From his cosy seat, Dudley eyed the craziness unfolding in front of him. It was Christmas Day, and presents were passed around and opened. Joyous shouts and loud laughter rang through his ears, and he ducked when a lumpy stocking flew over his head. He grew dizzy when the force of ten thousand or so redheads of varying shades started stampeding all over the room, but his eyes quickly zoned in on one boy.
Albus Severus Potter had picked up a plain-looking green package, tied with a white ribbon. That was one of the three packages in the room that wasn’t flashy or animated like the other packages, and Dudley held his breath as Albus slowly unravelled the ribbon, letting it fall into his lap.
Dudley knew what was behind the plain wrapping paper. It was a gift he had mulled over for several days before carefully making his selection — so unlike James’ or Lily’s gifts, both of which he was able to choose quickly. The two of them were easy to read and figure out, both of them outgoing and confident.
But not Albus, who was quieter than his siblings, more introspective with hidden depths in those familiar green eyes — a mystery, he was.
Dudley, as nonchalantly as possible, watched Albus rip apart the paper and watched the way Albus just stared at the gift. It was a box — a fountain pen kit. In it was a handsome fountain pen, in bold black, with gold and silver designs along its body. There were several different types of nibs and ink refills in the kit and a small notebook with a leather cover. Albus looked up at Dudley with unreadable eyes.
Swallowing hard and feeling dread growing inside of him, Dudley said, “Your dad told me you like to write stories. So, I, erm, thought you’d like to write with this.”
He became more uncomfortable by the silence, and before he could tell Albus that he could exchange the gift, Albus let out a beaming smile. As quick as a wink, Albus had crossed the room to give him a big hug, and Dudley found himself hugging back. It was then he heard a very soft, “Thank you, Uncle Dudley. This is the best gift ever!”
And all Dudley could say back was “Happy Christmas, Albus.”
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]]>Hugo remembered being six and sitting on Grandpa Granger’s lap, listening to his grandpa’s deep voice read aloud the stories of Winnie-the-Pooh. The stories took him to the Hundred Acre Wood, where he pretended to be Christopher Robin visiting Pooh and his other friends. The stories encouraged him to read more, and it wasn’t long before he read all the Pooh books and began to act out and create his own stories and adventures in the Hundred Acre Wood.
“Let’s play Poohsticks,” he’d say to Lily. “I’ll be Pooh.”
“Then I’ll be Tigger.” Lily would grin and bounce to the bathroom in the Burrow, wearing her tiger-striped pyjamas. Hugo would follow her wearing a bright red shirt that said “Pooh” on the front. There, in the bathroom, they used toothpicks in the tub to see whose stick would reach the finish line first. They added bubbles and food colouring to the tub to make things more exciting, and then they splashed around and had rainbow water fights. They had so much fun; they didn’t even care when they got scolded for making a huge bubbly mess. For days afterwards, Hugo found bubbles everywhere — not just in the bathroom, but in the bedroom, in the sitting room, and even in his mum’s study!
Since meeting Pooh and going on his own adventures, Hugo became a voracious reader.
At the age of eight, Roald Dahl introduced him to black comedy and satire, and Hugo devoured any and all of Dahl’s books. The supernatural and magical elements of the books didn’t faze him, not when he was surrounded by magic himself, but it was Dahl’s sense of humour and the way he portrayed the world in his satirical ways that fascinated Hugo. From Matilda to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to The BFG, he escaped the real world and joined the fictional characters on their voyages.
He even begged his parents to take him to the Wonka Factory in America, believing it to be the exact replica of the magical place in the book he’d read. He asked Uncle Harry if it were possible for a glass lift to be created as a transportation device, saying it seemed more practical than a broomstick.
But his mum tried to explain to him that the factory in the United States was a Muggle factory, and that Honeydukes’ in Hogsmeade and Uncle George’s shop in Diagon Alley were the closest he’d find to Wonka’s factory. Even Uncle Harry explained how a glass lift would make a terrible transportation device, saying it had none of the flexibility a broomstick offered.
The explanations didn’t bother him. Hugo still read and imagined anything and everything he could. Even when he read the Narnia books and Lord of the Rings trilogy by the time he was twelve, he still kept his imagination, still daydreamed and imagined the magical and the Muggle worlds he lived in to be like the ones he read in the books. Even in Hogwarts, the most magical place in wizarding Britain, Hugo found things to be too mundane for his liking, so whenever he wasn’t studying, he continued to read and lose himself in the fictional worlds books provided.
But it was the novel he read at the age of fifteen that changed his life. It was the winner of the Agrippa Literary Award that year, a book where reviews said it started off deceptively simple, but ended in a way that gripped and thrilled readers, taking them on a twisting, page-turning, rollicking adventure until its last page. Muggle-borns compared the book to the magical-realism genre, especially with novels by Gabriel Marquez Garcia. It was a book where nobody knew who the author, R.L. Tilleridge, was (rumours had it that the author had a secret-keeper), but they all praised the book for its genius storytelling and theme.
Curious, Hugo read the book, wondering what made it so special, especially when nobody knew who the mysterious author was. He approached Tilleridge’s novel with wariness, thinking it had to be some overhyped marketing tactics.
He read it three times. Three times in three days. The book made his mind hurt and made him question everything he knew of the world until then. He laughed at the humorous parts until his stomach cramped; cried at the parts that overwhelmed him with emotions, hoping nobody was around when he quickly scrubbed his eyes; and in subsequent readings, he found new concepts and realisations that would leave him numb from shock. But everything the author alluded to made perfect sense to him, and all the little nuances, the symbolisms, the allusions — they were all put together masterfully.
It was Tilleridge’s book that became a milestone in Hugo’s life. This work was what made Hugo decide to become an editor instead of a writer. After seeing such skills, he knew his own mediocre writing could never live up to the likes of Tilleridge. That was not his strength — instead his strength was to read and analyse, to find loopholes and think of alternative ideas, and he’d proven that when he worked as an editor for the Hogwarts newspaper. Now he dreamed of one day becoming Tilleridge’s editor.
And when the day arrived that Tilleridge was finally revealed to be none other than Teddy Remus Lupin, Hugo decided to do everything he could to achieve his dreams.
“You have the qualifications, but do you really think you’re capable of becoming his editor?”
