| Title: | Night Sweats | Author: | Lorien_Eve | Rating: | NC-17 | Pairing: | Harry/Bill | Summary: | Harry flees his abusive relatives, not able to handle them on top of the nightly gruesome dreams he has been having of Voldemort. He goes to the Weasleys but refuses to stay for more than a few days, concerned that he will be a danger to them. Molly decides that Bill Weasley, currently visiting his family, has to take Harry with him to Egypt for protection until the end of summer, if not longer. | Warnings: | | Author's Notes: | A big, big thank you to my beta, Lena. She put up with me when I got frustrated and almost gave up on the story, but as always, she was there to encourage me and get me through it. | Story: |
The lurid green light devoured the darkness, snuffing out the blue flamed candles and eating its way into the black recesses of the circular room. Harry’s eyes followed the glowing light as it hit Hermione in the chest so hard that she staggered backwards a few steps before her body went limp and she fell. In an instant, the green light was gone and the blue flames flared timidly again.
Harry hadn’t yet grown accustomed to how easily and quickly a life could be lost.
Hermione lay spread eagle. Her face was frozen forever with wide eyes and an open, pleading mouth. Her hair was spread in a dark circle around her head, like a deep pool of blood, though there were no marks anywhere on her. Ron had been the first to fall, with a trivial wave and flick of a wand. His body was twisted in an angle that Harry knew no living person could ever contort themselves into. Neville was slumped against the wall, his head drooping grotesquely on his shoulders. Like his parents, Neville had been put under the Cruciatus curse, but then effectively killed in the end because, after his screams of pain, he had served his purpose.
The room was still and silent. Dead.
Then there was the laugh. The same high, cold, piercing laugh that haunted Harry’s dreams. It echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and magnifying itself until Harry’s ears rang with it. Harry turned toward the source of the laughter, finding Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the wizard who was feared above all others, and the very wizard who he, Harry, had the task of destroying. Harry always knew it would come to this. It was prophesied before he was born. It was his destiny and the only true purpose in his life. Kill or be killed, and Harry didn’t want to die yet.
There was only one thing to be done. Casting the Killing curse, of course. Harry knew this, too. He’d been trained for it, filled with it, and had it burrowed so deeply in his mind that he even dreamt about it. Knowing that concentration and purpose were imperative in giving the curse its full power, Harry drew up all the anger and hurt he’d ever known. Losing his parents, being raised by the Dursleys, being mocked by Snape and taunted by Malfoy, having his own blood taken from him and used to resurrect his nemesis, Sirius falling through the veil...
Harry drew up these memories and held them on the tip of his tongue, ready to spit them out along with the curse.
This was who had killed his parents, and Harry was about to kill him.
Harry raised his wand with a surprisingly steady hand and pointed it directly at Voldemort’s chest. He took a deep breath, drawing in oxygen and courage, hoping it was enough to speak the words and preserve his determination. It would have to be enough. There was no other choice. Kill or be killed, and Harry still wasn’t ready to die.
He opened his mouth, ready to yell the words he’d never used but that he’d heard so many times he knew what they would taste like. He felt the words build up in his throat and tumble across his lips. But there was no sound. Voldemort stood before him as undefeated as ever. Harry tried again, and although his mouth found the words, it was as if someone had turned off the sound. He felt like he was underwater, like in the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament, except there weren’t even bubbles this time. There was nothing. Harry strained his vocal cords until they were taut, willing the sound to come out. But still, there was nothing. Only silence.
Kill or be killed, and Harry knew he was about to die.
With an indulgent smile, Voldemort raised his wand. It was aimed between Harry’s eyes, directly at his scar. Like a dementor, Voldemort sucked all the air out of the room, and before Harry even had time to brace himself for it, the curse came. It was green and blinding, just like every other time he had seen it. He watched as the beam of light barreled forward, hurtling undeniably towards its target. Voldemort had cast it perfectly. It would not miss. A split second before it hit, Harry screamed. It didn’t stop the curse, but it released the pain…
Harry bolted upright in his bed. His body ached and shuddered with the memory of the curse. The scar on his forehead burned like it was on fire. He was cold and sweating, and so sick that he retched several times without throwing up. It was that dream again, the same dream he’d had so many times that it came to him even when he was awake. But it was still that - just a dream, even though Harry knew that Voldemort only showed him those dreams to lure him into situations that would become reality. He reached under his pillow and felt around until he was sure his wand was still there.
With a shaky hand, Harry wiped the sweat away from his forehead, then sat still and waited for the nausea to pass and his chest to stop heaving.
Suddenly, the door to his room burst open. This time, it wasn’t a Dark Lord or a Killing Curse. It was his uncle.
“What,” Vernon roared, “is the meaning of this? Waking us up at all hours of the night with your ruddy screams! Don’t you know the neighbors could hear you?”
“Sorry,” said Harry shakily, not about to explain his nightmare to Uncle Vernon. He would never understand, anyway.
“Too right, you are,” hissed Vernon. Aunt Petunia joined him at the door, her hair in curlers and her lips pursed tightly. “This is the fifth bloody time this week. If I hear one more peep out of you, you’re going back in the cupboard, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry.
The door slammed behind the retreating forms of his aunt and uncle, leaving Harry alone and with a dream he couldn’t forget.
Harry knew he’d have the dream again. It was the same one he had almost every night. He also knew that Uncle Vernon would come through on his threats to lock him in the cupboard again. Harry had gotten out six years ago, and he wasn’t going back. He wasn’t going to be locked up and fed through bars like an animal, and he wasn’t going to give Voldemort any additional ammunition for nightmares. He had enough already.
Throwing the covers back, Harry jumped out of bed. He grabbed a few clothes from his wardrobe, removed the loose floorboard next to his bed and took out all his schoolbooks, threw everything in his trunk, slammed the lid shut, sat Hedwig’s empty cage on top of it, and tucked his wand into his back pocket. He was leaving Privet Drive.
The problem, of course, was how to get out of the house without waking his relatives and causing another scene. Apparating was out of the question. Though he had done it a few times, under the strict supervision of Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, he wasn’t confident enough to try it by himself, especially now, when his mind was preoccupied with so many other things. He’d have to sneak out the Muggle way.
Harry pressed his ear to the door. When he didn’t hear anything, he pulled the door open and stuck his head out. The hallway was empty and there were still no sounds. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket and cast a Locomotor charm. Harry had long ago stopped caring about the ‘no magic outside of school’ rule. The trunk followed him down the hallway, floating just a few inches above the floor. Harry crept lightly down the stairs, careful to miss the second step from the bottom that always creaked. Once on the ground floor, Harry stopped again to listen. Still silence. He crept onward to the back door, turning the lock and pulling it open as slowly and quietly as he could.
Outside, the rain fell heavy, pouring from the dark sky in continuous gray sheets. Harry was soaked to the skin after his first two steps. Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled overhead. When he got through the puddles and to the end of the driveway, he stuck out his wand hand. The Knight Bus wasn’t the most comfortable form of transportation, but it would do in a pinch, and Harry was definitely in a pinch.
Almost immediately, Harry heard a bang! and the large, purple triple-decker bus appeared before him. The doors opened to reveal a bright purple poncho, the bulk of the conductor invisible through the dark curtain of rain.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus!” the conductor yelled over the downpour. “Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard!”
“I know what the Knight Bus is,” said Harry, annoyed. He just wanted to get in out of the rain. “Stand back, would you?”
The conductor seemed a bit cross at Harry’s assertive manner, but nonetheless, he moved to one side so that Harry, with trunk and cage in tow, could climb aboard.
“Where’re ya headed?” the conductor asked. “We can take you anywhere, long as it’s on land. Can’t go underwater.”
“Yes,” sighed Harry, “I know. Just take me to Ottery St. Catchpole.”
“Aye, that we can do.”
Now, in the light from the candles on the wall, Harry could see the conductor’s face, framed by the plastic purple poncho. The pimples were unmistakable. It was Stan Shunpike.
“Still riding with Ernie, I see,” Harry laughed. “Whatever happened to your campaign to become the youngest-ever Minister of Magic?”
Stan’s forehead crinkled around his pimples. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I never wanted to be Minister.”
“Sure you did,” Harry said, poking fun at Stan’s attempts to impress one of the veelas at the Quidditch World Cup. “So, how long have you been working the Knight Bus now? Must be at least four years. You’re wasting valuable time.”
“What’re you talking about?” asked Stan, obviously very annoyed. “I’ve only been on this job for three months.”
“No, you haven’t. Remember me? Neville Longbottom?”
“You’re not Neville, you’re Harry Potter,” said Stan, eyeing Harry suspiciously.
“I know that,” said Harry. “I told you I was Neville, though, remember? I guess it’s been about four years ago now.”
Now it was Stan’s turn to laugh at Harry. “You got me mixed up with my brother! I’m Stuart, not Stan! Stan was runnin’ the bus back then. I just started.” Stuart found the case of mistaken identity highly amusing.
Stuart had a very annoying laugh, made even more annoying now that Harry was the reason for it. “Forget it,” Harry said. “I’m going to bed.”
“Dry off first, would ya? Don’t want the sheets wet!” Stuart called as Harry started up the stairs.
There were a few other passengers, two witches and a wizard, but they were all sleeping soundly, evidently unaware of the latest stop and newest occupant. Harry looked at them enviously, wishing sleep would be so easy and untroubled for him.
Even if it weren’t for the violent shakes and jarring of the bus, Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He lay down, anyway, just grateful to be leaving Privet Drive and on his way to the Burrow.
****
Stuart’s face, still wreathed by the purple poncho, appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Ottery St. Catchpole!” he called.
Harry followed him down the stairs and to the luggage compartment, where he found his trunk and Hedwig’s cage.
“See ya, Harry,” Stuart said as Harry walked off the bus. “Hope ya stay dry!”
Harry cast an angry look at Stuart as the rain pelted down on his head and dripped off the end of his nose. Stuart may have looked ridiculous in the poncho, but Harry would’ve gladly taken it, had he offered. It was a pretty good walk to the Burrow from where the bus let him off, and silly or not, Harry would’ve done anything to stay dry.
****
Half an hour later, his clothes saturated with enough water to fill a large bathtub, Harry walked up the drive to the Burrow. All the lights in the house were off, an indication that the Weasleys were asleep.
The driveway was spotted with ruts filled to overflowing, and though Harry tried to sidestep them, he wasn’t always successful. He plunged ankle-deep into a particularly large one, the mud squelching under his shoes. With some determined tugging, Harry freed himself, and very forlornly, climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
After a few minutes with no answer, Harry knocked again. He felt bad about coming so late, unannounced, and waking everyone up, but he had no other place to go. A light came on in one of the rooms near the back of the house, and after some muttering and shuffling, Mr. Weasley’s sleepy face appeared behind the door. He was in his pajamas and dressing gown. He blinked his eyes and shook his head before he finally noticed Harry.
“Harry, do come in!” Mr. Weasley said as he stepped back to allow Harry room. “Sorry about that. We don’t normally get visitors who use the front door.”
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sheepishly, “but I-”
“You don’t have to apologize, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, raising his hand. “Another fight with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, not wanting to tell Mr. Weasley the whole story.
Mr. Weasley looked solemn. “I thought so. You know you’re always welcome here. Let me get Molly.”
“No,” Harry started. “Please, sir, I’ll just go upstairs, if that’s okay. Don’t wake her.”
“Nonsense!” Mr. Weasley said. “She’d have me hanged if I didn’t tell her you were here.”
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen, her hair in pins and her hands on her hips.
“Arthur, what in the world - Harry, dear!” She ran over to hug him, but stopped short when she saw his wet clothes. “What are you doing out on a night like this?” she demanded. “You could catch your death out there!”
“I - I had a fight with the Dursleys,” Harry said softly.
“Oh, you poor dear!” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him despite his wet clothes. “Go upstairs and wake Ron. You can borrow some of his clothes. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I don’t know why Albus has you staying with those horrible people, anyway. Now, go upstairs and get into some dry clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
****
Harry climbed the stairs slowly, careful to step over the ones that creaked. He would’ve given the Weasleys every galleon, sickle, and knut in his vault if they would’ve taken it. He owed them so much, and a simple ‘thank you’ didn’t seem like nearly enough. He sometimes wondered what would’ve happened if he and Ron hadn’t become friends and he’d never met Ron’s family. Harry could honestly say that he had no idea what he would do without them. They were the only real family he’d ever had, and while he felt a little selfish for disturbing them so late, he knew Mrs. Weasley would’ve scolded him for not calling on them when he needed to.
Ron was asleep, his long legs tangled up in the sheets, when Harry entered his bedroom. Harry crept over to the wardrobe and opened the door. The hinges squeaked, and Ron let out a grunt. Harry glanced over at him, but Ron slept on, apparently not aware that anyone was there.
