking more positively, Harry reasoned. If he continued with these fits of insecurity the relationship would never work; couldn't, not with someone like Oliver.
After spending a moment mentally reaffirming his new outlook Harry leant over to put the note on the bedside table and, glancing at the alarm clock, he almost cheered out loud. It was already 11:30 and Oliver would be home very soon. All of a sudden he felt very energetic and he flicked back the covers and practically leapt out of bed. He stretched his arms above his head, groaning happily as his muscles tingled to life, readying for what Harry hoped would be an exhausting afternoon.
If he was going to spend a rigorous afternoon between the sheets, he realised he would have to do something about the stench that had settled over him during the night. Full of purpose, he strode over to the lavish bathroom and started to prepare himself for Oliver's arrival. He went to the toilet, washed his hands and body as best he could without actually having to have a shower, and then rummaged through the cabinet drawers in search of a spare toothbrush. Luckily, Oliver seemed to have a few on hand just in case.
Harry suspected the bathroom had been designed with the specific intention to impress and in many ways it was very impressive, but he found it more amusing than anything else. Even if he had of somehow managed to stumble this far without realising, one look at the bathroom would have told him that Oliver was definitely something of a playboy.
So that Oliver could set the mood, the lights in the room had dimming features and there was also a liberal stack of candles positioned around the bath. All the fittings, the bath and shower, seemed to be made for two… at the very least. It was all so obvious that there something sleazy about it and the whole thing seemed rather bizarre to Harry.
He had no direct experience of this side to Oliver's personality, he'd only heard about it from Fred and sort of seen it when he'd witnessed that scene between Oliver and Siobhan. Looking around him, Harry suffered a momentary bout of pity for the poor, unsuspecting sods that had fallen unwittingly into Oliver's trap. This however was quickly superseded by a desire to sample the bath, and preferably with Oliver. It was long and deep, and Harry could easily imagine getting up to all sorts of mischief in there.
Back in the bedroom, Harry stood with his hands on his hips and looked around for something to do. Why did time seem to tick more slowly when he was stuck in someone else's house? He could spend hours in his own house doing absolutely nothing and never feel even a moment of boredom, yet in a strange house it was torture. Harry supposed he could go downstairs to get something to eat but he would have to get dressed for that and he really could not be bothered. And anyway, Oliver would be home soon, best if he stayed by the bed ready to execute Oliver's plans.
Noticing the clothes they'd discarded the night before still lying on the floor, Harry shrugged his shoulders and went over to pick them all up. It certainly wasn't a particularly interesting thing to do but at least it kept him busy for a minute or two and for that Harry was grateful. After taking the time to fold each item carefully, he took them over to the couch in the corner of the room where he left them in a neat pile.
With nothing else to do Harry made for the bed to start 'the wait'. There wasn't long left now, merely ten minutes or so, presuming Oliver got back when he said he would. Harry got himself comfortable on the bed. He rested his back against the headboard, shut his eyes and allowed his mind to drift off to thoughts of the night before. He had to admit the whole experience had been entirely different to his expectations.
Whenever he'd wondered about it in the past, he'd imagined Oliver would be rather brutish in bed. He'd fully expected to just be bent over and well… but it hadn't been like that at all. It had been rather sweet; like the first time he'd ever had sex only minus the bumbling and excruciating agony. Both times it had felt like he was being worshipped and well, coming from someone like Oliver, that had sent Harry completely off his rocker.
A small smiled played across his face at the memory and he wished he had a Pensieve on hand so he could check it all out from another angle. Still, even without the Pensieve, the memory was rather satisfying and by the time he became aware of the voice calling out his name from somewhere downstairs, he had quite the pressing problem between his legs.
Hearing footsteps pounding up the staircase, Harry's eyes snapped open and he looked down at himself thoughtfully. He briefly contemplated covering his lap with a corner of the silky sheet but dismissed the idea as prudish and absurd in the face of recent events. He also decided against taking himself in hand, that would have been going too far in the other direction. No, best to save that for another time.