Hugo blinked at that question, surprised by Luna’s seriousness. Of all the years he’d known her, he was used to seeing her with a dreamy expression. Then again, those were times when she’d been going on about some magical creatures she and her husband, Rolf, had discovered. So perhaps, with her job as the head of a successful publishing company, she took things a bit more seriously.
He selected his words carefully. “I’m capable. I may not be perfect, but for what I lack, I’ll make it up with hard work and determination.”
“Ah, hrmmm.” Luna tapped her gaudy peacock quill, complete with a glittery tip. “I should warn you that it will not be an easy job.”
“I . . . ” Hugo cleared his throat. “I don’t care if this is going to be the world’s hardest job. Even if I have to be Uncle George’s test subject to do this job, I’ll still do it. It’d be an incredible honour to be Teddy Lupin’s, or should I say, Tilleridge’s, editor. I’ve read every single book he’s written so far.” And he had. He had even bought two copies of each book, one to read and one to keep in mint condition.
Luna nodded, and the familiar dreamy smile returned as she wrote on a small parchment, making the glitter fall all over her desk. “Here are the Apparation coordinates for his place. He’ll expect you tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning.”
He accepted the parchment, puzzling over something. “That’s it? Doesn’t he need to interview me?”
“No. He leaves that sort of thing up to me. Don’t worry about it. Just go be the best editor you can be and more. Welcome aboard, Hugo.”
Once outside, Hugo carefully folded the parchment, slipped it into his pocket, and then let out a loud yell of happiness, not caring that he almost gave some poor lady a heart attack.
Feeling high and mighty, Hugo rushed home to his small flat near Baker Street, and he eagerly began his preparation for tomorrow.
Ding dong!
Hugo stepped back and shifted nervously as he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He looked around the well cared for bushes that lined the small path. It connected to a larger dirt path, and that path became two a few hundred metres away. Down one way, he could see a small town. On the other route, he saw it going into an ominous looking forest. Just looking at that forest gave Hugo the willies as he remembered that one and only time he and Lily had snuck into the Forbidden Forest, and it was there he realised just how scary gigantic spiders were and just why his dad did not like them.
Hugo suppressed a shudder and quickly looked back at the longhouse in front of him. The place had a thatched roof with a stone chimney attached to it. The longhouse wasn’t as big as some of the ones belonging to farmers, but its smaller size gave a cosy feel to it. He wondered how the inside would look.
Then he realised that nobody had come to the door. Frowning, he pressed the doorbell again.
Ding dong!
Still nobody came. Confused, and now wondering if he had even Apparated to the right place, Hugo pulled out the parchment from his pocket to re-check his coordinates. “These are right,” he muttered to himself, and he took a deep breath and tried again.
Ding dong! Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong!
Exasperated, he reached for the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked, but instead it opened with a click. There’s something familiar about the wards, he thought, as he slowly opened the door.
“Hello?” he called out. Hugo stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was one gigantic room with one side of the place designated as the kitchen and dining area, another side as the study and sitting room with a fireplace, and the final side was walled off with a door, to which he guessed was the loo.
From the entryway, he stared at the piles of books all over the place. There were books stacked by the fireplace. In front of the unlit fireplace, two armchairs, a sofa, and a table were arranged there, and all of them had their own piles of books. One pile, on the table, was set precariously, making Hugo wonder if the slightest bump would cause an avalanche or not. The desk nearby, placed in front of a sunny window, also had stacks of books and parchments on it. There was even a huge Muggle-style entertainment system set up with a gigantic telly and video game systems.
He averted his gaze to the kitchen and dining area, and he wrinkled his nose from the sight and the terrible stench emanating from the area. In the sink, and on both the counters and the table, there were dirty dishes. He even eyed the open microwave and saw a bowl in there, and he knew that it, too, was dirty like all of its companions in the vicinity. He decided to forgo checking the loo, deeply afraid of what he may encounter in there.
Instead, he looked at the stairs in the back of the house, past beyond the kitchen area, which led to the loft. He headed over to the stairs, and he called out again, “Hello? Ted — er — Mr Lupin? Mr Tilleridge?”
There was no answer. Hugo’s brow furrowed, and he pursed his lips as he began to slowly ascend. Halfway up the stairs, he saw something from the corner of his eye. He looked and saw a huge dangling spider and a man with glasses and the most frightful, messy-looking white hair.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Forgetting that he was on the stairs, Hugo took an automatic step back and fell onto a soft cushion that appeared just in time. He landed with a loud “oof!” and while he tried to regain his breathing, he looked back up at the face that was peering over the edge of the loft’s opening.
“Oh!” Teddy, at least Hugo assumed it was Teddy masquerading as that one Muggle scientist, stared back owlishly. “Terribly sorry about that! I was digging under my bed and through my trunk for this little eight-legged fellow, so I didn’t realise the doorbell was ringing and that someone was calling for me. I thought it was just my head playing tricks on me. Good thing Harry had spelled the wards to allow friends to enter. It’s also a relief that Luna had convinced me to spell that cushion to appear in case somebody falls off these stairs. Are you all right?”
“Juh — just fine,” Hugo managed to gasp, still trying to calm his wildly beating heart. He gestured at the spider, and he shivered at its realistic appearance, which included the rather large fangs and the hairy legs. “I’m glad you found it.”
“Me, too. I needed Shelob here to give me inspiration for my next story. Now that I found it, I should get to writing some. And you are . . . ?”
“Hugo. Hugo Weasley. Your new editor?” He gathered his dignity and picked himself off the cushion. “Didn’t Luna tell you?”
“Did she? I think I heard the Floo go off, but I was trying to cook eggs at that time. But that didn’t go too well, hence those dishes down there,” Teddy explained as he came down and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Hugo finally got a good look at the man whose books had changed his life. Teddy was just a bit shorter than he was — then again, Hugo did inherit his dad’s height and build — and aside from that hairstyle, he wasn’t a bad looking bloke. He had broad shoulders, but his body was on the lithe side. The way he carried himself gave him a sereneness that felt almost otherworldly to Hugo. When he looked into Teddy’s hazel eyes, deep within the mixture of colours, he saw a spark. He couldn’t find the exact words to describe it, but he sensed that Teddy was different. Hugo felt like all time had stopped as he continued to look into those eyes, and when Teddy began to speak, he saw the full, but chapped lips moving slowly.
“–do the dishes?”