Harry changed silently, slipping on a pair of Ron’s trousers that were much too long for him and a shirt that was faded and worn. It was comfortable, though, and far better than the soggy clothes he’d been wearing. As Harry let himself out of the bedroom, Ron grunted again. Harry paused in the doorway and looked over at him.
“Glad you’re here, Harry,” Ron said. Then he turned over and went back to sleep.
****
Harry ate a very late dinner downstairs in the kitchen with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They asked questions about his summer, like how much studying had he gotten done, had he been getting the owls Ron had sent him, and lastly, the touchiest subject, how the Dursleys had been treating him. Harry answered as honestly as he could. In truth, the Dursleys hadn’t been any worse than normal.
The nightmares were the worst part, by far. They kept him up at night, refusing to let him get even a few hours of modest sleep, and they played and rewound themselves in his mind while he was awake. He chose not to tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about them, not wanting to trouble them further. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He’d been through worse and lived to tell about it. Some things were better kept quiet.
After his midnight meal, Harry thanked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley again, apologized for waking them, and wished them a good night. He climbed the stairs to Ron’s room, where he knew he’d be sleeping without even having to ask. Harry was tired. Exhausted, more like, and although he was afraid of sleeping, he needed to lie down and rest.
Because he hadn’t owled the Weasleys beforehand to let them know he was coming, there was no usual camp bed for him to sleep on. There was no other bed in the room except for Ron’s. Well, it’ll have to do, Harry thought, as he climbed between the covers and lay down next to Ron. It was cramped, Ron’s bed not being any bigger than the ones at Hogwarts, but it was better than sleeping on the floor, and much better than sleeping at Privet Drive. Keeping close to the edge of the mattress, careful not to wake Ron but trying to allow him as much room as possible in the small bed, Harry curled his arm underneath his head and tried to keep his eyes open.
****
Fading black. Encompassing green. An open mouth and silent scream. Hermione flat. Ron broken. Neville bent. Dead. Dead. Dead. Silence. Then, a laugh. Cold like ice. Frozen. A raised wand. A mouth full of empty words. Silence. Panic. Fear. Another raised wand. A Death spell. More green light, brighter, closer. Perfectly aimed. Then red, like blood. Long fingers. A firm grip…
“Harry? Harry!”
Harry’s eyes flew open and he drew a deep breath. Ron was staring down at him, hands on his shoulders, shaking him. But Ron was dead.
“Wha…?” Harry mumbled, trying to make his eyes focus without his glasses. His scar was throbbing, and sweat was running off his neck and trickling down between his shoulder blades.
“Harry, what was it? Another nightmare?” Ron asked in an anxious voice.
“Yeah,” Harry said, as his breath came back at last and he relaxed into the damp pillow. “Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay, mate. Wanna talk about it?” Ron drew his knees up to his chest, a little uncertain, yet curious and attentive.
“No, it’s…it’s nothing.” Harry turned away from Ron, signaling the end of the conversation.
“Harry-”
“I said no.”
Harry knew that Ron was just concerned about him, and although he regretted being so cross, he didn’t want to scare Ron or worry him more than was necessary. Ron knew that Harry’s dreams sometimes came true; dreaming about Ron being dead was something Harry wanted to keep to himself.
As he lay there, trying to push the dream out of his mind, Harry realized he’d made a mistake in coming to the Burrow. It was the first place he’d thought to go when he left Privet Drive, but now he saw how much danger his presence was to the Weasleys’ safety. He should’ve gone to the Leaky Cauldron. He’d gone there before when he ran away from his relatives. He had the money to rent a room for the remainder of the summer vacation. He could pick up his books and school supplies, get started on his summer assignments, maybe get fitted for a new set of robes. It wouldn’t be the same as staying with the Weasleys, but at least he wouldn’t be a danger or a bother to anybody.
****
“I won’t hear of it, Harry! You’re not going off to London by yourself!”
That was Mrs. Weasley’s immediate reaction when Harry told her and Mr. Weasley about his plans to leave the Burrow. He wanted to tell her that he’d been to London before by himself and that he didn’t need anyone to look after him, but he knew better than to argue with her. He’d seen her angry at Ron and the twins too often.
“Molly’s right,” Mr. Weasley said, glancing approvingly at his wife. “London’s too dangerous.”
“But I don’t have anywhere else to go,” said Harry. “I’m not going back to Privet Drive.”
“Of course, not. We wouldn’t-”
At that moment, Bill entered the kitchen, shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting, blue plaid pajama pants, and Harry didn’t hear another word Mr. Weasley said. His eyes followed Bill as he walked by, and Harry suddenly realized that it had been a year since he’d last seen him. Bill poured himself a cup of tea and sat the kettle back on the stove.
“Harry?”
Harry quickly turned his attention back to Mr. Weasley. He hoped the pink color in his cheeks wasn’t obvious. “Oh…yes, sir?”
“We’ve been in contact with Dumbledore,” Mr. Weasley continued, “and we know about your nightmares.”
“You know?”
Harry’s respect for Dumbledore had waned through the years, and now it was at its lowest degree ever. This was just more evidence of Dumbledore’s complete lack of respect for Harry’s private life and personal decisions. If Harry had wanted the Weasleys to know about his nightmares, he would’ve told them himself. He didn’t think Dumbledore had the right to divulge his secrets.
“Yes, dear, we know,” said Mrs. Weasley gently. “We’ve talked with Dumbledore, and we’ve made some arrangements for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry started, “but I’ve told you, I can’t stay here-”
Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “Not here, exactly.”
“Oh? Where, then?” Harry knew he did a poor job hiding the sarcasm in his voice. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the Weasleys’ kindness and forethought, but he was tired of others trying to control his life. He could make his own decisions without consulting Dumbledore.
Mr. Weasley looked nervously at Bill for a moment before he answered. “We think it would be a good idea for you to spend the rest of the summer in Egypt.”
“Egypt?” asked Harry, quite taken aback. He looked quickly over to Bill.
Bill’s eyebrows shot up over the top of his cup. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“We meant to ask you about it,” Mr. Weasley explained carefully, “but well…there wasn’t enough time.”
Bill hummed in disapproval and sat his teacup down. “So that’s why you sent me the owl and asked me to come over?” he asked.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded like a pair of trained seals.
Bill leaned against the sink and folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t suppose I have much of a choice, do I? When do we leave?”
“Today, if you can pack quickly,” said Mrs. Weasley, seeming pleased that Bill had readily, if not happily, agreed to the plan.
“I’ve arranged a Portkey,” Mr. Weasley said, “and the Ministry has given me permission to activate it when you’re ready.”
“Hang on,” said Harry, taking a step forward. He didn’t appreciate being talked about like he wasn’t in the room, and he certainly didn’t appreciate them making plans for his future without consulting him. “What makes you think Egypt is safe? Won’t Voldemort send people out to look for me once he knows I’ve gone missing?”
Ron flinched at Harry’s use of the name, and even Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed taken aback, but only momentarily.
“True,” said Mr. Weasley, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “You-Know-Who has a large network of spies, but Egypt is an unlikely place for you to go. They wouldn’t think to look for you there, at least not at first. Gringotts only uses specialized wizards for their curse-breaking expeditions. You’ll be well protected.”
Harry thought it over for a minute. It made sense, he couldn’t argue with that. But his summer plans hadn’t included visiting Egypt and hiding out in adobes. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?”
“I’m afraid not, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. Her tone was gentle but firm, and Harry knew there was no room for discussion.
Harry looked desperately over at Ron, who had been silent the entire time. He hoped Ron might side with him, that he would see how unfair this whole arrangement was and suggest an alternate plan. Ron’s eyes were apologetic, but he just shrugged helplessly.
“I’ll go pack,” Harry muttered.
****
Under other circumstances, Harry wouldn’t complain about spending the summer with Bill in Egypt. He’d always thought Bill was cool, and Harry liked him best out of Ron’s brothers. In fact, Harry liked Bill quite a lot. More than he would ever admit to Ron. Harry had noticed last year, while staying at Grimmauld Place, that his body had certain reactions whenever Bill was around. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time because he had other things on his mind, like warding off dementors and the trial that followed. It wasn’t until this morning, when Bill walked into the kitchen, his long hair curling around his bare shoulders, that Harry remembered just how much he liked him.
No, Harry’s complaints had nothing to do with spending the summer with Bill. What Harry was upset about was that no one was listening to him. An entire conversation had just been had about him, and not once had anyone asked him how he felt about any of it. Now he had become Bill’s responsibility, and no one asked Bill how he felt about that, either. Harry was honestly grateful to the Weasleys for all they had done for him throughout the years, giving him a place to stay when the Dursleys became unbearable, being the supportive, caring family he’d never had, and always making sure he was safe and never needed anything. But Harry was seventeen now and legally an adult, and he thought it was time other people stopped treating him like he was a helpless child.
****
Bill had spent last year as an active member of the Order, but he’d become restless with the desk job. He was unaccustomed to the large amount of paperwork and the confines of such a small office. He’d only recently moved back to Egypt and resumed curse-breaking, not realizing how much he missed it until his first day back when they spent forty-two straight hours raiding a tomb.
He was still available if the Order needed him; he made that clear to both his parents and Dumbledore. Though he was young during You-Know-Who’s first reign, Bill still remembered the fear, panic, and chaos the Wizarding World had been in during that time. Even now, his parents talked in hushed voices about it when they thought none of their children were listening. Bill wanted to participate this time around, to offer his knowledge and abilities in the fight against You-Know-Who. Apparently, though, his knowledge and abilities weren’t currently needed. Only his flat.
He didn’t mind looking after Harry. He liked the kid. Honestly. But Bill had lived mostly by himself for the last 10 years, other than the passing girlfriends or boyfriends, and having a kid around would certainly change things. Cramp his style, more like.
****
Bill’s feet hit the ground and he stumbled forward. He hated Portkeys. It was so much easier to Apparate.
“Well, here we are,” he said once he regained his balance.
Harry let go of the handle on his trunk and looked around at what would be his home for the next month. It wasn’t anything like what he expected.
They were standing in a room furnished almost entirely in a tropical blue. The walls were teal, the color of the ocean, and decorated with large, wooden carvings illustrating various scenes of ancient Egyptian life. Two stuffed chairs and a sofa, in contrasting blue tapestry, sat around a square alabaster table topped with round glass vases and a tall stone statue. A chandelier with colorful beads, like raindrops reflected in a rainbow, was suspended from above, and a blue and white partition stood in the far corner next to a pile of tasseled turquoise pillows.
For some reason, Harry always pictured Bill living in a mud house, with holes for the door and windows. Ron had never bothered to tell Harry otherwise.
“I don’t stay here often,” Bill explained. “Our assignments take up most of our time, and more often than not, we’re sleeping in tents.”
“That’s all right,” said Harry. He wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
“Well…” said Bill, rubbing his chin, “I’ll show you the rest of the place, okay?”
The other rooms looked much like the first room Harry had seen. Though they weren’t blue, they were decorated in a similar fashion, with bright colors, bold accents, and heavy architecture. There were no doors, only sheer curtains, and the windows were carved wood, but had no glass in them. Oriental rugs were laid over the dark, shiny wood floors, and similar hangings lined the wide hallway that lead to the bedrooms at the back.
The subject of sleeping arrangements hadn’t occurred to Harry until now, and he was relieved to find that there were two bedrooms. Bill’s was the larger of the two, with an adjacent sitting area and a balcony that provided a wide view of the surrounding areas. With a quick glance at the tall buildings and congested traffic outside, Harry saw that Bill’s flat was in a very noisy, very busy part of the city. Quite a contrast from Harry’s initial idea of Bill living in a primitive village in the middle of nowhere.
“This’ll be your room,” Bill said, leading Harry to the second bedroom.
It was smaller than the first, but the décor retained the same cultural influences. The bed, low and narrow, was dressed in crisp white sheets that looked impossibly clean. The rest of the furniture was dark wood, like the floors, and accented with various ethnic details.
“I’ve got to check in with the department, let them know I’m back in case they need me. Shouldn’t take long,” Bill tapped his fingers against his leg nervously. “Just, um, make yourself at home.”
Rarely having houseguests, Bill didn’t know the proper way to play host, and now that he had shown Harry the entire flat, he didn’t know what else to do with him. Harry understood how Bill felt, because he, too, felt awkward and even a little embarrassed. Although he had known Bill for a few years, and even attended the Quidditch World Cup with him, he’d never been around him for more than a day or two at a time, and Ron, the twins, and the rest of the family had always been there.
“Thanks,” said Harry lamely.
Bill nodded courteously and Disapparated.
Harry would’ve unpacked, but what few belongings he brought were in his trunk and there was really no need to put them anywhere else. It would save him time and trouble when he got ready to leave for Hogwarts.