Harry looked towards the door and when it opened, he quickly schooled his features into an innocent expression. It took all his self-control not to piss himself laughing at the look of shock on Oliver's face. Whatever Oliver had been expecting to come home to, it clearly wasn't this and Harry felt very proud of himself, and quite sexy at the same time.
Oliver hastily stepped into the room and shut the door quickly. There was an air of panic about his movements and Harry wondered if perhaps Jackson was somewhere nearby but he didn't particularly care enough to ask.
"I'm not complaining or anything, "Oliver said, eyes fixed on Harry's lap," but what are you doing He gestured vaguely towards the bed.
Warming to his new role as sex kitten, Harry pretended to think it over. "Sitting?" He suggested airily.
Oliver's eyebrows shot up in surprise and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Do you do this often?" he asked in a deep voice.
Harry wasn't of course one for swanning about in the raw but Oliver seemed so excited by the idea that he found himself nodding anyway. "But only on Tuesdays," Harry said, giving a careless shrug.
Oliver laughed softly, his eyes crinkled, up at the sides and Harry took to opportunity to study the other boy. Despite the laughter, Oliver was obviously still in a state of shock because he was still standing rather awkwardly by the door. He had on his Quidditch robes, buttoned up to the top, his hair was slightly damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed as though he hadn't long since finished on the pitch.
"Didn't you even bother to shower?" Harry asked, assuming a disgusted voice. It would have sounded quite cutting if only he could have kept the smile off his face. As it was, Oliver laughed at him and moved away from the door.
"I thought I might do that with you." He came over to stand at the foot of the bed, dropped his sports bag onto the floor and looked pointedly at Harry. "Although I did plan on getting sweaty again first."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, exercise is very important, Harry," said Oliver in an earnest voice. He reached for the top button of his Quidditch Robe and Harry didn't know what to do, so he gulped audibly.
Could his day possibly get any better? He had the prospect of either a bath or shower with Oliver ahead of him and right now, a striptease. Harry didn't think he would be able to cope with much more. God he was already hard as a rock and Oliver hadn't removed a single thing. Still, he was fully prepared to enjoy himself.
Eyes glued to Oliver, he edged forward on the bed, silently willing him to hurry up. The other boy however, took an age undoing the robe. It didn't help that he paused half way to brush off imaginary pieces of lint and to inspect his pockets though he failed to produce a single thing from any of them. By the time he finally dropped the robe on the floor, Harry had shuffled half way down the bed and he groaned in disappointment when he saw that Oliver had a jumper on underneath.
Oliver seemed to want to pay Harry back for his earlier cheek because instead of pulling off the jumper as Harry had hoped, he turned around, bent over and started to undo his shoes. It wasn't much of a punishment because quite frankly Harry very much appreciated the view he had of Oliver's firm backside.
"You want to be careful waving that around," Harry murmured and he received the most delicious chuckle in return.
The older boy stood back up and turned around to face Harry. He had a sly little smirk on his face and Harry instantly felt worried. Whatever Oliver had in store for him was clearly going to drive him mad.
And Oliver did just that. He spent what felt like an age removing his jumper, making Harry wait until he was pleading before he started to properly tug it over his head. As he did, the t-shirt he was wearing underneath rose up and Harry licked his lips at the sight of the tanned skin. At the back of his mind he realised that Oliver had usurped him from his role as sex kitten but he couldn't find it in him to care. The older boy dropped the jumper to the floor and his hands moved down to hold the bottom of his t-shirt. He lifted it a couple of times as though he was hot and fanning himself and he chuckled evilly at the look of sheer desperation on Harry's face.
"You look a bit flushed," Oliver observed and Harry wished he had some galleons to throw at the boy, anything to make him hurry up.
"Just get on with it," Harry muttered through gritted teeth.
Oliver rubbed a hand over his stomach. "I don't know, I think I feel a bit hungry now."