That broke the spellbinding hold on him, and Hugo shook his head, his fringe moving along, and he blinked his eyes. “Sorry?”
“Will you do the dishes and then help me organise and put these books away?”
“Huh?” Hugo pressed his lips together, and he clenched his fists before saying, “I’m your editor, not your house elf.”
“You’re to also helping me with my writing.”
“By cleaning your place?”
Teddy took out a large notepad and summoned a quill and began to write on it. “Yes. How else can I focus and find the time otherwise?”
“You could get a house elf,” Hugo repeated, this time slowly.
“That goes against my principles.”
“Wait, what?!” Hugo’s mind went back to the stories he’d heard from his dad and Uncle Harry about his mum’s wild SPEW campaign, and he wondered if Teddy had been lured into the whole thing by his mum.
“Oh, and when you’re done, can you prepare some tea? I just realised I didn’t get my caffeine fix yet. I take milk with mine, Helio.”
“It’s Hugo, and who in Merlin’s beard would name someone ‘Helio’?”
Teddy went to his desk, and he set the notepad on top of the mess and continued to write without stopping. “I know someone with the name Prickenstein. Or was that a book title? By Bloody Mary? No matter, that’s not important.”
Prickenstein? Bloody Mary? It took every ounce of control for Hugo to not correct him. Instead, knowing that it was easier to just do the chores instead of arguing with this madman, he turned and went to do the dreaded dishes and prepare the sodding tea. All the while he cursed at how someone could use up every single dish in the cupboards to make eggs, and he began to wonder if this was really an editor’s job or not.
By the end of the second week, Hugo was exhausted. He was also amazed by Teddy’s capacity to create a mess every day. He suspected Teddy must stay up all night trashing the place instead of writing. Sometimes there were dirty clothes all over the place. Other times, the books Hugo had put away would all be back out again. Then there were always the dishes left for him to wash. Strangely enough, though, the loo was the only place in the house Teddy kept tidy. Hugo was tempted to ask about that, but then he feared that might only give Teddy the idea to mess it up, and Hugo did not want to add the loo to the many things he had to clean.
Hugo had to go see Luna before going to Teddy, so when he saw her, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Is this really an editor position?”
“What do you mean?” Luna asked while trimming some of the needles off her pet cactus, Billy. The cactus — a gift from Neville — glared at him and stuck out its tongue. Hugo gave it a look of his own.
“I haven’t edited anything yet. I’ve been–”
“Cleaning? Preparing his food? Making sure he doesn’t blow up his place with his microwave?”
Hugo nodded and then remembered something. “Is this what you meant by being a good editor and ‘more’?”
“Yes. So good of you to remember.”
“But–!”
“You know what I think an editor is supposed to be?” Luna’s face took on a serious look once more. “It’s to support their author in every shape and form. Most people believe that an editor’s job is to only correct and suggest ways to improve the author’s writing, but the strongest relationship between the editor and the author is supposed to be one of trust, mutual respect, and understanding. It’s quite similar to marriage.
“Teddy’s a brilliant writer,” she continued. “But you have to be patient and help him achieve that in his writing.”
“How on earth did he write all those great books before? How did those editors handle him?” Hugo asked with a frown.
Luna cocked her head to the side. “You think all of his books are great? You know that’s not the general consensus in the literary world? Everyone agrees that his first novel, the one that won the Agrippa Award, was a work of a genius, but the novels he wrote after all lacked the same greatness of that first book.”
“That’s not true! All of his books to date have been brilliant!” Hugo retorted. “Granted, the others after are not on the same level as the first book, but the other people are just not able to understand what each book is doing!”
“That’s your opinion, and you’re the first one I know of that thinks like that.” Luna smiled gently. “Therefore, as his editor, if you really believe in him, you can get the others to believe in him, too.”
“Huh? Why should I be the one to try and convince the others?”
“You don’t have to, but as an editor, you’re to also help produce a book that will affect our society in some way or other.”
Hugo saw her opening up her tiger-striped, rainbow-coloured notebook. This was a sure sign of dismissal. He stood up, gave one last glare to the unfriendly cactus, and turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he heard her say, “By the way, when he wrote that award-winning book, he had an excellent relationship with his editor. But that editor passed away unexpectedly, and since then, all the editors he’s had did not have what it takes to be with him. But I think you’re unlike the others, Hugo. You can make this work.”
All weekend long, Hugo thought about his conversation with Luna. He thought about Teddy’s quirky personality and his “inability” to take care of himself. After much prodding and hemming on his own, he decided that he’d support Teddy in every way he possibly could because he did want to see another great book from Teddy, and he did want to fulfil his job eventually, despite all he’d have to do. Besides, the endless amount of chores didn’t take so long to do now as he was getting used to them. He was becoming quite proficient in cleaning and cooking charms.
Despite Teddy’s absent-minded way of living, Hugo noticed that Teddy was a creature of habit in his own unique way. Every morning, when Hugo arrived at Teddy’s place, Teddy would be up and ready. Some days, Teddy opted for his natural appearance, but other days he would change his hair colour and style and his eye colour for fun. Hugo quickly got used to seeing Teddy with an orange mullet and purple eyes or some strange combination like that. Looks aside, he was always ready for whatever breakfast Hugo decided on making.
Since that first day when he had to clean up the egg disaster’s aftermath, he’d quickly learned that Teddy was not to be trusted with anything kitchen-related. Case in point, when Hugo had asked for sugar one time, Teddy had handed him salt instead, and Hugo saw that Teddy would not pay attention to what he punched on the microwave. Ergo, he decided that the only safe thing Teddy could handle was setting the table.
The few times Teddy did try to help out, he noticed Teddy preferred to do everything without magic. He asked about that one time.
“Hrm? Use magic to clean and cook? Well, this is a bit embarrassing to say, but I’m quite awful at those spells.”
“But I thought you did great in Charms?”
“No, I did great in Transfigurations. Besides, I kind of like the Muggle lifestyle. It adds something more rustic, yes?”
You mean you like it because it gives you an excuse to do a horrible job at cleaning and cooking to get someone else to do them for you? Hugo thought, but not unkindly.
That was breakfast, and then after, Teddy would do research or watch some Muggle shows to learn from them, and that was when Hugo would clean up the place and do laundry. Then he’d cook something for lunch, and they would eat it together. It was during their lunch that Teddy would initiate random conversation topics such as:
“You know how history tells us that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rivals? And they even grew apart because of their ideological differences?”