He sat Hedwig’s empty cage on a table next to the window. Harry knew she would find him, she always did, but he wished she were here now. He would’ve liked to owl Hermione, or even Ron, though he was still angry with him, to let them know that he had arrived and everything was okay. Any place was better than Privet Drive, but here Harry was, in a strange flat in a foreign land, and the only person he knew in the entire country had just disappeared to Merlin knows where. Harry would’ve been alone at the Leaky Cauldron, but he knew Tom the innkeeper and he’d been to Diagon Alley enough to know his way around. At least it was in England.
On account of his poor sleep quality and the hectic morning that had abruptly changed his travel plans, Harry was so tired he felt like he could sleep standing up. He didn’t need a bed, although the one in his new room looked like something he could crawl into and never come out of. Instead, he picked a stiff wooden chair, grabbed his sixth year Charms textbook, and got an early start on his summer reading.
****
It was happening again. Harry knew it. He was in the Department of Mysteries. With Voldemort. Alone. His friends were dead. There was no one to save him. The blue flames from the candles on the walls flickered. Harry was afraid they’d go out and he’d be left in total darkness, but they still burned, though faintly. He took a step forward and raised his wand…
“Hey, Harry? Harry, wake up.”
Harry’s eyes shot open and he lifted his head from where it had fallen on his shoulder. Bill was crouching in front of the chair with his hands on the armrests.
“It was another nightmare, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Harry admitted quietly. He stared down at the book in his lap, not seeing any of the printed words. He’d only been at Bill’s a few hours, and he’d already had another nightmare. He was embarrassed, causing such a scene and being a bother so soon after his arrival. He was sure Bill would think he was some scared little kid who couldn’t handle a bad dream.
“I need to go to the market and pick up a few things,” Bill said after several minutes of strained silence. He stood up and scratched his arm distractedly. “Why don’t you come with me? You can see the city.”
Bill didn’t know what else to do with Harry. He knew his job was to protect him, and that was something he could do. He was trained for that. But comforting and consoling was never something he was particularly good at, or something he felt confident doing.
****
The open-air markets in Egypt were just a few blocks down from where Bill lived, and after a short walk, Harry found himself in an older part of the city.
Vendors called loudly from behind their stands, advertising their merchandise and trying to convince the shoppers that they couldn’t live without it. Some spoke in broken English while others spoke a language Harry had never heard before.
There were straw mats and baskets, clay pottery and gilded busts of various gods, rich tapestries and woven rugs. Harry’s eyes darted around, trying to take it all in but not look too much like a tourist. Bill, of course, was used to it all, and he chuckled at Harry’s suppressed wonder.
“I guess it’s a bit different than what you’re used to,” he said.
“Is all of this Muggle stuff?” Harry whispered to Bill.
“Mostly,” Bill explained. “You’d think otherwise, but there’s only a very small population of wizards here. Muggles scared them off hundreds of years ago. They fled to the remote areas and started their own civilization, and most haven’t bothered to come back.”
Harry nodded absently as they walked by a stand selling what looked like leeches and raw fish heads. It reminded him of the things he’d seen in Knockturn Alley. They passed women in black robes with scarves wrapped around their faces, balancing baskets on their heads. Some of the men wore casual pants and shirts, but most of them, too, wore white or blue robes.
Harry sidestepped a cluster of white chickens as they scampered out from under a table, clucking and flapping their wings in agitation.
“Unfortunately, there aren’t any places like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade over here,” Bill continued. “I live like a Muggle out of habit and convenience, though I use magic for travel and work. And cooking. I never did understand Muggle cooking.”
Bill stopped at a stand selling produce. Bananas, oranges, apples, potatoes, lettuce, pistachios, olives, and even peppers. At last, something Harry was familiar with, and something he wasn’t unsure about eating. Bill picked out a few things and tossed them in a basket, then paid the man behind the counter with a large, multi-colored note.
On the corner was what looked like a newsstand. World, national, and regional newspapers were stuffed in rusted metal racks, and magazines, ranging from the latest fashions to parenting, lined a long row of shelves. Harry guessed the subject by the pictures on the covers, because when it came to reading the print, it was like trying to read ancient spells. It looked more like symbols than actual letters, and Harry squinted his eyes as he looked, trying to pick out something, anything, that resembled his own language.
“It’s Arabic,” Bill said over Harry’s shoulder.
“Can you read any of it?” asked Harry.
“A bit. I know enough to read the headlines and argue with the shopkeepers about prices. I wouldn’t want to go up against a native speaker, though. I’m better at translating hieroglyphics.”
Bill picked up a bodybuilding magazine and flipped through a few pages before throwing it into the basket along with the vegetables. He grinned at Harry. “What can I say? I like the pictures.”
Harry stood still and stared after him. So Bill was… Harry wouldn’t have guessed it. Of course, he didn’t know Bill that well, and he knew nothing about his personal life. This was something else that Ron had failed to mention. Maybe Ron didn’t know about it. Harry felt his stomach flip-flop, but he tried to ignore it and ran to catch up with Bill, who had walked on ahead.
On their left was a colorful display of bright beads and worthless trinkets. An obvious tourist trap that Harry found interesting in spite of himself. The streets were narrow and crowded, and Harry had to pause and wait on a man pushing a flower cart to pass by before he crossed over.
A short, fat, balding man with a dark gray beard stood behind the counter. The distrustful look on his face suggested to Harry that he was the shopkeeper. On either side of the man were tall glass cases where shiny rings with dark colored stones were stacked. Small gilded statues and busts, demanding to be bought and worshipped, were spread on a low table. On the wall behind them were beaded necklaces and bracelets hanging down from rusty nails. Under each was a small label with a name and a description, assuring the buyer of magical ability if used correctly, or certain catastrophe if used incorrectly. The words were written in English, no doubt to attract tourists who might otherwise not take the time to browse through them.
“They aren’t really magical, are they?” Harry asked.
Bill examined the string of beads and rolled them around between his thumb and forefinger. “Not these,” he said, “though you’ll find some that are. There’s a witch who owns a shop a few streets over. She’s not a very friendly sort. Sells amulets and idols that would be considered Dark objects in England. She can get away with that here because the Ministry doesn’t waste their time monitoring such a small wizard population. I’ll take you over there if you’d like.”
“Yeah, all right,” Harry said, afraid he sounded too eager. He wanted to see what Egyptian wizards were like.
“Just let me get a few more things, then we’ll go.”
At a fish market, Bill pointed to a tray of pink filets and held up two fingers. The vendor nodded curtly and began packing the fish. While they waited, Harry got a chance to see the other varieties. There were pale gray, triangle-shaped pieces, much like shark fins. A clear tank held chopped octopus, which was soaking in a milky substance. Skinned eels hung down like pale chains of sausages. Some looked liked they’d been left out in the sun too long, and the ripe smell seemed to confirm it. Harry’s nose crinkled up, and Bill chuckled.
“That’s another reason I use magic to cook,” Bill said under his breath. “You won’t believe some of the stuff they eat over here.”
“Shukran,” the vendor said as he handed Bill two small packages wrapped in white paper. Bill returned the sentiment, then lead Harry the few streets over to where the Wizarding shop was located.
A bronze colored sign, peeling and worn, hung down from the awning. The words were Arabic, and underneath them were two Egyptian figures, much like the sketches Harry had seen in Muggle textbooks. One figure held what was unmistakably a wand, and the other figure was prostrated in front of the first. It looked so obviously like a magical shop that Harry was surprised Muggles weren’t curious or suspicious about it.
“It means ‘We’re Superior,’” Bill said when he saw Harry’s eyes squinting up at the sign. “Creepy place, if you’re not used to this sort of thing.”
It was indeed a creepy place, and the creepy feeling Harry got when he walked in the door was probably what kept Muggles away. The shop was small and dimly lit. Smells of must, cloves, and over-ripe fruit made the air stagnant, and made Harry a little queasy.
A skinny woman with long black hair and a prominent nose, almost as pointed as Snape’s, was perched on a wooden stool, like a thin brown bird. Her arms were covered in rows of golden bangles, nearly up to her elbows. She didn’t speak, but she eyed Harry and Bill suspiciously under her turquoise colored lids.
“Madame Fahrida, the proprietress,” Bill whispered as he nodded in the woman’s direction. “She knows me, of course, but she doesn’t like strangers.” He looked pointedly at Harry. “I’ll go talk to her, keep her distracted. You can look around all you want, but don’t touch anything.”
Though Harry was cautious, he was mostly curious. Other than his wrong turn on the Floo network that landed him at Borgin and Burkes, he’d never been in a Dark Arts shop before, much less one as exotic as this. He would have loads to tell Ron and Hermione when he saw them again.
Harry cast a last, quick glance at Madame Fahrida to make sure that she wouldn’t hex him for being in her shop. Bill was giving her his whitest, toothpaste smile and tilting his head just often enough so that his long ponytail swung across his back. Though Madame Fahrida’s face was impassive, her eyes were amused and Harry had a feeling that he was the last person in the room she was noticing.
A huge golden coffin, taller than Harry and twice his width, stood upright in the very center of the shop. The carved face was stern and attentive, with wide, black-rimmed eyes that gave a sense of surveillance even when Madame Fahrida’s eyes were diverted. Black canvas bags tied roughly with coarse rope lay at the foot of the coffin with a sign reading Embalming Supplies. It gave Harry an uneasy feeling, and he moved a safer distance away.
Tall, fat candles in glass vases lined a wall of shelves on Harry’s left. Most were topped with colored flames, which gave that side of the shop a prismatic glow. They burned steady and bright, not wavering or faltering, and gave off a spicy fragrance that made Harry’s nose tingle and his eyes water. Leaning against the wall in the back of the shop were thick rolls of carpet, like woven towers, in different sizes and colors. No doubt Ali Bashir’s illegal flying carpet business was profiting, despite Mr. Weasley’s warnings. Harry wondered if he could get away with buying one…just as a souvenir, of course.
More statues, like Harry had seen in the open-air markets, sat on display on tables and behind glass cases. These weren’t cheap replicas, but authentic sculptures, made of gold, bronze, and alabaster. Some were eagles, their wings spread in flamboyance and regality. Others were sleek jackals with sharp ears and watchful eyes, and even others were busts of Egyptian deities. A particular statue, one with a human body and falcon head caught Harry’s eye. He’d seen the image before, but never knew which god it was or what it represented. He studied it for a minute, then, forgetting Bill’s warning about not touching anything, reached out his hand.
Bill walked up and nudged Harry’s shoulder with his elbow. “I don’t think you want any of those,” he whispered. “They’re fertility idols. That one there, Atem, he masturbated his children into existence.”
“He what?” Harry wished his voice hadn’t chosen that moment to crack.
Bill laughed at the expression on Harry’s face. “It’s a myth, of course, but that’s what they say. Imagine that. Wanking, thinking it’s the safest thing, then ending up with a litter of kids.” Bill shook his head. “Poor bloke.”
Deciding that fertility idols were definitely not something he was interested in, Harry told Bill that he had seen quite enough and suggested that they go back to the flat.
****
“Here,” said Bill, handing Harry a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator. “Don’t tell Mum I gave it to you. She’d hex me into next week.”
“I’ve had some before,” Harry said quickly. In truth, all he’d had was butterbeer, but he didn’t want Bill to know that.
“All right, then,” Bill said. “We’ll sit outside, if you’d like. The nights are nice. Much cooler than the days.”
Harry followed Bill to the back of the flat and through his bedroom to the balcony. Bill sat in one of the straw chairs and propped his feet up on the table. Harry sat down in the other chair and took a sip of his beer. The air was warm, but lacked the humidity that Harry had expected.
“So,” Bill started after a relaxed silence, “what do you think of Egypt so far? Is it what you expected?”
Harry thought for a moment. “It’s not. It’s different, but it’s interesting. I think I like it.”
“You think?” Bill smiled as he swallowed a mouthful of beer. “Well, you’ve got the rest of the summer to find out.”
“Yeah.” Harry took another small sip. The beer was bitter, and didn’t taste like he imagined it would. “I never know what to expect from one summer to the next. Staying in Egypt shouldn’t have been a surprise.”
“Sorry about that,” Bill said, feeling strangely responsible for Harry’s sudden change in plans. “I didn’t know anything about it, either.”
“I know,” replied Harry quickly, not wanting Bill to think he was blaming him. “This is far better than staying with the Dursleys.”
“Those relatives of yours,” Bill shook his head and Harry noticed the way his ponytail swung back and forth, “they’re something, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, they are,” Harry agreed. “I wish I didn’t have to stay with them at all.”