Harry thought of a positively filthy reply but he couldn't bring himself to utter it out loud, so he crawled to the edge of the bed. He sat back on his haunches and stared at Oliver with an impatient expression on his face. He wasn't exactly sure what he would do if Oliver dared to leave, probably wrestle him onto the ground or something equally bestial, but there was no way he was going to be left wanting.
"Oh, alright then," Oliver said, giving an exaggerated sigh. "But just a quickie." He pulled off his t-shirt in a flash and moved towards Harry before the smaller boy even had a chance to appreciate the skin he'd waited so long to see. Oliver weaved his fingers through the unruly dark locks and his mouth covered Harry's. The kiss started out quite slow but Harry quickly deepened it, making up for the other boy's teasing.
When Oliver straightened up again, Harry was left staring at the dark trail of hair leading down to Oliver's groin. It was fast becoming his favourite part of Oliver, but then he'd also thought that about his chest, bum and other bits at one time or another. Oliver's nimble fingers started to undo the button of his Quidditch trousers and Harry felt his breath hitch in his chest.
He quickly shifted on the bed so that he was sitting on the edge, swatted Oliver's hand away and started on the task himself. There had been some things he'd wanted to try out and now seemed as good a time as any. Oliver seemed to think so too because he threaded his fingers through Harry's hair again and when Harry finally freed his hardness Oliver groaned.
"What's your problem?" Harry said and, mouth hovering by Oliver's groin, he grinned up at the boy mischievously.
A long while later…
"Harry!" Oliver called from the bathroom. "The bath's ready!"
So much for him being hungry, Harry thought, smiling as he rolled off the bed. He padded over to the bathroom with a new spring in his step and just as he neared the door, he heard a large splash followed by the sound of water sloshing over the side of the bathtub to hit the floor.
Wondering if Oliver had hurt himself, Harry raced the rest of the distance and could only watch in amusement as a spluttering Oliver emerged from underneath the water. He should have looked like a drowned rat, but he didn't. He looked as good as always only wet and Harry quickly decided it really suited the older boy.
Being careful to inject the right amount of concern into his voice Harry asked if Oliver was alright.
"I'm fine thanks, Harry," Oliver said a little breathlessly. He shook his head so that droplets of water flicked off his hair onto the wall behind and then pointed down at the water in the bath. "Get In!"
Oliver used his Quidditch captain voice and Harry found himself hurrying to obey the command. In his haste he slipped on the water the other boy had splashed onto the floor and he had to put a hand on the bathtub to stop himself falling in headfirst.
"Ah, thanks," Harry said, accepting the hand Oliver offered to him, "Can you slide back a bit?"
He waited patiently for Oliver to give him more room, and then he carefully stepped into the bath. Only the water was so hot he hissed in pain and shifted his feet in a pointless attempt to cool them down.
"Shut up you," Harry mumbled when he noticed Oliver watching him in amusement.
"Just sit down you wimp."
Harry muttered a quiet obscenity under his breath but again he did as he was told, it was like he was having flashbacks to the days when Oliver had been his Quidditch Captain. Harry sniggered as he lowered himself to the water, realising he was presenting Oliver with a bird's eye view of his arse. He heard the other boy chuckle as well only he didn't have time to tell him to be quiet because the next moment his bum hit the water. If he'd thought it hot before that was nothing compared to how much it stung the soft non-weathered skin on his bottom.
Howling in pain, Harry lifted his hips so that his bum hovered over the water. He felt a calloused hand smooth over the burning flesh and long fingers sweeping between the cleft.
"I didn't hurt you did I?" Oliver asked, voice full of concern.
It took Harry a moment to realise Oliver wasn't talking about the water and when he did he couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Its just the water, you tit," Harry said fondly.
He was just thinking how sweet and considerate Oliver was when he felt fingers grip his hips and he found himself pulled unceremoniously into the water. It created an almighty splash, water sloshed over the side of the tub as the momentum of Oliver's movements sent them sliding back and forth in the water.