“Yeah?”
“I think it was more than ideological differences. I think Gryffindor fancied Slytherin and vice-versa.”
Hugo dropped his fork and gaped. “What?!”
“It makes sense. They both fancied each other, but they were both too tied down by societal expectations, busy creating and maintaining Hogwarts, and focussed with the whole Muggle-borns situation. All of that pretty much created unresolved sexual tensions for the two, so that further deteriorated their relationship.”
“Oh, er, that’s an interesting . . . theory?”
“Thanks! Oh, and also, you know the Stonehenge? I believe the whole thing used to be shaped like a penis . . . ”
After lunch, Teddy would do one of two things. He would blast out the wireless and write on his laptop (a gift from Harry) that was charmed to type his dictation if he wanted, or he would turn on one of his video game consoles and have them play a game of his choice. Most of the time, they played something called “Mario”, and Hugo tried to figure out the concept of a plumber going around some mushroomy place to rescue a princess from this strange dragon-turtle thing with spikes. He also noticed that Teddy was a vocal and active player.
“Jump! . . . No! You’re jumping too slow! That mushroom’s getting away from me! Blast it all! That bloody fireball!” While saying all this, Teddy jumped and moved around on the sofa. Hugo quickly learned to give Teddy plenty of space whenever they played video games.
Tea time came in mid-afternoon, and Hugo prepared tea with scones or other treats, and Teddy would have that while reading some gigantic book. It was during these moments Teddy had told Hugo to do whatever he wanted. Hugo usually opted to do some lingering chores or tasks that needed to be done. But sometimes he became bored, so he decided to just talk to Teddy.
“You know, you really have an impressive book collection.”
There was no answer — fairly typical of Teddy whenever he was drinking tea and reading a book.
Hugo, undeterred, smiled and continued, “You remind me of Matilda, except you’re drinking tea, not Ovaltine.” Suddenly an idea came, figuring this would break Teddy’s concentration. “By the way, I’m hung like a hippogriff.”
He watched closely for a reaction, any slight movement. There was none except for Teddy turning a page while his eyes moved to follow the words.
Rolling his eyes, realising that Teddy’s concentration could not be broken even if a real hippogriff did come, Hugo finished his tea.
His last task of the day was to leave Teddy some dinner, usually by getting takeaway. Then he’d bid Teddy a good night, and he’d go home. And each day he did, he wondered whether he had done enough to help Teddy with his writing and hoped that he was forming that mutual trust and respect Luna had mentioned.
One Thursday morning, after tea and cake, Teddy said abruptly, “Let’s go to London after lunch.”
“Huh?” Hugo was thrown off by the unexpected suggestion.
“I’d like to take a ride on the Tube, go see the Buckingham Palace guards, and go to Hyde Park.”
Hugo raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said slowly. “If that’s what you want . . . ”
“Stupendous! There’s a safe point we can Apparate to, and from there we hop on the Tube.”
Teddy wandered up to the loft to change. While he did that, Hugo checked his own outfit to see if he was wearing something proper for Muggle London. He never wore robes, so his simple ensemble of a red Weasley jumper over a t-shirt with jeans and trainers passed his test. However, when he saw Teddy coming downstairs, he ended up gawking at Teddy’s appearance. Teddy wore a white shirt under a dark grey pinstriped waistcoat with a matching pair of trousers. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and he wore a blue tie with some abstract designs on it. His black dress shoes and his grey-and-black-banded fedora finished and complimented his outfit. Under his hat, his hair was short and it was black with blue tint.
Normally, Teddy wore outfits that tended to clash and be horribly uncoordinated. The other day, Teddy had worn some neon pink and green polka-dot shorts and a purple and orange striped t-shirt, with matching neon green coloured hair. All day, Hugo had to resort to wearing sunglasses. With that kind of style, Hugo assumed that it was just another one of Teddy’s quirks and that he just had bad fashion sense.
But no! What Teddy wore now made him look so different, so dapper. Hugo cleared his throat. “Will you wait a few?”
“For?”
Teddy’s eyes looked back at him half-lidded. His eyes, like on their first day of meeting, were hazel, and Hugo didn’t miss the sparks in the blend of colours. He felt smothered by them and it took him a couple of seconds to regain his composure before saying, “Er, I need to change.”
“Change what?”
“My clothes.”
“Whatever for?” Teddy looked genuinely confused, so unlike his usual unfazed, unflappable self.
Hugo gestured at Teddy’s well-put together ensemble. “I look like rubbish compared to you!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You look fine.”
“We’d look quite mismatched,” Hugo insisted.
Teddy reached out for Hugo’s wrist, and he side-Apparated them to the station. There, he continued to tug him along.
“W-wait!” Hugo exclaimed, but Teddy didn’t stop moving. Still holding onto Hugo’s wrist, he bought their tickets, and he only let go when they were in the train.
Hugo could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He knew that they were probably wondering why someone so plain-looking was with someone dressed up like some model. He tried his best to ignore them, and instead he glanced at Teddy, who ignored everyone as if he had no other care in the world. As the train travelled, Hugo tuned out the noise and his body became used to the vibrations, which relaxed him. He glanced at Teddy once more, and he saw Teddy’s head moving slowly, his eyes taking on a serious gaze.
Hugo knew instinctively to not say anything, to not bother Teddy, but he wasn’t sure why his gut was telling him that.
Upon reaching their destination, they silently walked outside and soon reached the gates of Buckingham Palace. Hugo and Teddy joined the slew of tourists who were snapping away on their cameras. Just like on the Tube, Hugo assumed Teddy would not say anything and would just look around. That was the case until Teddy said, “Are you really hung like a hippopotamus?”
Hugo whipped his head around so fast and hard that he could feel his neck muscles cry out in pain. He watched a few people look at them strangely before they walked away, and he hissed, “Shut up!”
“Eh? That’s what you said to me a few days ago during tea. These guards’ hats reminded me, so that’s why I decided to ask.”
Bloody fucking hell! He’d been listening all those times when I was talking to the front of his book? Hugo flushed, groaned, and slapped his forehead. He then whispered, “I said ‘hippogriff’. I never said ‘hippopotamus’.”
“We’re in the Muggle world now, so I replaced that word with one that sounds similar,” Teddy responded airily.