“What’s it like, not having parents?” Bill asked suddenly. “I couldn’t imagine. Sure, Mum is always after me to cut my hair, and Dad refuses to leave his rubbish job at the Ministry, but I don’t know what I’d do without my family.”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Harry said, taking a larger drink. “I never knew what it was like to have parents, so I don’t know what to compare it to. I know about them from Dumbledore and Professor Lupin and…and Sirius, but I don’t remember them. Except that night when…when Voldemort showed up.”
Harry stared out over the city. The lights from the streetlamps dotted the highways like tiny watch fires. Two of the large overpasses intersected each other, forming a burning cross right through the heart of the city. Animated billboards burned with colored bulbs, and club fronts glowed florescent. Small, white lights shone on the horizon out towards the ocean. But Harry didn’t see any of it. That assembly of light was darkness compared to what he saw behind his eyes at night.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” Bill took his feet off the table and leaned forward. “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay,” Harry answered truthfully. “Everyone asks. I should have better answers by now.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have pried,” Bill said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “You get enough of that from everyone else. New subject. Music. What do you listen to?”
“I don’t, really,” Harry shrugged. “The Dursleys won’t let me, and radios don’t work at Hogwarts.”
“I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”
Bill stood up and went inside. He returned a few minutes later with a Muggle CD player and two more bottles of beer. “The Darkness. Ever heard of them?” Harry shook his head, and Bill continued. “They’re a UK band, don’t hear much of them over here.”
Bill pushed a button and a song started playing, even though the CD player wasn’t plugged into an outlet and didn’t have a cord. He handed one bottle of beer to Harry, who still hadn’t finished his first, and twisted the cap off the other bottle for himself.
A heavy guitar riff started, then cymbals clashed in on every other beat, interspersed with a deeper guitar. It sounded exactly like something Bill would listen to. Harry decided that he liked it, too. Dudley would whine about it. Aunt Petunia would never allow it. Uncle Vernon would roar about it. The neighbors would complain about it. Harry would be sure to take one of the CDs to Privet Drive when he went back next summer.
When the second song started, Bill leaned over and turned the volume down. “What’d you think?”
“I like it,” Harry said with a smile. “I’d never heard it before.”
“I thought you would. Ron says it’s too noisy.” Bill rolled his eyes.
Harry laughed. “Loan me the CD, and I’ll change his mind.”
“Deal.”
Bill reached out his hand and Harry stood up to shake it. Bill’s calloused grip was firm, but his touch was warm and Harry’s knees would’ve given out had he not sat down quickly.
“How about I take you to the temples tomorrow?” Bill asked suddenly, surprising even himself. He downed the last of his beer and sat the empty bottle next to his chair, trying to seem indifferent in case Harry declined. “We’re finishing up an excavation.”
“I don’t want to get in the way,” Harry said, feeling that Bill’s invitation was only sympathetic. “I can hang around here. Do homework and stuff.”
“You won’t be in the way,” Bill assured him. “We can use the extra help. There’re just four of us left. The rest have been transferred to a different site.”
“Well…okay.”
“Best get to sleep, then. I’ll have to wake you early.” Bill stood up and stretched, and Harry took a last swallow of beer.
“Not much for beer, are you?” He gestured to Harry’s half full bottle.
“No, I…I just wasn’t very thirsty,” Harry explained.
“I see…” Bill turned and went inside, and Harry followed after him.
“Well, I guess I’ll…” Harry started, but his words were cut short.
Bill had taken his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. He looked up at Harry, leaving his jeans unbuttoned, showing a v-shape of dark underwear. “Yes?” he asked.
“Yes…I mean, um, I’ll see you in the morning.” Harry knew he was gaping like the fish he’d seen in the market that day, but he couldn’t stop staring. Bill’s arms and chest were tan and dotted with brown freckles. The lights from the city reflected off the defined muscles in his stomach, making them look sleek and shiny.
“Right,” Bill said as his attention went back to undressing. “You’ll want to wear something old and comfortable.” He pushed his jeans down over his hips and kicked them off. "Those tombs are filthy and we’ll be working all day.”
“Mm-hm,” Harry muttered, unaware of everything Bill had just said. All he could focus on was Bill’s body, infinitely smooth and developed, and completely bare except for a thin pair of boxers.
Bill loosened his ponytail and pulled the band out of his hair. It fell around his broad shoulders in loose, dark waves. Harry’s mouth went dry.
“Good night, Harry,” Bill said sleepily as he stretched out on top of the covers.
Harry tried to swallow, but he just nodded, unable to form any words.
****
Harry found himself in a dark, circular room with blue candles. Three dead bodies lay at his feet. In front of him stood Voldemort - a wicked laugh and slanted red eyes. The Dark Lord had accomplished everything, save one. Killing Harry. Harry knew he had to react, respond, rebound. Do something, anything, to save himself. Voldemort took a step forward, then paused. Only a breath of a pause, just long enough for Harry to take that breath for himself. He felt his head tingle, like tiny spiders crawling under his scalp, as his lungs expanded. In the same moment that he exhaled, he cast the Curse. The Killing Curse. The Curse that would put an end to all of this. Freedom. Safety. Reassurance. All of it rested in those two words. Avada Kedavra.
But there were no words, only the faint wheeze of Harry’s breath as it left his lungs. His last breath. He would not take another. Voldemort didn’t move. He didn’t need to. The Curse would reach Harry. There was no uncertainty. Voldemort raised his wand, pointed it at Harry’s scar, and hissed the words Harry had tried so hard to say himself. Avada Kedavra…
Harry cried out when he felt pressure on his chest. The Curse had missed his scar, but still found its target. His body jerked and his eyes flew open. He was lying on his back, but he wasn’t dead. Not yet. He was still breathing.
Harry didn’t recognize the room, but he recognized the face above him.
“Are you okay?” Bill asked as he took his hand away from Harry’s chest.
Harry sat up. “I’m…I’m fine,” he said. Sweat ran down his neck and made tracks down his back, but he was cold and shivering.
Bill didn’t have to ask if it was another nightmare. He knew it was, and he felt responsible for it because he had been asking Harry about his parents, and about You-Know-Who, just hours ago. He had hoped that with Harry being in Egypt, the nightmares would go away, or at least be less frequent. Obviously, that wasn’t happening.
“Can I get you anything?” Bill asked. “A blanket or something?”
“No, thanks, it’ll pass in a minute.” Harry forced his voice not to shake. He wasn’t going to trouble Bill. He’d already become a burden by staying here, and now he’d woken Bill in the middle of the night.
“Maybe you shouldn’t come with me tomorrow. It might be dangerous. You could stay here and rest-”
“No,” said Harry quickly. “I want to come. I don’t want to stay here by…by myself.” Harry hung his head and stared down at the crumpled sheets on his bed.
“Well…all right,” Bill said finally. “Let me know if you need anything.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder, knowing it wasn’t enough but not knowing what else to do, then went back to his own bed.
He’d always seen Harry as a child, but now, after just one day with him, Bill knew Harry was much older. Had he been a child, Bill could’ve hugged him, read to him, and stayed until he fell asleep again. Being the oldest, Bill had done that with all his brothers, and Ginny, too. But Harry was most definitely not a child, and a bedtime fairy tale or strong shoulder wasn’t going to chase the nightmares away. He couldn’t just crawl into bed with Harry.
But Bill didn’t know that was exactly what Harry wanted.
Bill woke Harry just a few hours later, though Harry had never actually gone back to sleep. He dressed in near darkness and breakfasted in the pale light of the new morning sun. The kitchen was warm, even at such an early hour, and smelled of eggs, toast, and the sharp scent of Bill’s aftershave.
Outside, Bill hailed a taxi for them, which took them out of the city and into the desert. There, they rented two camels and rode to the temple. Immediately, Harry knew he didn’t like camels. Not only did they smell and attract flies, but their gait was bumpy, and even though Harry did exactly what the tour guide told them, he thought he’d fall off at any moment and go headfirst into the sand.
They reached the temple at last. It couldn’t have been soon enough for Harry. He was so happy to get off the camel that he bent down and picked up two handfuls of sand and sifted them through his fingers.
Bill slid off the camel’s back easily, but he seemed a bit inconvenienced by their means of transportation.
“Sorry I can’t Apparate,” Harry apologized. He knew that if it hadn’t been for him, Bill could’ve Apparated to the temple in much less time and saved himself a lot trouble.
“It’s okay,” Bill said as he dusted the sand off his cargos. “I didn’t expect you’d know how.”
“I’ve done it before. Dumbledore taught me…” Harry began to explain, but Bill had walked on ahead and probably wasn’t listening. He knew that Bill hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but that didn’t stop him from being offended. Everyone thought he was just a kid who couldn’t take care of himself and who couldn’t do anything without someone there to help him. So what if he couldn’t Apparate properly? It wasn’t his fault that no one had taken him to get his license.
The temple was made of limestone, dusty and pale, with two enormous stone idols sitting in thrones guarding the entrance. One either side of the idols were tall, thin granite towers carved with figures that climbed all the way to the top.
Bill turned around to wait on Harry. “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting through,” he said when Harry caught up. “The obelisks were built for protection, but we’ve disarmed them. They only work when Muggles are about.”
“I always thought you worked in pyramids,” said Harry, falling into step beside Bill.
“We do, mostly. This is only the third temple I’ve raided. Temples are harder to get access to because a lot of Muggles still worship in them. We’ve had to put Repelling charms and Memory charms over the entire area.”
Harry followed Bill as they walked into the temple. They passed through the courtyard, then through a long hallway supported by tall columns with papyrus plants carved into the crown and small windows cut into the roof. The floor slanted slowly upwards, giving them less clearance overhead and requiring them to walk in a stooped position. As they walked deeper into the temple, Harry could hear fragmented voices, just pieces of a conversation, between the clinking and scraping of tools. Harry ducked his head to fit under the low doorway and walked into the sanctuary behind Bill.
The only light came from torches in metal brackets on the wall. A dark, stern-looking shrine with tarnished golden doors stood in the center. The walls of the sanctuary looked like stone, though they were smooth like marble except for a long, deep area that had been dug in one wall. Harry could see two people, a man and a woman, sitting on the floor in front of the jagged hole. They looked up as he and Bill entered.
“Hey, Bill, you’re late,” the guy said, though he smiled and Harry knew Bill wasn’t really in trouble.
“Sorry,” Bill said, “I couldn’t Apparate. I brought Harry along.”
“Oh, hey, Harry,” the man said, as if just noticing him.
“Nice to finally meet you,” the woman said as she stood up and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Bill told us you were staying with him.”
“That’s Laura,” Bill told Harry, pointing at the woman, “and that’s Paul.”
Bill walked over to where Laura stood. His head disappeared into the rough opening. “I can see the hull. There, can you see it? The rock’s barely curved, but it’s different from the rest.”
Laura leaned in so close to Bill that their hair blended together, his dark red and hers light brown. “That’s nothing,” she said. “We uncovered that two days ago. Look at the end. That’s the stern.”
Harry stood back and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He had absolutely no idea what Bill and Laura were talking about.
“We’ve uncovered a bark,” Bill said proudly as he withdrew. When Harry looked at him with a blank expression, he began to explain. “It’s a boat that the statue was carried out on during festivals. Ancient Egyptians loaded them down with treasure to entice the spirit of the god or goddess to enter. When this temple was renovated, the bark was buried. We’ve been trying to find it for ages. Come, take a look.”
Harry peered into the hole. It looked like a sheet of dusty, broken rock. He couldn’t see a boat at all.
“It’s, um, really nice,” he said, trying to sound as impressed as Bill.
Paul laughed. “We find an artifact that’s thousands of years old, and the kid says it’s ‘nice.’”
Feeling very indignant, Harry opened his mouth to protest being called a kid, but before he could say anything, a nearby commotion cut his words short.
Behind him, there was a “Damn!” followed by the dull sound of something hitting rock, then an “Ouch! For Merlin’s sake!” Harry turned and saw another man standing a few feet behind the shrine. He was rubbing his right foot with his hand, balancing on one leg like a crane. His wand was clutched between his teeth.
“That’s Luke,” Bill told Harry. Then turning to Luke, “No luck yet?”
Luke released his foot and took his wand out of his mouth. “Not one bit. The old bitch won’t budge.”
“There’s a statue locked in the shrine,” Bill explained to Harry. “Luke’s been trying to get it out for weeks now.”
“Step aside,” Paul said, twirling his wand in his fingers, “and let me show you what a real wizard can do.”
Luke grumbled, but stepped away and took a seat against the back wall of the sanctuary, watching Paul with part irritation and part interest.
Bill shrugged his shoulders at Laura. “Looks like it’s just you and me. Give us a hand, will you, Harry?”
“Yeah, all right,” replied Harry, though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He could defend himself against Death Eaters and fight off the Imperius curse, but he didn’t know any excavation spells.
“Here, take this,” Bill said, handing Harry a small pick with sharp silver points on either end.