"How's your bum now?" Oliver chuckled in his ear and he slid them both backwards until his back was against the bath.
"To be honest, I'm still in shock, I can't even begin to think about the pain in my arse," Harry lied.
The pain had most definitely receded. All he could feel now was the tingling underneath his skin where his body touched Oliver's. Harry quickly decided that his brief scorching had been well worth it and he leant back against Oliver, wriggling until he was comfortable.
"Are you quite alright?" Oliver asked, peeing over Harry's shoulder to where the smaller boy was using his bent legs as a handy armrest.
"Yeah, I'm really comfortable thanks." He wriggled against Oliver's chest again and smoothed his hands over the boy's knees to prove his point.
Although he had used communal showers and spent time in spas in the past, Harry had never taken a bath with anyone before. When he was a child his Aunt Petunia had always considered him to be far too freakish to bath with her precious Dudley (not that Harry had minded). Two minutes into his first experience of bathing with someone else, Harry decided he liked it, and very much at that. There was something very soothing about lying in a body of water while Oliver drew lazy patters on his chest. Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep. That was of course until it occurred to him quite suddenly that something was missing.
"Oliver?" Harry waited until he received a quiet 'hmm' in response before he continued. "How come you haven't dimmed the lights of lit any candles?" Harry suspected the answer was because Oliver considered him a sure thing… which was fair enough really.
"Fuck you, Harry," Oliver snickered and he squeezed his arms around Harry tightly as a punishment. Harry could feel the other boy's cheek burning where it touched his and he couldn't be sure if it was from the steam wafting up from the bath or if, in fact, Oliver Wood was embarrassed.
He didn't even get the chance to check for himself because Oliver drew back from him suddenly and the next moment he pushed Harry in the back. It was quite a gentle push but it sent the smaller boy sliding towards the centre of the bath, and obviously, that was where Oliver had intended him to end up…
"Just get the soap, Harry." Oliver chuckled when Harry turned to glare at him over his shoulder. "Its in that thing," He said, pointing at the soap tray attached to the wall on Harry's right. Oliver then leant over to pick up a sponge from the side of the bath.
And that was when it hit Harry; Oliver Wood was about to become his private wash boy. There was only one thing he could do - he lunged for the soap tray in an instant, picking up the slippery white bar before sliding back towards the wash boy.
Oliver peered over the smaller boys shoulder and started to rub the soap into the sponge methodically.
"So how was Quidditch?" Harry asked conversationally as he watched Oliver's hands in fascination.
"Boring," Oliver grunted.
"Boring? What did you have to do? Are they as hard on you as you were on Gryffindor?" Harry asked with a chuckle.
"I was a picnic compared to these people."
"Huh…" Harry mumbled doubtfully. Oliver had been an absolute nightmare of a coach.
"Its true!" He poked Harry in the ribs in retaliation, making Harry squirm. "This morning alone, I had to swim for an hour, spend another in the gym, another one going over plays and then we had two hours on the pitch."
"Bloody hell, really?" Harry grasped, craning his neck back so he could look at Oliver. That was what, five hours of constant training. It sounded inhuman to Harry and he hoped for Oliver's sake that he only had to go through it once a week.
"Yes really… Now put this back, you seem to have got yourself filthy."
At last, Harry thought eagerly. He snatched the soap from Oliver and practically threw it back into the soap tray.
"Okay, wash me," Harry said in a dreamy voice, settling back against Oliver.
As Oliver started to run the sponge over his chest, Harry rested his head on the other boy's shoulder and shut his eyes.
"And what did you do while I was away?" Oliver murmured in his ear, gently tugging the lobe between his teeth.
A wicked grin spread across Harry's face, "I slept."
"You can't have been, you were pretty wide away when I got home."
They shared a snigger and Harry let his eyelids flick open so he could see Oliver out the corner of his eye. "Its true. I only got up at half past eleven," Harry confessed.