“Oh.”
“So are you?”
Hugo blinked before remembering the original question. “No! Time to change the subject! Let’s go to Hyde Park.” This time he grabbed Teddy’s wrist, ignored the soft chuckles, and guided them through the streets to reach the park.
They reached a quiet area and took a seat on a bench. Hugo leaned back heavily and tilted his head and looked at the sky. Next to him, Teddy took off his fedora, laid it on the spot next to him, and slung his arms on the top of the bench. He heard Teddy inhaling deeply. Teddy then stood up and walked slowly to a nearby tree.
Hugo remained at the bench, and he watched Teddy touching a tree, watched the way his slender fingers traced the trunk and the leaves. Like before, Hugo stayed silent because of his instincts, and as he continued to watch Teddy, it hit him then that Teddy was doing all this for his writing. Teddy was observing and participating in the world they lived in so he could write all about them. The way Teddy was communing with nature at the moment reminded him of the Lake Poets and their love for nature. Just like the poets of the past, he realised that Teddy’s own writings contained a lot about surrealistic interpretation of nature, so that was why this outing was suggested today.
Teddy may act like the most incapable, oddest bloke he had ever met, but Hugo knew that there was more to Teddy than met the eye. Something shifted inside of him; after that day, he began to look at Teddy differently.
The hands, its fingers all callused and rough, were warm. They grazed his cheeks for a few seconds, right below his blindfolded eyes, the roughness meeting the scratchiness of his stubble, before they slowly descended and traced his collarbone. One of the hands stopped at his nipple, pinching it softly until it proudly perked up. The other hand went farther down, past his navel, and he felt the heated hand around his throbbing manhood.
Hugo let out a moan as the hand slowly pumped him, its thumb right on his slit, playing with his precome. “More. Please, more. Faster!” he begged.
He felt something hot and wet on his ear, and he heard a sultry voice say, “You like this?”
The hand down below picked up the pace ever so slightly, and the pleasure inside of him grew and spread all over his body so slowly that it made him want more. “Yes!” he panted out, trying his hardest not to sound so needy. He arched his body forward, urging that hand to move even faster. “I . . . please!”
“Is that all? Don’t you want to know who I am? Aren’t you curious?”
“Yes, I . . . ” The hand stopped moving, and Hugo let out a soft whimper as his cock throbbed where the hand squeezed him. “Please, don’t stop.”
The other hand that had been playing with his nipple moved away, and his blindfold slipped slowly down his face. He blinked at the sudden light, and they slowly focussed on the smirking man.
“Gah!” Hugo woke up with a start, breathing hard as he reached up to wipe away the sweat on his face. He shifted and realised that he was still hard from that dream. A dream that had him aching for more. He couldn’t believe it.
He glanced at his nightstand, and then he flew out of bed and went straight to take a cold shower. He had overslept.
In the freezing shower, he thought about his dream, and he told himself, “It was only a dream. Dreams do not mean anything!” Yet no matter how many times he repeated it, deep down inside, he knew it meant something.
He quickly made it to Teddy’s place with only minutes to spare, and he shoved all the sexual thoughts away as he concentrated on his job and pretended that nothing had happened.
But night after night, his subconscious betrayed him, and every morning he’d wake up hard and wanting Teddy so much. Some nights the dreams were sweet and pleasant, as he and Teddy snogged themselves until they were completely breathless. Other nights were like his first dreams — kinky and sexually-driven. Still, despite his own wants and needs, he did everything to not show his feelings on this particular matter. He acted polite and went about his job; he mentally patted himself on the back for being able to keep his personal life separate from his professional one.
Or so he thought.
About a week later, Teddy said during breakfast, “Is everything all right?”
“Yes!” That came out far higher than normal. Hugo cleared his throat and continued, “Everything’s all right.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been much too quiet these days and it seems like you’ve been avoiding me.”
Oh, bugger! So he hadn’t been doing a good job. Inwardly, Hugo berated himself, and his mind rushed around as he tried to think of something to say that would change the subject. “Why did you write under a pseudonym before?”
“Is that what’s been bothering you? I thought it was because I kept beating you in Mario.” Teddy looked surprised.
Mario? An image of a mushroom came into his mind, and he began to wonder if the tip of Teddy’s cock was shaped like that or not, but before he could dwell on it further, he mentally slapped himself to get back to Teddy’s pseudonym. “Uh, yes? If you don’t want to answer, it’s okay.”
“Mmm.” He took a sip of his tea. “It’s not a big deal. I just decided to write under a pseudonym because I wanted to see if I could make it without being known as the son of war heroes and such.”
“Oh.” Hugo could understand that. His parents were heroes, too, plus his cousins were also all descended from the most famous war hero of all.
“Also,” he continued, the serious tone and expression stilling Hugo, a tone and expression that were a far cry from his usual absent-minded behaviour. “I wanted to use the name ‘Tilleridge’ to commemorate my first editor.”
“Tilleridge was your first editor?”
“Well, sort of. He was a Muggle living next to my grandmother. An old chap, widowed, and the biggest lover of books. I went over to his place a lot when I wasn’t in school. His personal library was impressive. He encouraged me to read and write whatever I could. He helped me a lot when I was writing my first novel, so while he was never my official editor, he was one for me.” Teddy took a deep breath. “He died before I finished the book.”
Hugo nodded once. His throat was too tight for him to say anything.
“He and Harry were both like a father to me. I will never forget him.”
“Yes. And you won’t. You’ll join him one day and see your parents when you go to the Grey Havens.”
Teddy looked up in surprise. “You know . . . ?”
“Yes. I’m a big fan of Tolkien’s books. And I figured you read his books, too, considering how you named that spider ‘Shelob’.”
They both looked at each other and started to laugh, which changed their current atmosphere to a happier one. Teddy stopped laughing first, and he said, “Well, a lot of the books you see here are from Tilleridge’s library. Thank you for helping me take care of them.”
“It’s nothing. I’m glad to help.”
Teddy reached out and squeezed Hugo’s shoulder. Without any more words, Teddy finished his breakfast, and the rest of the day passed as any other day.
Hugo’s shoulder stayed warm the whole day.