Harry turned the pick over in his hands and looked at it questionably. “You don’t use spells?”
“Not for this. Just for breaking the curses. Spells aren’t always accurate, and if they’re done wrong, the finds could be damaged or destroyed.”
Harry craned his neck and looked into the hole. This shouldn’t be too hard, he thought. All he had to do was chip away at some rocks. He tapped the pick against the wall and watched as a few small pieces of rubble were loosened.
“Watch yourself,” Bill cautioned. “The curses are broken, but there’s ancient magic that even we can’t disable. Temples are more alive than you’d think, and they don’t like it when you try to take what’s theirs.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Harry, ignoring the warning. He’d been through much more dangerous things than taking treasure out of some old, crumbling temple.
“You go to Hogwarts, right?” Laura asked Harry. “Are you familiar with Egyptian history?”
Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We haven’t really studied Egypt.”
“It’s a shame, really,” Bill said. “Egyptian wizardry gets a raw deal these days.” He peeled off his white t-shirt and tossed it aside, revealing tight muscles that glistened in the orange torchlight. His drab green cargos rode low on his hips, drawing Harry’s attention to Bill’s lower torso and away from his digging assignment.
“Yes…yes, you’re, um, quite right.” From Laura’s flustered reaction, Harry knew that he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Bill.
Laura, however, seemed to recover quicker than Harry, who had almost dropped his pick.
“I Flooed to your flat over the weekend. You weren’t there,” she said almost reproachfully.
“I was at my parents’,” Bill told her quickly.
“Oh? Anything wrong?”
“Not really. They surprised me with Harry.”
Laura put down her pick and reached for some odd tool that Harry had never seen before and couldn’t even imagine what it was used for. “How long is he staying with you?” she asked.
“A month.” Bill brushed some dirt away with his fingers. “Until he goes back to school.”
“Maybe I should owl first, instead of just dropping in.”
“Maybe...”
Harry suddenly found himself not liking Laura very much. She was obviously flirting with Bill, and if Bill couldn’t see it, he was either blind or had very poor perception. Perhaps Bill knew it, but didn’t mind. Why that made Harry jealous, he didn’t know. Bill had no real obligation to him, and other than an adolescent, one-sided crush, Harry had no real involvement with Bill. Then, there was that body building magazine Bill bought at the market. From his comment about liking the pictures, Harry assumed that Bill favored men. But right now, it seemed that Bill liked Laura.
Wanting to take Bill’s attention away from Laura, Harry said the first thing he could think of. “So, um…why are we rummaging around in a temple? Wouldn’t you find more stuff in a pyramid?” It was a lame question, Harry knew, he couldn’t think of anything more profound to ask.
“Well, pyramids have more treasure,” Bill assented, “but temples have them, too, if you know where to look. Muggle archeologists and historians don’t know the treasure chambers exist in the temples, but that’s only because they don’t look for them.”
There. That was good. Get Bill talking about work. Keep his attention away from Laura. Harry smiled inwardly, feeling happy with the results. Feeling smug, he struck a piece of rock with the pick.
“Wait, it’s like this…” Bill took the pick out of Harry’s hand and Harry hoped he wasn’t the only one who noticed how Bill’s fingers lingered over his, just momentarily. “Tap down, not in. Break off small pieces at a time.”
Harry watched, though he was paying more attention to Bill’s bare, muscular arm than his technique.
“Here, you try.” Bill smiled at Harry and handed him the pick, which Harry took reluctantly because he knew now he’d have to demonstrate what Bill had just shown him.
Harry tapped at the jagged rock wall with the end of his pick, carefully, or so he thought. But a large, brown chunk came loose and hit the floor, where it crumbled. Harry stared down at it.
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” he said, scrunching up his nose to keep his glasses from slipping off.
“Nonsense,” Bill encouraged. “You’re doing fine. Just be careful, don’t use too much force.” He leaned over and ran his hands over the rock, removing tiny fragments with his fingers. “Sometimes, once it’s loosened, you can knock away parts without any tools.” Harry leaned in to get a better look.
Harry hadn’t realized how close they were until Bill turned to him. Their faces were barely inches apart and Harry could feel Bill’s labored breathing falling over his lips. Bill smelled of sweat and dirt and aftershave, and Harry unconsciously took a deep breath, taking it all in. Bill stared at Harry, but he didn’t speak, only stared. Harry’s eyes traced a single bead of sweat as it ran down the side of Bill’s face and disappeared around his neckline.
“If you’re not busy tomorrow night, Bill,” Laura interrupted, “maybe we could go to the plaza. I hear there’s a really good band playing there this week. I’m sure Harry would be all right by himself for a few hours.”
“Maybe…”
“Got it!” Paul exclaimed, jumping up and tossing his wand over his shoulder. “I told you, Luke, it takes a real wizard to do this sort of thing.”
Bill and Laura dropped their picks and rushed over to where Paul and Luke were standing.
Harry stayed where he was. He didn’t care. He didn’t see what all the excitement was about. Stupid shrine. He tapped the rock. Stupid statue. He tapped the rock again. Stupid treasure. He hit the rock. Stupid temple. He hit the rock again.
There was only a second’s warning. The wall shuddered and there was a roaring sound, and suddenly the rocks started crumbling and caving in. Harry felt a strong arm circle his waist and pull him away. He watched as small pebbles started falling, then larger ones, then even bigger ones. The floor of the sanctuary shook beneath the rockslide, and before anyone had time to realize what had happened, the entire hole was filled in.
Harry’s chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and he could feel Bill’s chest rising and falling against his back. Harry’s heart was pounding from the close call, and the sudden awareness that Bill was pressed up against him only increased his heart rate. He felt Bill’s heart pounding, too.
Paul and Laura started coughing.
“Close call, that,” Luke said, fanning the yellow dust out of the air.
Bill cinched his arm around Harry’s waist, jerking him closer. “I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “to watch yourself.”
Harry tried to speak, to apologize, to offer an excuse or explanation, but the dust in the air was too thick and it settled in his throat.
Bill released Harry with more force than was necessary. “You’re not here for a vacation. You’re here so that I can watch out for you. Careless mistakes like the one you just made will kill you before the Dark Lord will.”
****
Despite the near disaster, Bill kept taking Harry to the temple with him. What little portion of the bark that had been uncovered was now completely buried again, due to Harry’s lack of restraint over his temper. Bill hardly spoke to him the next day, but Harry worked hard to prove himself, a trait that Bill found admirable, and for the rest of the week, Bill spent more time talking and helping Harry than he did flirting with Laura. Harry was very happy with those results.
Along with Harry and Bill’s friendship, the nightmares had improved also, becoming far less frequent. After digging and shoveling all day, Harry was too tired to dream. His mind seemed to shut itself off once he lay down. On the few occasions when a nightmare would start, it would either end quickly or change into something else before fading out completely. It was a far better, and less embarrassing, method of Occlumency than Snape had ever taught him.
Though it was challenging at first, Harry was adjusting to living in Egypt. The open-air markets, with their flies and stray cats, were now familiar and Harry almost always accompanied Bill when he went to buy groceries or pick up a newspaper. Working in the temple was like attending Hogwarts-tough assignments that required patience and perseverance, but something that Harry looked forward to tackling and completing.
Staying with Bill had first made Harry nervous, but after a few awkward nights and mornings, Harry found that living with Bill was almost as nice as living at the Burrow. The cooking may not have been as good, but at least things were a lot quieter.
Bill, too, was getting accustomed to having Harry around. It wasn’t nearly the inconvenience he had initially supposed. Until now, Bill had never really had an opportunity to get to know Harry, but he found that Harry was far more mature than any of his brothers had been at that age, especially the twins. When they were at home, Harry was mostly quiet, listening while Bill talked about work or the latest Quidditch scores. What most people took as brooding and inattentive, Bill recognized as Harry merely being perceptive and thoughtful. This intrigued Bill, and there were many times when he wanted to get inside Harry’s head and know what was going on behind those crooked glasses and green eyes.
Bill had hoped that by taking Harry to Egypt, the nightmares would stop. They hadn’t at first, but they did soon after. Now, Harry slept soundlessly. For the first few nights, this worried Bill and he slipped into Harry’s bedroom to check on him, relived to find him fast asleep under the thin cotton sheet. Bill watched Harry sleep sometimes, though Harry didn’t know it and Bill didn’t tell him.
****
When the end of the week came, Harry was almost disappointed. Though he was looking forward to a few days of rest, he would miss what had quickly become his daily routine, and most of all, he would miss having an excuse to work in close proximity to a sweaty, shirtless Bill.
“I say we call it quits,” Luke said at last, tossing away his trowel.
Paul readily agreed, and Laura did, too, standing up and dusting off her jeans.
“I like the way you think, Luke,” said Bill with a smile. He waved his wand, muttered a spell, and the assortment of tools that lay spread over the floor vanished.
“I’m going out for a drink. Wanna come?” Paul asked Bill.
“I think I’ll just hang out with Harry,” Bill said without thinking, surprising himself.
Harry felt a strong blush in his cheeks as he tried to conceal a very pleased smile. He caught Laura giving Bill a disapproving look, but she Disapparated without a word.
“Suit yourself,” Paul shrugged. “See you on Monday.”
****
Harry and Bill jostled back into the city on their camels. Harry may have gotten used to the camels, but the familiarity didn’t replace his dislike of them. He swore his camel gave him threatening looks and went out of the way to make the ride as uncomfortable as possible, running when Harry clearly indicated for him to walk and kicking up clouds of sand that left a film over Harry’s glasses, making it nearly impossible for him to see.
Once in the city, Bill tried four times before succeeding in getting them a cab. He complained loudly about shoddy, unreliable transportation, ignoring the disagreeable looks from the pedestrians around them. At last, a dingy yellow cab parked at the curb and Bill threw the door open.
“…a bloody bicycle would be more efficient,” he was saying to the cab driver as Harry climbed in behind him.
It smelled like urine and vomit, and the green vinyl seats were torn in several places with white tufts of stuffing peeking out. The driver began spouting off at Bill. He spoke in Arabic, and although Harry didn’t understand a word of it, he was fairly certain it was obscene.
“You don’t know a damn thing about my mum!” Bill yelled back. “Just take me to my fucking flat!”
Harry didn’t want to be caught in the potentially volatile confrontation between Bill and the cab driver, but he found the situation funny in spite of the tension. He turned away to hide the smirk on his face and looked out the window, watching the other cars as they sputtered passed. After a few minutes, the cab became quiet and Harry thought Bill had either killed the driver or the driver had gotten smart and decided to keep his mouth shut.
Harry chanced a glance at the driver through the rearview mirror. He was still alive, which Harry thought was a good sign, but by the way his eyes were slit angrily in his dark face, Harry knew he was fuming.
“He knows he won’t get a tip,” Bill explained to Harry.
Harry laughed and nodded in understanding.
“I thought,” Bill started after a pause, “we could go to a discotheque tonight. If you want, that is.” Harry noticed that Bill was picking at a tear in the seat between them.
“Oh, yeah…yeah, I’d like to,” Harry tried to say casually.
Bill seemed to relax a little, and he smiled at Harry. “Great.”
****
Harry couldn’t believe he was going out with Bill. He was smart enough not to consider it an actual date, of course; he knew Bill wasn’t interested in him that way. But Bill apparently thought Harry was interesting enough to spend time with, and that made Harry feel less like an obligation and more like a mate.
There was a small problem, though. Harry didn’t have anything suitable to wear to a club. Clothes had never been something he spent much time worrying about, as he usually had far bigger issues to concern himself with, and he never understood why women were always so fussy about them. But now, as he rummaged through his trunk and saw his meager clothing choices, he wished he’d spent more time listening to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. At last, he decided on his best pair of jeans, faded and worn just enough to be considered trendy, and a shirt that Hermione had always said complemented his eyes.
Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror. He hoped Bill liked green.
“Ready, Harry?” Bill asked from the doorway.
When Harry caught Bill’s reflection in the mirror, his mouth dropped open. Bill was wearing his hair down, not tied back in the usual ponytail. It curled loosely as it fell over his shoulders. He was wearing a tight black shirt that looked like it was made of the same material as the fishnet stockings that women wore, showing off his tanned chest and arms. He was also wearing black leather pants that were so tight, Harry thought they were painted on, and thick-soled boots with silver buckles on the side. Harry had always thought Bill was cool. Now Harry decided that Bill was gorgeous.
“I think so…” Harry managed to squeak out.
****
“It’s a Muggle club,” Bill informed Harry as they walked down the busy sidewalk, “so watch what you say.”
“Right,” Harry replied, though he could hardly keep his eyes off Bill’s broad shoulders and muscular arms that were even more defined by the black net shirt.