"You lazy sod," Oliver muttered, "I had to get up at six!"
Now that didn't just sound inhuman, it was inhuman. They had still been up at three that morning, Harry remembered, they'd been having their second go. Sorry though he felt for the other boy, it wasn't his problem - it was Oliver that had decided to be the professional Quidditch player after all, and Harry certainly wasn't going to feel guilty about lazing in bed.
He shut his eyes again and let himself simply enjoy the experience of having Oliver wash him. He did notice that Oliver seemed obsessed with working up lather on his skin. After swiping the sponge over his arms and chest Oliver's other hand would then follow the same path. He repeated this process continuously and Harry felt his chest become a soapy mess. Sometimes the hand would dip lower, down to Harry's belly. It would linger there. Sadly, he never went as far down as Harry would have liked. Harry suspected this was because Oliver didn't want to rinse off the sponge and he wished he had of thought to keep a hold of that soap.
"I thought you weren't going to be here when I got back," said Oliver. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. Harry wondered if perhaps Oliver hadn't meant to say the words out loud but even so, hearing them made little butterflies flit around in his stomach.
"It must have come as quite a surprise when you got home then?"
"A pleasant one," Oliver murmured. He kissed Harry on the check and threw the washcloth into the water. "My turn now."
He coaxed Harry to sit up and then grabbed him by the arms. As he had no idea what Oliver was trying to achieve, he just allowed himself to be manhandled. It was hard going, Harry ended up flashing his arse at Oliver numerous times, but when Oliver was finished, he found himself sitting in the middle of the bath with his legs around Oliver's waist. It was quite cosy; Oliver was so close to him he could see the fine lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth. They were rather cute, Harry decided as he tapped his hand around in the water, searching for the sponge.
Harry gave the sponge a couple of cursory swipes, and after a moment of quiet contemplation, he chose to start with Oliver's shoulders and arms.
"I could get used to this," Oliver murmured lazily, watching Harry from between hooded lids. "My very own house wife - waits for me to get home, washes me…"
"House Husband," Harry pointed out crossly. He didn't mind being a homebody, actually it sounded rather fun, just so long as he got to be a manly one.
"And there I was thinking you were a girl," Oliver muttered. A cheeky smile appeared on his face and he dipped his hand below the water to briefly take hold of the contrary evidence. "But obviously not."
Harry would have liked to think that he sniggered in response but it was most definitely a giggle. It was rather high pitched and Harry was so embarrassed to hear the sound come from him, and right after he'd been proving his masculinity as well, he put up a hand to cover his mouth and his cheeks flushed with mortification. Oliver could have so easily teased Harry about it but he seemed to find it endearing and he chose to pull the hand away and covered Harry's mouth with his own instead. The kiss was warm, lazy, and it seemed to last forever.
Eventually Oliver did pull back. His lips were parted slightly and he stared at Harry with a strange look on his face. Harry found the sparkle in his glazed eyes enchanting and he wondered what Oliver was thinking about. After a moment the older boy shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind, and his gaze dropped to Harry's neck.
Lowering his face to nuzzle the smooth skin, he murmured, "Wash my back, Harry."
He could feel Oliver smiling against his throat. Cheeky prat, Harry thought.
"I've got the sponge," - Harry groaned as Oliver bit his shoulder - "I'm in control," he finished his sentence even though he did realise the words were completely untrue. Oliver hadn't even needed to break out the Quidditch voice, one bite and he was hurrying to obey. He was whipped already and it had been barely two days!
For some strange reason, this made Harry laugh and he most pleased to hear that it was a deep, rich chuckle and not a flipping giggle. Still he stifled his laughter by placing his mouth against Oliver's shoulder and got on with washing the boy's back as ordered.