One afternoon, Hugo suddenly heard loud noises when he was in the loo. It didn’t sound like any of Teddy’s video games, and it didn’t sound like the wireless. When he stepped out, he marched over to where Teddy had planted himself in front of his gigantic telly. On screen, he saw a bunch of large elephant-looking creatures, men in armour and on horses, and ugly goblin-looking creatures, all fighting for their lives. “What in Helga’s name are you watching?”
“The Battle of the Pelennor Fields.”
Hugo frowned. “Isn’t that from The Lord of the Rings?”
“Yes, this is the film adaptation of the book.”
“Oh! That trilogy directed by Paul Jackson?”
“Peter — not Paul.”
“Oh, right. Peter Jackson.” Hugo sat down next to Teddy, their shoulders nearly touching, and he watched the continuing battle on screen. “I have heard about the film adaptations, but I haven’t watched them.”
“Why not?”
“Because Mum always told me that the film adaptations of books were always rubbish compared to the books.”
“Mmm.” Teddy nodded. “I tend to agree with your mother, but Peter Jackson did do a brilliant job with the trilogy. Some of the changes and some of the scenes he chose to not include are not always logical, but what he did as a whole, these are great films.”
Hugo was about to ask about the changes when Teddy continued, “Plus, I cannot deny the fact that Aragorn, Legolas, and Faramir are all quite handsome. Actually, no, they are all quite sexy in their own ways.”
Hugo’s mouth dropped opened. “Um, what?”
“Hmm? Do you not trust my taste? Here let me show them to you!” Teddy eagerly began to push the buttons on the remote control, and he happily showed all the characters in the trilogy. Hugo’s head spun as he watched the montages of the original Fellowship members, Faramir, Celeborn, Eomer, Haldir, and even of the antagonists such as Saruman before Teddy finally stopped. “See, all of these men — young or old — are all good looking. But my absolute favourite is Aragorn. Several of my lady friends all swooned over Legolas — I guess it’s because he’s very pretty? — but I, myself, greatly preferred Aragorn. Though I cannot say I like him being with Arwen. I always thought Eowyn would have been a better match for him.”
Hugo burst out laughing after listening to Teddy’s opinionated speech. He knew Teddy liked Tolkien’s books, but he had no idea Teddy’s love for the work went this far. Even better, though, was that he now knew for sure Teddy’s own preferences, so that made him feel all hopeful and giddy at knowing that perhaps, just perhaps, he had a chance with Teddy.
However, he was unsure of how to make the next move. He decided that now was probably not the best time to announce his crush. Instead he said, “I agree. Eowyn would be better for him.”
“Absolutely!” Teddy beamed. “Do you want to watch the whole trilogy from the beginning?”
Hugo slowly smiled. “Why not?”
“All right. Do you want to watch the theatrical release, which is about nine hours long or the extended edition for eleven hours?”
“I . . . er . . . extended?” Hugo felt faint at the suggestion of watching something for eleven hours, but Teddy mistook his hesitance.
“Extended it is! That one is much better. Let’s begin this marathon.”
Hours later, when Hugo finally left Teddy’s place around four in the morning, he knew what was meant by the Muggle’s phrase of being a “couch potato”. He also discovered just how hard it was to keep his hands to himself during those eleven hours. Teddy’s excitement and love of the films shone brightly through his facial expressions, his body language, and his intricate explanations. The twinkling in his eyes, the smile that showed off his dimples, that bit of skin that made itself known whenever he raised his arms up in the air as he cheered on the characters, and that deep, husky voice that sent shivers down his spine — all of these made Hugo fall harder for the man right next to him. Teddy was so near, so close to him, and yet Hugo could do nothing as he waited for the marathon to end so he could go home and fantasise about him even more instead of thinking about that Ring that Launched Hell on Middle Earth.
Yet his own brains turned against him that night when he finally got some kip. Instead of dreaming about the two of them bonking each other, he’d dreamed that Teddy was Legolas and he as Gimli, and they were going at it like two wild Cornish Pixies. When he got up a few hours later, he woke up scowling and muttering, “Bloody hell, making me the short dwarf, and Teddy the cool, good looking elf even when I’m taller than him . . . I hate my subconscious!”
“I think I’m done.” Teddy stretched and then scratched his leopard-patterned hair.
“With what?” Hugo spelled the last set of cups onto the drying rack. He dried his hands and walked over and sat across from Teddy. In between them was the coffee table, and on it was a stack of papers bound together.
“The first draft.”
“Oh!” Hugo smiled. “That’s great. Congratulations!”
“Thank you. And now, it’s your turn.” Teddy turned his laptop off and he moved to the front of his video game system.
“Right.” Hugo felt a bit odd — after months of cooking and cleaning, he was finally going to do the job he originally was to do. He felt anxious and excited, wondering what this newest novel would be like. Taking a deep breath, he made himself comfortable on the sofa, and he picked up the thick draft and began to read.
For the next five hours, that was what he did along with keeping notes of what he read on a parchment. He just couldn’t stop. He didn’t even stop for their mid-afternoon tea; Teddy somehow took care of it himself, surprisingly without causing an explosion.
Hugo ignored the tea Teddy gave him. He only continued to read and edit. Every single word, every sentence hit him just like the very first novel he’d read from Teddy. He became lost in the characters’ minds as he looked at the novel’s world through their eyes. The more he read, the more he felt disconnected from the physical world. The mixture of narrations at first confused him, but they all came together in ways that were almost magical.
When he finished the last page, Hugo’s eyes lingered on the final words. Unbeknownst to him, tears had gathered in his eyes, and they came down slowly. He came back to reality when he felt someone touching his cheek gently and taking away the pages from him. Then he felt someone sitting next to him, and he turned his head and stared at Teddy through his tears; one of Teddy’s thumbs wiped away another tear that had fallen.
Teddy’s eyes held a hint of concern. “Was it that bad?”
He shook his head.
Teddy looked relieved. He removed his hand, and he was moving back, but then he stopped because Hugo had reached out and grabbed him by the back of his neck.
They looked into each other’s eyes, and Hugo grew dizzy. Unhurriedly, inch by inch, they came closer. Hugo closed the remaining gap between them, and he kissed Teddy hard, remembering one of the novel’s messages, about how people should grab life by the bull’s balls or something. Or was it a hippopotamus? All thoughts about the novel disappeared when he felt Teddy kissing back, and all his nightly sexual fantasies came back in full-force.