They walked a few blocks and the city changed drastically. What had been high-rise apartments and locally owned markets became loud, neon clubs. They had to fight their way through the crowds, with Harry keeping very close to Bill so that he wouldn’t get separated or lost. Bill pushed through a long, slow-moving line, ignoring the angry looks thrown at him by the people who were still waiting.
The bouncer at the door seemed to recognize Bill and nodded him through, but he put out his fat hand when Harry stepped forward.
Harry looked from the chubby hand on his chest up into the man’s rigid face. “I, um, I…” he tried to say.
“He’s with me,” Bill said, and he put a strong arm around Harry’s shoulders as they walked in. Harry’s heart rate sped up.
Most of the club was dark, except for the dance floor, which was flooded with blue and purple lights. Music boomed and pounded, shaking the floor beneath their feet. Bill walked Harry over to the bar, where he ordered a beer for both of them. While they waited, Harry shuffled closer to Bill, who still hadn’t taken his arm off Harry’s shoulder. The bartender sat two brown bottles in front of them. Harry picked his beer up and took a drink, trying to look casual and at ease, as if he regularly went out with gorgeous men such as Bill. Bill took his own beer and guided Harry to a nearby table.
“Do you dance?” Bill shouted over the music as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“No!” Harry said quickly, without thinking. The only dancing he’d ever done had been at the Yule Ball, when he’d been forced to dance with Parvati Patil. “Do you dance?”
“Sometimes,” Bill said. He picked up his bottle and took a long drink. Harry watched his throat bob as he swallowed it down.
Suddenly, Harry wished he could’ve taken back what he’d just said. Dancing with Bill would be nothing like dancing with Parvati. Why had he said no? Sure, he didn’t know anything about real dancing, but he would’ve let Bill lead. He would’ve risked the embarrassment to be pressed up against Bill and have Bill’s arms around him. Harry started to speak, to rescind what he’d just said about not dancing, but he never got the chance.
A tall, lean woman with dark skin and black hair sauntered over to their table. She wore a tight pink shirt and a patterned skirt that flared when her hips moved. She bent down to Bill’s ear, bowing low so that her breasts fell forward, almost toppling out of her shirt, and whispered something that Harry couldn’t hear over the music. Bill smiled and nodded and placed his arm around her waist, escorting her to the dance floor, leaving Harry alone at the table with his drink.
A waiter came over and asked Harry if he wanted another beer. Harry didn’t like beer and he wanted something stronger, but he knew nothing about ordering drinks. He pointed to something on the drink menu.
“I’ll take one of those,” he said miserably. He didn’t know what he’d ordered. It was blue, in a large, bowl-shaped stemmed glass, and he hoped there was enough alcohol in it to make him feel less lonely and dejected.
Bill danced with the girl in the pink shirt, then with another in a red dress, then with another in some black number that Harry hardly thought could be considered clothing.
All that dancing had apparently made Bill thirsty, because when he came back to the table half an hour later, he sat down with a tired sigh and took a long drink.
“Women are beautiful, don’t you think?” Bill said with a sly grin as he sat his beer bottle back on the table.
“I guess,” Harry shrugged. He’d never had much of an interest in women, but Bill obviously did. This disappointed Harry, though he knew it really shouldn’t. He was too young and not nearly attractive enough for Bill, anyway.
A guy with light brown hair and a pretty face came over to their table. He was obviously a tourist. Harry was instantly irritated by his sunburned face and zealous voice.
“Do you mind if I dance with your boyfriend?” he asked Harry with a mocking grin.
Harry sputtered and nearly choked on his drink. “He’s-he’s not-”
Bill shocked Harry by answering for him. “He won’t mind.”
Harry sat motionless, surprised, as Bill took the guy’s hand and they walked out onto the dance floor. Harry was even more confused now. Bill had danced with several women, and even commented about how beautiful he thought women were. But now he was dancing, in a way Mrs. Weasley would never approve of, with another man.
Harry tried not to watch Bill. He stared at his drink, picked at his napkin, and watched the bartender mix cocktails. The shiny silver tumblers that the bartender tossed about left tracers in Harry’s eyes, which he thought looked cool until it made him dizzy.
Despite his efforts to distract himself, Harry kept wondering what Bill would look like dancing with another man. He looked over at last, and he felt his cock rising in his jeans as he watched Bill, toned and tan, grinding his hips against the other guy. The guy’s hands were all over Bill, moving over his shoulders and down his back, before finally resting on his arse. From the look on Bill’s face and the way his body moved against the other guy’s, it was quite evident that Bill liked men. While the two of them together was the most arousing thing Harry had ever seen, it made him jealous and even a little angry.
The song ended, but the man didn’t let go of Bill. He kept touching him and sliding against him until the music started up again. Harry didn’t know how many songs they danced to. He lost count after four.
Harry downed the last of his drink and motioned for the waiter to bring him another. He was staring down into his empty glass, toying with the paper umbrella, and he didn’t notice that Bill had come back to the table.
When Harry looked up, he saw that Bill wasn’t alone. The other guy was standing next to him, entirely too close, with his fingers laced with Bill’s. Bill tugged on the guy’s hand and pulled him even closer. Harry could see their tongues, glistening in the club lights, just before their lips met. He wanted to watch the kiss, but no, he didn’t. Not really. Not unless he was the one kissing Bill. And he was most definitely not the one kissing Bill.
Thankfully, the waiter arrived just in time with Harry’s drink, full to the rim, with a few cold drips running down the side. Harry downed a mouthful. The waiter’s approach and retreat caught Bill’s attention.
“How many of those have you had?” he asked, pointing at Harry’s drink.
“Not many,” Harry lied.
Bill looked at him suspiciously. It was obvious by Harry’s slurred voice and slow movements that he’d had too much to drink.
To reclaim Bill’s attention, the man wrapped his arms around Bill’s neck. “Come home with me,” he said into Bill’s ear.
“I’ve got to get him back,” Bill said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Harry.
“I can get home by myself, you know,” Harry said, much too loudly.
“I know you can,” said Bill with a bit of sarcasm.
Just to show Bill how capable he was, Harry took one last drink and stood up from the table. His head started spinning faster than when he was just sitting down, and he swayed on his feet. Bill reached out to grab his arm, but Harry mumbled, “No, I’m fine,” and started towards the door.
The man watched Harry, then turned back to Bill. “Don’t waste your time. Come home with me.”
“I can’t,” Bill said, not feeling as sorry as he expected he would. “He’ll never get home by himself.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew that his journey to the door would’ve been a lot quicker if his feet hadn’t meandered so much. He knew Bill was behind him, but Harry was going to walk out on his own, regardless of how long it took him. He reached the door at last, and took a great, wobbling step forward. The night air was cool and helped his mind clear a bit, though his vision was just as blurred as before.
“C’mere,” Bill said, “and let me help you. You’re not going to make it back like that.”
“No, I’m fine,” Harry said again and waved Bill off. But when he started to walk, he realized his knees would no longer support the weight of the rest of his body.
Bill put one arm around Harry’s waist, then grabbed Harry’s left arm and threw it around his own shoulders. He remembered those days when he’d get pissed in bars or clubs and have to stumble home, hoping he remembered the address and how to fit the key in the door.
Though drunk, Harry was acutely aware of each place where Bill’s body touched his. He felt his cock harden and rise in his jeans, and he was afraid his physical reaction was evident. He felt Bill’s right arm around his waist and he thought if Bill moved it down, just a little, it would be on his hip, and if Bill moved down even farther, it would be…
“We’re almost there,” Bill said. “Think you’ll make it?”
“I’m fine,” Harry tried to say, but his tongue was too big for his mouth and his lips moved slower than he wanted them to.
Bill fumbled to get the door key out of his pocket while he supported Harry’s almost dead weight. Harry swayed heavily as Bill tried to get him through the door. Once inside, Bill paused to let Harry regain his footing.
“Hang on a minute, and I’ll get you to bed,” Bill said.
He pulled the keys out of the lock and tossed them on the table. Then Bill grabbed Harry tighter around the waist and tried to convince him to walk. Harry’s head lolled back and forth, despite his efforts to hold it upright. He finally gave up trying and let it fall against Bill’s shoulder. He could feel Bill’s neck against his forehead, warm and damp with sweat. Bill’s hair smelled like cigarette smoke mixed with perfume and cologne, and Harry breathed it in.
“Harry?” Bill shifted a little so that he was facing Harry. He lifted Harry’s head slowly. “Just a few more steps, all right?”
Bill’s breath was hot and smelled like alcohol, and somewhere in his hazy thoughts, Harry wondered what his mouth would taste like. So he did it. He closed his eyes. He puckered his lips. He leaned in. And he kissed Bill.
Bill pulled away almost immediately and took Harry by the wrists. Harry watched Bill’s blurred lips move up and down, but he couldn’t hear anything. What had Bill said? Harry blinked his eyes a few times, somehow thinking that would clear his hearing. Finally, he squinted up at Bill. Bill’s face was fuzzy. He had three eyes, two noses, and four lips. Harry opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but before any words came out, Bill’s face became shadowy, then completely black, and Harry passed out.
****
Harry woke with a throbbing in his head. It wasn’t like when his scar hurt, not the sharp, burning sensation, but more of a dull ache. When he sat up, the room started spinning, like his bed was tipping over, and he quickly lay back down again and closed his eyes.
Harry was experiencing his first hangover, and now he knew why people were so miserable after a night of drinking. His mouth held the taste of bitter alcohol and stale fruit, and he swore to himself he’d never drink again.
There was the soft sound of footsteps across the floor, and Harry opened one eye, slowly and carefully, hoping that his bed wouldn’t start tipping over again.
“Thought you might need this,” Bill said, offering Harry a glass of clear liquid.
It looked like water, and Harry made a grab for it, just now discovering how dry and sticky his mouth was. He gulped half of it down before the taste hit him and he realized it wasn’t water. It was thick and sour, like drinking syrup made with vinegar.
“What,” he winced, “is this stuff?” He looked up at Bill with his lips curled into distaste.
“A cure for a hangover. Figured you’d have one this morning.”
“I don’t know which is worse-the hangover or this supposed cure,” Harry said, but he took a deep breath and downed the rest of it. He handed the glass back to Bill.
“You should feel better soon,” Bill said, taking the glass away. Then he walked out the door and down the hall.
Harry lay back down on his pillow and closed his eyes again, hoping Bill was right about him feeling better soon. He didn’t think he could get out of bed right now, even if a swarm of doxies suddenly flew out of the curtains and started biting him. He couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had or what kind of drinks they had been. He couldn’t remember the music that played or whether or not he’d been brave enough to get up and dance to it. He couldn’t even remember how he got home. He supposed Bill had helped him, because Harry was pretty sure he hadn’t been capable of getting home by himself. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before, which was a pretty good indication that he’d barely made it to the bed before collapsing. He couldn’t really remember, though.
But then he did remember. Not much, but enough. He remembered Bill’s arm around him and stumbling through the door and then…he remembered kissing Bill.
Oh, damn. Damn, damn. He’d kissed Bill. A drunken, inexperienced, teenaged boy, and he had kissed a man who was almost twice his age. A man that he was staying the entire summer with, and a man who was also his best friend’s oldest brother.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss Bill. Once Harry thought about it, he could remember a lot of times when he wanted to kiss Bill. They had all been harmless, basically innocent thoughts that he never would’ve told anyone about. But now Harry had acted on those thoughts, and that led to a very embarrassing and potentially disastrous situation.
Feeling even worse than before he had taken the hangover cure, Harry pulled the pillow out from under his head and stuffed it over his face. He was definitely not getting out of bed today.
****
A jet of green light shot through the darkness, burrowing through Hermione’s chest. She staggered back a few feet before she went limp and fell to the floor. She was dead. Ron’s body was twisted and tangled, broken beyond mending, though it no longer mattered. He was dead. Neville lay against the wall, his chin resting on his chest like he was asleep. Only he wasn’t. He was dead. Blue light from the candles on the wall flickered over the corpses.
The room echoed with the sound of laughter, high and cold. Harry didn’t have to turn. He knew where the laughter came from. He’d heard it too many times before, clear and sharp like shattered glass. It cut through his ears, leaving jagged scars. He knew the sound and the source, but still, he turned to face it. It was an automatic reaction, not something he could refuse or run away from. Kill or be killed, and Harry was ready for the fight.
Voldemort stood before him, not as a vapor or a ghost, but as the Dark Lord, solid and strong. Harry took a step forward, the same step he’d been taking all summer. The step that inevitably led to the same ending, the same conclusion, and the same consequence. He had to change things this time, he had to rewrite the ending. He had to kill Voldemort. He’d failed so many times before. Kill or be killed, and there were no other options.