It didn't take him long to realise why Oliver had taken such joy in soaping him up. There really was something about soapsuds and skin. The lather contrasted with Oliver's tanned flesh and made it look sleek, even more tempting then usual. It made him want to follow the trail of soap with his tongue even though he knew for a fact that soap tasted revolting. As he couldn't reach, Harry turned his head and nibbled the other boy's ear instead. His hand continued to wash over the firm back, though every so often Oliver biting his neck would distract him.
After a while, Oliver pulled back from Harry slightly and asked, "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"Good," he said and he kissed Harry on the check, "because you're not going home today." Oliver then pushed Harry off his lap and slid away from him. "But I think we should get out now, or…" - He made a lewd gesture with his hands - "and we really need to eat, you haven't even had breakfast yet."
"I can wait," Harry said and, full of intent, he started sliding back towards Oliver.
"Harry!" Oliver warned and he hastily got to his feet.
Damn, he would have to wait, Harry realised.
"You'll need sustenance, I have an absolute marathon planned for you later."
Well that at least sounded promising, Harry thought and he got up and stepped out the bath.
He thought that perhaps they would dry each other off but Oliver didn't seem to think it was such a good idea. He handed Harry a towel and stood as far away as possible while they dried themselves.
"Come on, this is distracting," Oliver said, looking at Harry's chest pointedly. He took him by the hand and pulled him out the bathroom. "We'll get you some clothes."
They padded across the bedroom together to the door between the full-length mirror and the chest of drawers. Though he had never been inside, he guessed that it lead to a walk in robe of sorts. However, when Oliver opened the door, Harry was quite literally dumbfounded by the sight. It was a wardrobe. But what a wardrobe. It was bigger than his bedroom at home and considerably neater.
Racks of clothing lined three of the walls, ordered into neat sections by colours and types. The one on the far wall was long and Harry could see Oliver's robes hanging there neatly. Along both sides, the racks doubled up so that there was one at the top of the wall and one halfway down, creating more space. These shorter racks were filled with shirts, jumpers, jackets and trousers in a whole range of styles, fabrics and colours. On the wall behind him, Harry saw that pigeonholes had been attached around the doorframe. They covered the whole wall and in each box was a pair of shoes.
Who would have guessed that Oliver Wood, the burly Quidditch player, was a shopaholic in disguise? And a thoroughly convincing disguise it had to be said. Harry for the life of him could not imagine the Oliver he knew traipsing around London in search of the latest fashion. The very idea would have been comical if only it weren't so obviously true.
And here was the sort of thing he didn't need to know about a person until much, much later. Way down the road when he wouldn't so much as bat an eyelash if he saw Oliver pick his nose. Somehow, Harry thought, he would have been less shocked to discover a room full of body parts.
He had a vision of Oliver morphing into Fred flash through his mind. The vision came complete with that piercing sound affect they used in horror movies. Harry shuddered at the thought and then burst out laughing. It was too ridiculous. There was absolutely no way Oliver would start obsessing about his clothes.
"This is a whole side to your personality that I didn't know about, or want to." Harry murmured quietly.
"Piss off, you prat," Oliver said in amusement, quickly catching onto Harry's train of thought. "I didn't buy all this, I get sent it from shops and that."
Harry was quietly very relieved to hear this little piece of information. Having a secret shopping obsession wasn't that bad but it would have definitely altered his perception of Oliver. There would always have been that little hear in the back of his mind that Oliver would turn into the red headed menace. "Fred hasn't seen this room has he?"
"No," Oliver said as he rummaged through one of the racks. "Why?"
"I didn't think so." It wasn't the sort of thing Fred would have left unsaid. He probably would have declared it a temple. Harry could just imagine him coming to pray at it daily, brining ritual gifts of hats and belts as offerings. He snapped out of his amusing imaginings when he felt something soft hit him in the face.
Looking down, Harry saw a pair of pants on the ground. "Oh, thanks," He muttered, bending over to pick them up. They were light cotton sleep pants and they looked pretty bloody comfortable. He pulled them on, tying the cords as tight as they would go. When he looked up again, Oliver was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and he was holding out another t-shirt for Harry to take.