Someone moaned into the kiss; Hugo didn’t care whose moan it was — he only cared that they were both full out snogging now, both tongues caressing each other’s, and Hugo found himself lying on the sofa, with his back now against the soft cushion and Teddy’s warm, hard body on his. He wrapped his arms around Teddy’s broad back, and his legs spread open wider, arching into Teddy’s body when he felt their groins meeting for the first time.
It was Teddy who broke the kiss. Panting, he shifted his lower body and said, “I feel as if you are hung like a hippogriff.”
Hugo let out a breathy moan as he felt the movement, and he flushed harder as Teddy reminded him of that blasted conversation. Yet before he could say something, Teddy said, “We should stop.” But he didn’t stop. He continued to plant small kisses all over Hugo’s cheeks and neck.
“You first,” Hugo gasped, tilting his neck to give Teddy better access. He moaned out loud when he felt Teddy’s hot mouth and tongue sucking on his sensitive skin. Their hips both rocked back and forth, and Hugo’s body was on fire as he felt his arousal growing more in the passing seconds.
Teddy stopped sucking, and he moved his hands to slip under Hugo’s shirt. “I can’t. You’ve been occupying my dreams far too much lately. Made me wonder if you had cast a spell on me.”
Hugo laughed. “I did no such things. If anything, you cast a spell on me! You . . . do you know how much I’ve wanted this?”
“Do tell. Tell me more,” Teddy said, moving back up to kiss him again.
Before their lips met again, Hugo said, rather shrilly , “I fancy you!” He cringed at his voice, which suddenly reminded him of his mum’s voice when she was upset.
“I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” The words sounded raspy, but Teddy didn’t stop there. He came closer and his lips gently covered Hugo’s.
Hugo accepted the kiss for a few seconds before he brought his hands to Teddy’s chest and pushed him off. “Let’s stop!” And before he could sound like an arse, he added, “Let’s take it a bit slower. As much as I want to bonk you or be bonked by you, let’s go back to that novel of yours. The ball grabbing thing can wait.”
Teddy sat back up, while Hugo closed his eyes tightly as he imagined Hagrid in some BDSM get-up. That worked for him, but when he pulled himself up into a sitting position very close to Teddy, he almost faltered at the image of a naked Teddy that bombarded his mind. Luckily Teddy said, “What’s this ball grabbing thing you’re talking about?”
“Oh, erm, that’s a message I got from this novel? That people should grab life by a bull’s balls when they need to?”
Teddy blinked. “That’s an interesting interpretation. Anything else?”
Hugo reached out for the parchment with his notes on it. “Here. These are my notes with all my suggestions and corrections that are to be made.”
“All right.” Teddy took the parchment and read through it. Minutes passed as Hugo watched a frown grow deeper and deeper on Teddy’s face. When he finished he set the parchment down and said, “You went pretty hard on me there.”
“Is that . . . a problem?”
“Oh, no, no, no!” Teddy smiled. “It’s a good thing. My previous editors were never this hard on me. But you’re like Tilleridge. Both of you are encouraging, but also complete hard-arses with editing.”
“Oh,” Hugo said nonchalantly, but was secretly glad he was compared to Tilleridge and was told that he was a hard editor.
“Hrm, can you elaborate on this point? Then afterwards let me treat us to a good restaurant I know in London? I’m kind of tired of fish and chips. And we need to celebrate me finishing this first draft! I’ve worked hard on this, you know.”
Hugo laughed and grabbed Teddy’s hand and squeezed it. “I do know. Let’s go for it.”
“Are you pleased by the reviews and accolades Teddy’s book has been getting?” Luna asked, smiling in a knowing way as she carefully moved Billy to a new location on her desk.
Ignoring Billy, Hugo said, “Of course. It feels great that I helped edit it.”
“I’m glad you two worked out well. I have to say I had my doubts when Teddy suggested you.”
“Suggested me? What are you talking about?”
“He hasn’t told you?” Luna looked at Hugo intently and then laughed softly. “I guess both of you have been too busy communicating in other ways, and it must’ve slipped his mind.”
“Luna!” Hugo flushed at her allusions. “Wait, wait, are we that obvious?”
“Have you forgotten the time I walked in on you two when his hands were in your–”
“You can stop now!”
“–and like I said, he was the one who suggested you to be his new editor,” Luna continued. “Apparently, he saw you in a bookstore, saw you picking up one of his newest books that was released last year . . . ”
His mind flashed back to that day, too. He remembered being thrilled for the day he’d been waiting for what felt like forever. He had stood in front of the display that was stacked with copies of Teddy’s book, and he had reached out, slowly picking it up as if it were a precious gem.
” . . . and he recognised you. And he was enamoured by your smile, by your sheer happiness at his book. And he told me that you were his kindred soul to his writing.”
Hugo made a face at the cheesy line. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, that wasn’t the exact phrase. What he really said was that your smile was sexy and that you had one hell of an arse.”
“Luna!” Hugo felt his cheeks flushing. He was pleased to hear about Teddy’s thoughts, but quite the opposite at how Luna was presenting all this as if she were discussing Nargles.
Luna just smiled brightly. “Yes? I only speak the truth.”
Quickly, Hugo moved on, “Wasn’t there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Teddy has these book signings and events to attend to in the next few weeks. Your newest task is to ensure he makes it to all these events.”
Hugo nodded and took the parchment she held out. He scanned it and said, “Quite a bit, but this shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Easier said than done. Getting him to one of these is like trying to stay awake in one of Professor Binns’ lectures.”
He blanched at the comparison. “That bad?”
“Somewhat. Though . . . ” She winked at him. “I’m sure you have ways to convince him. Now I bid you a fond farewell. I must go see Neville about Billy.”
Blushing once more, he left her office, and there Hugo let out a slow smile. As he chuckled to himself, he walked outside to Apparate to his lover’s home, where he looked forward to this new challenge.
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]]>“You want me to watch that for the next six months?”
Percy stared at the Phweenalia obnoxium plant in Penelope’s hands. It looked like a large, single-stemmed common bluebell, but it moved and it also “talked”. The plant, more commonly known as the Phwee Plant, wriggled in its pot, and like a dog, it leaned forward and sniffed at him. It reared back and gave a good shake and let out a loud, “Phwee!!!”