The Killing Curse. It was his only hope. He’d learned it, repeated it over and over until it was as familiar as his own name. It had become a part of him, his identity, much like the scar on his forehead. Harry found his anger, the source of his power, and drew from it. He saw the Dursleys. He saw Malfoy. He saw Snape. He saw Sirius dying. Kill or be killed, and Harry didn’t want to join Sirius yet.
Harry took a breath as his anger rolled and billowed inside him. It swirled around him, a shield, a comfort. He would use it and he would destroy Voldemort through it. Words, the Curse, bubbled up from his throat and fell on his tongue. He could taste them, bittersweet, nauseating yet delicious. The words hit his teeth, knocking against them, wanting and fighting to get out. They’d been held in too long, captive. They wanted freedom, the same freedom that Harry wanted and the same freedom he was expected to give the entire Wizarding World. The words forced Harry’s lips apart and he opened his mouth. But there was no sound. He tried again, but there was only silence. The words died as they hit the air. They fell dead, like flies, like his friends. Like himself. Kill or be killed, and Harry had failed again.
Voldemort raised his arm, slowly, lazily, like he was bored with it all. He aimed his wand at Harry’s head, directly at his scar. There was an intake of breath, a hiss. The words that had abandoned Harry flowed freely from Voldemort’s mouth, easily, almost like laughter. They had betrayed him.
Avada Kedavra. A surge of green. Done. Finished. Kill or be killed, and now it was Harry’s turn to die…
“Harry? You okay?” Bill was standing in the doorway, bare-chested, in a pale pair of boxer shorts. The moonlight streaming through the open window framed him in blue.
“I’m fine,” said Harry, rubbing his scar. “It was just a dream.”
Something inside Bill told him to go back to his own room, that he was too weak and Harry was too vulnerable and he would only complicate things if he stayed. But he ignored his sensible side, following an inherent recklessness as he allowed his physical desires to take control. He hadn’t forgotten about Harry kissing him and he hadn’t forgotten how he beat off that night to the taste of Harry on his lips. He walked over to the bed and sat down.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No…” Harry left the rest of the sentence unsaid and gave Bill a look that spoke louder than any words could.
Bill knew what Harry wanted. It was the same thing he wanted. But would it be too much? Would it go too far? Was Harry really ready? A warm breeze blew through the window, billowing the light curtain, and Bill thought it bore a whispered ‘yes.’
Harry blinked, and then Bill’s mouth was covering his, hot and wet, and even stronger than Harry had imagined. He gasped from the surprise and intensity, and Bill pulled away.
Bill had found the answers to his questions. “I’m-I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t…” He went to stand, but Harry wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him close.
“Don’t leave,” Harry whispered against Bill’s lips. “Stay. Make me forget.”
Harry’s warm breath spilled over Bill’s lips and Bill suddenly forgot every reason why he shouldn’t be kissing Harry. He closed the small gap between them, pressing his lips to Harry’s so forcefully that he thought it might leave a bruise. Again, Harry was surprised by the sheer intensity in Bill’s kiss, but he wasn’t pulling away this time. He started kissing back, pressing against Bill, and when he felt Bill’s tongue brush over his lip, he opened his mouth to accept it.
Harry tasted salty, like sweat, not acidic from the alcohol like the time before. Harry’s lips were soft, but Bill felt them tense up as more pressure was applied to his own mouth. He snaked his tongue around, searching for Harry’s. Harry was timid at first, but all of Bill’s fears became meaningless when Harry wrapped his tongue around Bill’s.
Harry released his hold on Bill’s neck and slid his hands over Bill’s broad shoulders. Bill’s shoulders strained and contracted under Harry’s touch, and each ripple of muscle caused a different kind of ripple in Harry, starting with small butterflies in his stomach and flying downward to his cock where they became more like vultures, needing and wanting and hungry.
Bill put his arms around Harry and leaned into him, encouraging him to lie back. Harry complied so quickly that Bill wondered if he’d needed the encouragement after all. Harry let his head fall on his pillow, which was still damp and cool from the panic and thrashing about during the nightmare. Bill’s body, though, now draped over his like armor, like protection, was hot and Harry wanted to feel as much of him as possible.
Harry slid his knee between Bill’s legs, a move that surprised Bill by the boldness of it. What also surprised Bill was how distinct Harry’s erection was, digging into his hip. Bill could feel the heat, and the pulsing, through the thin cotton of his boxers. He shifted so that he could slide his hand through the opening in Harry’s pajamas.
Harry groaned when Bill’s strong fingers closed around his cock. It was so different from when he touched himself, more concentrated, yet markedly curious. Bill stroked him a few times to learn how it felt to have Harry’s cock in his hand. He moved down to Harry’s balls. They weighed heavy in his palm as he rubbed Harry’s swollen sac with his thumb, feeling it tighten with each touch. Harry trembled underneath him.
“You haven’t done this before, have you?” Bill asked, suddenly too aware of what he was doing.
“No,” Harry said quietly, and the word hung suspended in the night air.
Bill hung his head, a mixture of shame and disappointment. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“I want this,” Harry said, louder and with a certainty that surprised Bill. “Please stay. I want this.”
To show Bill how truly sincere his words were, Harry took Bill’s hand and pressed his cock into Bill’s palm. Bill drew an unsteady breath, but he began stroking Harry’s cock, the smooth flesh sliding hot into his hand. The skin was soft, but underneath, it was hard, so hard, and suddenly Bill knew just how bad Harry wanted this.
“We’ll need…I’ve got some…in my room. Just let me get it.” Bill kissed Harry, then pulled away slowly, reluctant to lose the feel of Harry’s lips on his. On shaking legs and weak knees, he walked to his room and grabbed a tube of lubricant from his bedside table. He knew there was nothing to be nervous about; he’d done this hundreds of times, with men and women. But this was Harry. And that made it different.
Though the room was hot with the heat of an Egyptian night, Harry instantly felt the coolness left in Bill’s absence. The nightmare was a distant memory; the only remnants were Harry’s damp sheets and the dry, sticky streams of sweat on his back. He couldn’t believe that he was here, like this, with Bill. He’d always been attracted to Bill, and even wanked sometimes while thinking about him, but he’d never seriously entertained the thought that anything like this would ever happen between them. He was inexperienced, but he wasn’t scared. He wanted this, and he was going to have it. He slipped off his pajama pants, which were sticky in the front with pre-cum, and tossed them away. There was the soft sound of bare feet padding on a wooden floor, and Bill walked back into the bedroom.
Harry lay there, naked, his skin dark against the white of the sheets, and Bill was surprised once again by Harry’s boldness. He pulled down his boxer shorts and stepped out of them, leaving them forgotten on the floor. He knelt on the bed and spread Harry’s legs, then moved between them. Flipping the cap on the tube, he looked down at Harry for reassurance. Harry had shown him he was ready, but Bill wanted to make sure Harry wasn’t mistaking his intentions.
Harry gave him that look again, the look he’d given him just before Bill lost all rationality, and no words were necessary. A warm breeze carried Bill’s breath away just before he bent forward and claimed Harry’s lips. Harry thrust upwards and his erection slid against Bill’s stomach. Harry moaned, a sensual sound that provoked a moan from Bill as well. Harry began thrusting against Bill’s slick stomach, his breath coming in quick pants.
Bill’s own erection was momentarily forgotten. If Harry was going to come, he wanted to feel it, he wanted to hold his cock while he came and feel it pulsing in his hand. Bill dropped the lube and reached for Harry’s cock, but Harry quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him.
Harry leaned up and kissed Bill softly. “Not yet,” he whispered. “I want more out of this than a wank.”
Bill breathed a thankful sigh of relief and ran a soothing hand along the inside of Harry’s thigh. “I’ll stop whenever you want. Just say so.”
Bill reached for the discarded lubricant and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Harry spread his legs and took a deep breath. The touch was cold at first and Harry jerked involuntarily, but Bill’s fingers soon heated up as he rubbed across Harry’s entrance, over and over and over. Harry had barely gotten comfortable with someone touching him in such an unlikely place when Bill slipped a finger in. Harry gasped from surprise and slight discomfort, but Bill moved slowly and easily, and soon Harry relaxed.
Bill added another finger and moved it around carefully, stretching Harry properly. Harry was so tight, and although Bill wanted nothing more than to slide his cock inside, he knew the impending pain was unavoidable and he wanted to alleviate as much of it as possible.
After a few minutes of shallow thrusts and small twists, Harry began squirming around Bill’s fingers, moving down on them and pushing them in farther. Having his fingers buried so deeply inside Harry made Bill’s cock twitch with anticipation. If Harry felt this good around his fingers, he could only imagine what it would feel like to have Harry’s constricting muscles surrounding his cock.
Bill leaned forward and placed a few light kisses around Harry’s dry, parted lips. He licked over them with his tongue, wetting them, as he pushed his fingers in deeper. Harry lifted his hips off the bed.
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Harry chanted between pants.
Bill kissed Harry gently again, and then sat up. With added lubricant, he stroked his stiff cock, making it slick and shiny in his hands. He guided himself to Harry’s entrance and pushed, slowly, until the head of his cock slipped in. Harry was tight, so tight, and Bill felt his cock being sucked in and enveloped by that compacted heat. Harry was biting his lip, though whether it was from pain or pleasure, Bill couldn’t tell. He leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek.
“Am I hurting you?” Bill whispered in Harry’s ear.
“No,” breathed Harry, though it was hardly audible between his quick gasps.
With that assurance, Bill pushed deeper. After a few moments of adjustment, Harry began moving and Bill knew the pain had ebbed. He pulled out and pushed back in without hesitation, barely allowing Harry time to catch his breath. Harry was moaning loudly, almost continually, his breath coming quickly from his lips, as Bill pushed deeper and faster. Trails of sweat ran down Harry’s face and neck, and Bill bent forward to lick them away. He licked at Harry’s face, then at his neck, and then at his throat, running his tongue along the wet, salty skin. Both their bodies were wet with perspiration, slick, and sliding together as easily as Bill was sliding in and out of Harry. Suddenly, Bill hit a place deep inside Harry and Harry cried out.
“Please…” Harry gasped, “do that again.”
Bill readily complied with Harry’s request, raising his hips and driving into Harry at just the right angle. Bill rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder, the mixture of their sweat making his hair cling to the side of Harry’s face. Harry’s breathing quickened and came in hot wisps over Bill’s ear.
Bill’s senses were filled, the taste of Harry’s sweat on his tongue and lips, the feel of Harry’s slick body underneath his, the scent of Harry’s youth, the sound of their skin slapping together. It was erotic.
He thrust his hips forward again and again, being sure he hit Harry’s prostate each time. Harry began writhing under him, whimpering, and Bill reached down and took Harry’s cock in his hand. Pre-cum was leaking from the head, dripping onto Harry’s stomach in thick, white drops. Bill dipped his fingers in it, then started stroking him, slow at first, then building up speed until the force of the strokes matched the force of his thrusts.
Harry closed his eyes. A kaleidoscope of light. A deep groan. Harry’s mouth. Bill’s throat. A slick hand. A sure grip. Steady. Pumping. Rhythmic. Faster. Needing. Faster. Craving. Faster. Aching. Close. Closer, closer, closer. And then...
Harry came. He found his voice and cried out, and his body ached and shuddered with the memory of the orgasm.
A soft breeze blew across Harry’s bare back and ruffled the hair on his neck. He grumbled sleepily and rolled over, settling down into the sheets. He felt the obvious presence of someone lying next to him, and memories and visions of the night before came rushing back. Bill’s mouth and hands all over him, and his cock deep inside him…Harry was fully awake now.
He felt like jumping up and shouting. Voldemort could come for him now. If he died, at least he wouldn’t die a virgin. He couldn’t wait to tell Ron. Ron hadn’t yet got past the masturbating stage, but Harry…Harry had just had sex, unbelievable sex, with a gorgeous man, who was…Ron’s brother. Uh-oh. That complicated things a bit. Liking other blokes was one thing, but sleeping with your best friend’s brother was another subject altogether. Harry decided this would be one of the few secrets he kept from Ron. Maybe he’d tell him some other time, but not now.
Harry relaxed into the pillow and his mind went back to the events of the night before. Just as he was remembering how it felt to have Bill’s hand wrapped around his cock, he felt a keen pair of eyes on him. He opened his own eyes and saw that Bill was watching him.
Bill smiled at Harry and reached over to touch his shoulder. Harry’s skin was warm and flushed from sleep. His eyes were barely open, just a speck of green under long black lashes. His cheeks were pink, with small imprints from the pillowcase. His lips were red and still swollen with kisses. Bill was speechless.
Eventually, he found his voice and managed to say, “’Morning.”
Harry blinked a few times, trying to make his eyesight adjust without his glasses. It was no use. Though he was nearly blind without his glasses, he knew the blurry form next to him was Bill. Bill, in his bed, with barely a sheet between them.