He watched Harry struggle into the oversized t-shirt and he laughed when he saw that it almost came down to Harry's knees. "Come on, I'm starved."
Feeling like he was wearing Dudley's clothes again, Harry followed Oliver down to the kitchen. Oliver made straight for the Spellmaster that lived on the bench and spoke into it in a clear voice. They were having ham sandwiches with pumpkin juice apparently and, wonder of wonders; they were having it out in the courtyard. He hadn't even known they had a courtyard but then Oliver had only dealt with the outside areas briefly at the housewarming.
With his task complete, Oliver stepped back from the appliance and the kitchen clattered into action.
"I don't know how you do it, Oliver." Harry shook his head.
"Cooking is just one of my many talents," Oliver retorted as he made for the door to outside.
"Cooking?" Harry snorted. When the appliance did all the work, did it really count as cooking? He didn't think so.
Even though it was gloomy outside, the sun hidden behind dark clouds in a grey sky, Harry liked it out in the courtyard. A small hedge surrounded the area. In the centre was a small table with chairs around it and to the side there was a small birdbath.
"Do you like birds?" Harry asked curiously, watching Oliver take a seat at the table.
Oliver surprised Harry by throwing his head back and laughing. "It came with the house, Harry," He said, taking Harry by the hand and pulling him into his lap. "My wardrobe? My birdbath? What are you trying to do, slyly find out all my quirks?" Oliver chuckled in his ear and Harry had to admit the boy had a point.
It would seem that way to Oliver, and maybe it was even true. Perhaps he was reading too much in things and he should start waiting for things to reveal themselves naturally. Still, he couldn't help being curious.
"Do you have many quirks then?"
Oliver rolled his eyes, "A few," He grinned. "On Tuesdays I like to tie a midget in an oversized t-shirt to my bed."
Midget? Harry knew he was being insulted and that he wasn't really that short, but he had to laugh. He imagined Oliver with a real midget tied to his bed and he found the image mind boggling, and slightly disturbing.
"What do you do to the midget?" Harry said, glancing at Oliver cheekily.
"Nothing. I just leave him there and go hang out with Jackson." Oliver looked at Harry in triumph and drew a line on his imaginary scoreboard.
Not to be out done, Harry replied…
This childishness continued and by the time the meal came whizzing out the backdoor, Oliver was in Marrakech and Harry had magiced himself off the bed and was being fed artichokes by a guy named Clyde. Harry liked to think this meant he won their fun game of one-upmanship but Oliver was also looking very smug.
As the Spellmaster set up his lunch on the opposite side of the table, Harry had to get out of his very comfortable seat on Oliver's lap so he could go around to the other side of the table. Although looking down at the sandwiches piled high on his plate, Harry realised just how hungry he was and he tucked in quickly. Unlike the limp sandwiches he made at home, these were delicious. There was almost an indecent amount of ham on each and the bread was both tender and fresh.
A companionable silence settled between the boys as they ate their lunch, both of them lost in their own private worlds. Harry's thoughts were neither particularly deep nor interesting. All that he really thought about was that he was having a nice time and how it had been such a long time since he remembered having enjoyed himself quite like this. He did, though, wonder how long they would be able to continue like this. Oliver looked rather thoughtful and Harry soon uncovered why. He was halfway through his sandwiches when Oliver finally spoke.
"Is this what you do everyday?" Oliver peered at Harry over his glass.
"What? Hang out with famous Quidditch players eating ham sandwiches?" Oliver glared at him in exasperation. "Oh, you mean, do I basically do nothing everyday." Harry laughed nervously.
"Yeah, well, I know you said you're still trying to work out what you want to do, so I was just wondering…"
He left the words hanging there but Harry knew what he meant. At one point or another Harry had had this conversation with everyone he knew and he hated it. They always seemed to think that it was amazing he hadn't yet died of boredom, which always made Harry feel defensive and as though he had to justify his existence. And this was always a difficult task because as soon as he was questioned he suffered a mental blank, forgot about all the things he did during the day. Harry thought it might be because time travelled a bit differently when you didn't have to rush off here and there to do very important things.
"I do lots of things really," Harry said and he was most definitely stalling for time. "Sometimes I have to do things because of my shares in Fred and George's company, go to meetings and that. But when I'm not doing that I listen to music a lot, read," He was possibly ending up worse than Hermione in that respect - "I do a bit of gardening and then there's the Playstation of course, I'm getting pretty good at that." Harry concluded without thinking.
"Would now be the time to remind you that I know for a fact you're rubbish at Playstation?"
"Its just that one game… honestly… I'm good at the car racing ones," Harry whined in protest.
Oliver rolled his eyes to show he didn't believe Harry for a minute but refrained from commenting. He took another bite of sandwich instead, which surprised Harry. So far, the other boy hadn't said anything disapproving of his lifestyle choice, he seemed merely curious; something Harry wasn't used to at all.
"Is that enough for you?" Harry looked down at his half eaten plate of food in confusion. "Doing nothing I mean," Oliver amended with a smile.
"Yes and no. I've already been something, if you know what I mean?" Oliver nodded in understanding but he didn't question Harry about Voldemort and the final battle. Harry was grateful for this; he wouldn't mind talking to Oliver about it another time. Just not now, while he was already talking about something difficult and especially not when he was feeling so happy.
"So I don't miss having that in my life. I don't know, though, I'll have to do something eventually. I mean I'm already nearly twenty and I don't know how much longer I can do nothing for."
"But if you get money from Fred and George, surely you could…"
Harry shook his head. He'd thought that at first but he was starting to realise it would never work. And he was glad he finally had someone other than Ron to talk to about it, someone who was interested and not judgemental, someone who most definitely would not say I told you so.
"Its not healthy. I totter around doing bugger all really until Ron gets home or Fred pops over. I don't go out very often anymore and I'm becoming boring apparently."
"I don't think you're boring," Oliver said and he looked put out. "Who said you're boring?"
"Fred mostly… But then he does get pissed off because I don't go to clubs with him," Harry grinned evilly.
"Wait a minute… I re-met you in a club."
"But that was because Fred came over and nagged me all day."
He did owe Fred an enormous debt of gratitude for that, Harry realised. Without that little adventure he wouldn't be here now. Perhaps he should buy him a present.
"So start going out at night and spend your days doing nothing."
"There's a plan," Harry agreed amiably, though he did think that would be beside the point.
"How about we go out tonight? I can't be bothered cooking…"
"What do you mean you can't be bothered cooking? You don't bloody do anything when you do cook!"
"Shut up, Harry," Oliver chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "As I was saying, we should go out to dinner, there's this new restaurant just off Diagon Alley, and we could go to a club af… Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's just," Harry gulped. It had hit in an instant. One mention of them going out in public and he felt sick. He recalled Ron's teasing words about the night before and how he would have to appear in the paper and he felt even sicker. So much for him thinking he would do anything to be with Oliver; he didn't want to, wasn't ready for that and Oliver seemed to understand...
"You don't want to attract attention to us yet."
"Sorry," he said and though he meant it, he avoided looking at Oliver.
"You don't have to apologise, Harry," Oliver reached across the table to take Harry's chin in hand. He forced Harry to look at him. "If you're not ready yet, it honestly doesn't matter. It was just a suggestion."
"So you're not pissed," Harry smiled, clearly relieved.
"No, not at all. I understand completely. The media gives me the shits and I expect its always been worse for you. I remember they used to write some horrible stuff about you before," Harry nodded, he would never forget that. "We'll go muggle, or get take away, I'm easy," Oliver smiled reassuringly.
"Come on, let's go in, it's getting cold out here…"
As things turned out, they didn't end up going anywhere that night. After spending all afternoon and the early evening upstairs in Oliver's room, neither boy could seem to muster the energy to go anywhere anyway.
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