“’Morning,” Harry murmured, trying to sound as casual as Bill had. He hoped the way his lips curled into an undeniable smile wouldn’t give him away.
Bill sat up on his elbows, sliding out from the sheet. “Are you hungry? I can make breakfast. What do you want?” He ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face.
Harry would’ve been happy with burnt toast and runny eggs.
“Doesn’t matter. Anything’s fine,” he said, all too aware of the way Bill’s hips and thighs were exposed by the shifting of the covers, and how his cock, long though soft, lay immodestly between his legs. Harry tried to look away, but it was useless, and in the end he just closed his eyes again.
Bill rose from the bed. “I’ll call you when it’s ready,” he said.
Harry lifted an eyelid and was awarded with a full view of Bill’s backside as he walked away. Bill was one of the most beautiful men Harry had ever seen. Bill’s hair, messy from sleep and tangled with dried sweat, hung in limp curls around his shoulders. The muscles in those shoulders bulged and rippled down his back then narrowed to his waist, then curved out again at his toned arse.
Yes, Bill was beautiful, and Harry knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Anybody would want to be with Bill, and Harry had been with Bill. Bill had touched him and kissed him and fucked him…God, had Bill fucked him. Harry had never felt anything so incredible in his life. But the night was over, and reality was settling in with the yellow rays of the morning sun.
What happened now? Harry didn’t know. Maybe last night had been Bill’s method of comforting him. Maybe it was a simple, friendly convenience. Maybe Bill had been lonely and Harry had been willing. Harry was sure that was the case. After all, he’d kissed Bill before and Bill hadn’t responded to it, didn’t even bring it up the next day. There had been no post-sex cuddling or good morning kisses. Not that Harry had any experience in that sort of thing. But he’d heard girls at school talking about it, and it always happened that way in the Muggle movies Aunt Petunia watched when no one was around. Instead, Bill merely patted Harry on the shoulder and asked if he was hungry.
Harry wasn’t in love with Bill. He didn’t even know Bill that well. But he hoped that what happened between them the night before meant something, even a little something, to Bill. It didn’t have to last forever. Harry was only seventeen, and he knew, or hoped, that he’d have other lovers, experiment a bit before he settled down. But he wanted to be more than just another one of Bill’s conquests, more than just a kid with a rather convenient crush. A little stability and security wasn’t a bad thing.
Breakfast could be promising, though, Harry told himself. He’d heard of breakfast in bed. Maybe Bill would saunter in, balancing a tray of food and a vase with a red flower in it. They could eat and talk, and afterwards, there would be more touching and more kissing and, Harry hoped, more fucking. It always happened that way in the movies.
Bill, wrapped in a loose towel, stuck his head in the room and grinned. “Food’s on the table, if you want it.”
Okay, maybe breakfast wasn’t so promising after all.
****
Bill slept in his own bed that night. For the first three hours. After that, he gave up the pretense of sleep. He couldn’t keep Harry out of his head, and his erection came back, even after a successful wank. With the excuse of making sure Harry wasn’t having another nightmare, he crept into Harry’s bedroom. Harry’s eyes shone in the dim light from the moon, and Bill knew Harry couldn’t sleep, either. Neither of them spoke, but when Bill knelt in the floor next to Harry’s bed and leaned in to kiss him, one touch led to another, and gratefully, Bill found himself fucking Harry with his tongue, then with his fingers, and then with his cock.
The following night, Bill managed to stay in his own bed for two hours. The next night, it was only an hour, and the night after that, he didn’t even bother. When Harry went to bed, Bill followed. With eager hands, they tore at each other’s clothes and then Harry crawled on the bed and spread his legs in invitation. They didn’t talk about what was happening, they just let it happen. Between all the gasping and moaning, they were too out of breath and too tired to bother with talking.
It kept happening, night after night. Never in Bill’s bed, but always in Harry’s. Harry didn’t care so much about the messy sheets; he was more concerned with the potential mess of emotional hurt. He still wasn’t in love with Bill, but he could feel the beginnings of something similar to it. He honestly didn’t expect anything from Bill, and he wanted Bill to know that, but Harry would be leaving for Hogwarts in just a couple of weeks. He needed to know if Bill would forget about this summer, forget about him.
After a week of internal debate and confusion over his feelings, Harry decided to approach Bill about it. He waited until after the sex, of course. No sense in rushing into things.
“Can I talk you about something?” Harry asked. He stared up at the ceiling. It was easier than looking at Bill.
Bill turned over on his side to face Harry. “Sure,” he said in a deep voice.
“This,” Harry glanced nervously at Bill, “that’s been going on…between us, you know, well…I just…it just makes me wonder sometimes.”
The talk. Bill knew it was coming. Now he was going to have to try to make sense of it all when he didn’t fully understand it himself. He decided to let Harry lead. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, feeling more courageous than he’d expected. “I mean, is it just…you know…or is it…something else.” He looked over at Bill with searching eyes.
Those eyes never failed to take Bill’s breath away. “You scare me sometimes, Harry,” he said in almost a whisper. “I shouldn’t want you the way I do.”
Harry didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. He turned on his side to face Bill. “Why do you say that?”
“Because…well,” it was Bill’s turn to stutter, “I’m…I’m supposed to be taking care of you. Mum would hex my dick off if she knew what I’d been doing to you.” Harry chuckled and Bill had to laugh, too.
“We just won’t tell her,” Harry said with a grin.
Bill turned serious again. “It’s not just Mum, though.” He thought for a moment. “I’m 30, and you’re…?”
“Seventeen. Same as Ron.”
“Ron. Right. How do you think he’s going to take this?”
Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Before, Bill would’ve been surprised at the surety in Harry’s answer. Now, it was as familiar as Harry’s dark hair on the pillow next to him.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Bill said, and he took Harry’s leg and wrapped it around his waist.
While Bill’s growing erection pressed against his stomach was quite the distraction, Harry wasn’t done with the conversation. He needed to know. “So…will you forget about me when I go back to school?”
Bill chuckled and nuzzled Harry’s neck. “Harry, I could never forget about you.”
****
“Today you’re going to learn to Apparate,” Bill announced.
Harry was standing around in the kitchen one morning, watching as Bill searched for a saucepan. He still hadn’t brought Harry breakfast in bed, but he’d shown Harry his feelings in other ways, and as long as Harry was with Bill, he didn’t care where, or what, he ate.
Harry looked at Bill quizzically. “But I already know how to Apparate.”
“Not properly, you don’t. I’m going to teach you. The area around the temple is still full of Repelling spells. Paul and Luke are sealing up the wall where the bark was taken out. It’ll be the perfect place. Now, help me find that bloody saucepan, will you?”
****
The saucepan remained elusive, so in the end, they opted for cold cereal. After a thankfully uneventful cab ride and a surprisingly smooth camel ride, Harry and Bill arrived at the temple. It was a Sunday, so no one was working and they had the place to themselves. Bill suggested that they practice outside. He hadn’t forgotten Harry’s aptitude for causing disasters inside.
Bill knew that learning to Apparate was dangerous, and he wouldn’t have tried to teach Harry if Harry hadn’t done it before. He would use short distances, too, to make it less difficult. Although it wasn’t supposed to be done without a license, Bill knew that Dumbledore had a lot of influence over the Ministry and could get them out of any trouble. He wasn’t worried.
Bill put his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve done it before. Just relax.”
Despite Bill’s encouragement, Harry was still nervous. He trusted Bill, but Dumbledore was a much more powerful wizard, and Harry would’ve felt a little better if he’d been around to supervise.
“I’ve been through this with five brothers,” said Bill, seeming to read Harry’s thoughts. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“But what if I splinch-”
“You won’t,” Bill interrupted. “Remember what Dumbledore taught you?” Harry nodded. “Okay, now try it.”
Bill walked a few feet ahead and Harry closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate on getting to Bill, concentrate on opening his eyes and seeing Bill right in front of him, close enough to touch. But nothing happened. Harry didn’t feel anything, no movement at all, and he knew he hadn’t succeeded. He tried again, thinking about Bill and how badly he wanted to get to him. He clenched his fists tightly at his side and wrinkled his nose in concentration, but still, nothing happened. After a few minutes, Bill walked over to him.
“Concentrate. You’re not concentrating,” Bill whispered in Harry’s ear.
Harry opened his eyes. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re pressing up against me,” said Harry, without a trace of irritation.
Bill chuckled and took a step back. “Sorry.”
“I wasn’t complaining, you know.”
“I should hope not,” Bill said with a smirk. He walked a few more feet away. “Okay, try it again.”
Harry tried again. He closed his eyes and tried picturing Bill, how it felt to be close to him, and how it felt to have Bill’s arms around him. But nothing happened and Harry was starting to feel like this whole idea was a waste of time. He opened his eyes and shook his head.
“Don’t concentrate on me, concentrate on Apparating to me,” Bill instructed.
“Easy for you to say,” said Harry. “You’re not looking at yourself. You know you’re gorgeous, don’t you?”
Bill waved Harry’s comment off modestly. “Nonsense. Now, think, Harry. You can do it.”
Harry tried again. He closed his eyes. This time, he focused on moving, focused on being in one place and appearing in another. He tried not to think about Bill, just about getting to where Bill was. He held his eyes shut tightly, concentrating. Move, he said to himself. Move. Move. Suddenly, Harry felt the air around him start to stir. He felt it rustle his hair and he heard it roar in his ears. In a second, it was gone. When he opened his eyes, Bill was right in front of him.
Harry felt like squealing and jumping up and down until he remembered that he was much too mature for that sort of thing. Bill grabbed Harry and hugged him.
“That was great, Harry, just great.” Bill kissed him. “Okay, now go again.”
****
Days passed, and Harry dreaded every one of them. He knew he’d have to leave for Hogwarts soon. He hadn’t even bothered to pack. His clothes were strewn about the room, though that was mostly Bill’s fault, and his books had collected dust were they’d been forgotten on the desk. That was Bill’s fault, too. Some days, Bill fucked Harry until Harry wasn’t sure if he could walk, and that left very little time for studying. Bill had even gone on temporary work leave, telling his boss that he was desperately needed at home and he just couldn’t break away.
It was more than sex, though. Harry knew it, and Bill knew it, too. Now, Bill always held Harry afterwards, and Harry decided that cuddling was almost as good as sex. Almost. Bill’s strong arms made Harry feel secure and protected, a feeling that Harry was becoming addicted to, much like he’d become addicted to Bill’s kisses.
Harry’s nightmares had disappeared completely. They’d stopped the night Bill came into his room and kissed him. Voldemort couldn’t touch him with Bill around. At Hogwarts, Harry would be sleeping alone, with no one to stop the nightmares and no one to hold him when he woke up screaming.
****
August thirty-first came sharp and sudden, with lots of sun and not a single sign of rain.
Bill ran a lazy hand through Harry’s messy hair. “Wake up. We’ll have to be leaving soon.”
Harry snuggled closer. “I don’t want to go,” he pouted, becoming the child that most people thought he was.
“You’ll miss the train, and then what?” asked Bill. “It’s your last year at Hogwarts. You don’t want to miss that.”
Harry draped a skinny leg over Bill’s thigh and hid his face in Bill’s neck, breathing in the scent of sleep and sex on his hair. “Just a bit longer,” he said sleepily.
“Harry, really, I think…” But then Harry started rubbing against Bill’s hip, and Bill decided that another thirty minutes in bed wouldn’t hurt.
****
“Bill,” Harry begged, pulling away so that he could look Bill in the eyes, “I don’t want to go. Let me stay with you, please. I don’t want to back.”
The whistle on the Hogwarts Express sounded. Except for a few parents, the platform was deserted. All of the students, with their trunks and animals, were on board and settled into their compartments. The train would be leaving soon, but Bill didn’t want to let Harry go.
He pulled Harry close and held him tight. “You know you’ve got to go. They won’t let you stay with me.” He gripped Harry’s dark hair between his fingers. He wanted to hold on to Harry for another ten months, when Harry’s last year at Hogwarts would be over with and he’d be free to go back to Egypt and live with Bill.
The train whistle sounded again. Bill kissed Harry, crushing his lips and drinking him in. Then he let go and backed away.
“Bill…” Harry started.
“Don’t,” Bill said. “Don’t. Just go.”
“But I-”
“Don’t, Harry,” Bill repeated. “Remember, owls every day.”
“Every day,” Harry promised.
“Now go. You’ll miss the train.”
Harry ran to the train and took the steps two at a time. He didn’t look back, he couldn’t. He knew if he did, he’d run back to Bill, forgetting the train, Hogwarts, his friends, and all the other significant parts of his life that suddenly seemed so unimportant.
Harry found Ron in a compartment at the very back and took a seat opposite him.
“’Bout time,” Ron said. “I thought the train would leave without you.”
| E-Mail the Author: | natmichaels@hotmail.com |
|
|