Penelope whispered something to the plant, and it wriggled once more, crossed its arm-leaves, looked off to the side, and then stayed still. “You’re the only one I can ask to do this, Percy. My father’s allergic to Pelonius’ species, so I can’t ask my parents to help me. I have to concentrate on my tasks in the Australian Outback, and with you watching Pelonius, I won’t have to worry about him.”
He stared at Pelonius, which still had his arm crossed and was not looking at him. Instead he let out another shrill “Phwee!!!”, and Percy stopped himself from covering his ears. “You know I was not very good at Herbology, right?”
“Pelonius is easy to take care off. Just make sure you water him once a day, feed him a fly twice a day, and put him in a place with a lot of sunshine.”
“I don’t know, Penelope–” Percy cut himself off as he saw her familiar Crup-like eyes, the same eyes that would always prevent him from saying no to her in the past. He pushed his glasses up and let out a soft sigh. “Fine. I’ll watch Pelonius.”
Penelope beamed at him. “Thanks a lot. You and Pelonius will get along fine. I just know it!”
Ron cocked his head when he saw Pelonius. “I’ve never seen this kind of plant before. You say it moves and talks?”
“Yes, he’s a commonly known magical plant from Siberia, but his kind is still not as well known outside that place. They are slowly gaining favour in the magical communities around the world because some people like owning one of them as a pet.”
“Wouldn’t a Crup or an owl be a better choice for a pet? Why get this instead?”
“This isn’t mine,” Percy responded dryly. “I’m watching it for Penelope.”
“Well, that makes bloody sense. I was wondering if you were that lonely–”
Not again! Percy stifled back a groan, wondering why his family was on his case about not having a significant other, even after they discovered he preferred men over women. He could now see why Charlie decided to live overseas — at least living faraway meant he wouldn’t be bombarded by the nosiness of their family.
“–and you know it’s okay if you prefer a bloke instead, right?” Ron finished as he munched on some biscuits.
Percy glared at his youngest brother. “Thank you so much for your acceptance. Now, why in Merlin’s name are you here instead of with Hermione?”
“Oh, she’s in a bit of a mood. That monthly woman thing, I think . . . so I told her to go book shopping with Ginny.”
“What about Harry?”
“Something to do with business with the twins.”
“So you came here because you had nothing to do.”
“That’s one reason,” Ron said, grinning. “But I also heard from Kingsley that you’ve suddenly changed your schedule a bit by needing to rush home every night at the same time, so we were all curious on you having a new secret lover or not. Imagine my surprise that your reason for not working overtime lately is because of a plant.”
“Is that all?” Percy asked in a bored tone. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but as you can see, I have a plant to take care of for a friend. And now that you’re here, you can have the honour of feeding Pelonius this fly.”
“Who do I look like? Neville?” Ron backed away. “Sorry, mate, but I’m not feeding that plant. The way it’s looking at me, it looks like it’s going to bite my head off or something.”
“Neville? Neville Longbottom?”
“How many Nevilles do you know? Yes, Neville Longbottom, the new Herbology professor at Hogwarts.”
“I knew he had a good aptitude for Herbology, but I didn’t know he was that knowledgeable in the subject.”
“Oh, he is,” Ron bragged. “Hermione had plant troubles last year. Remember that plant we had that, er, passed gas a lot? It would stink up our place? It had bad timing and stank up the place when we had my boss over for dinner once. Well, Neville helped us fixed that problem. It’s no longer stinky.”
An image of a first-year Neville came into his head. He remembered thinking that there was nothing particularly special about the lad — at least not scholastic excellence, anyway. The kid could probably win an award for being caught in unfortunate — but sometimes fortunate — situations. After all, look how Neville won them the House Cup in his first year. Plus, there was the whole Sirius Black incident. With these memories, it was hard to picture Neville being a Hogwarts professor with a mastery in Herbology.
Then again, he thought, people do change. Some for the better, some for the worse, and it looked like Neville had changed for the better.
“Anyway,” Ron continued. “You can feed this plant! I’ll just watch. Then I challenge you to a game of chess.”
Percy rolled his eyes and finished the rest of his train of thought. Then again there were some people who never changed, like his brother.
“Phwee! Phwee!!! PHWEE!!!”
That was the greeting Percy received as soon as he Apparated into his flat, and he instinctively looked at the clock on his wall and scowled. Pelonius continued his “phweeing”, each phwee becoming louder and shriller. Percy grimaced as he quickly moved to the plant. Once he was in front of the plant, he glared at him.
Pelonius stopped his obnoxious yelling and put his arm-leaves on his so-called hips and blew a raspberry at him, which sounded like “Phweetetetetete!”
“I’m only five minutes late for your feeding, and you’re treating me like a criminal? The things I do for a plant . . . ” Percy grumbled as he fed Pelonius a fly. “Are you all happy now, master?”
Pelonius responded, “Phwee!!!” And then he started to sing loudly and waved his arm-leaves as if he were conducting an orchestra. “Phwee, phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeeeee!” Percy blinked, recognising the tune as that one famous Muggle composer song.
“Beethoven’s ‘Fifth’,” Percy muttered. “I shouldn’t be surprised. That is Penelope’s favourite, after all.”
Pelonius continued his symphony — at the loudest volume possible — and it wasn’t long before Percy had a pounding headache. When he went to bed that night, after finishing up the work he had brought with him to home, Percy — to his annoyance — found himself humming that tune.
As he lay there, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, he decided since Silencing Charms had no effects on Pelonius, he’d invest in some Muggle earplugs. He had thought about gagging him and putting a container over Pelonius, but he did not want to become a plant abuser, so Muggle earplugs were his solution for now.
“Percy, it’s been a long couple of months! How are things going with you and Pelonius?” Though it was hard to tell with the fire, Percy could see that Penelope had tanned since their last meeting.
“Pelonius and I are getting along fine,” Percy said. If you can call listening to his screeching fine, he grumbled to himself, still perturbed that the Muggle earplugs ended up not working.
“Can you bring Pelonius over here? I’d like to see him.”
“Um, sure.” Percy went to Pelonius, pick up his pot, and walked back to the fireplace, keeping a safe distance away. Pelonius might annoy him, but he had no desire to burn him!
Penelope smiled. “Hello, Pelonius!”
“PHWEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Pelonius squealed loudly. He raised his arm-leaves up and continued to sprout out his phwees happily.
“You miss me, don’t you? I miss you, too, Pelonius. I miss you a lot, but I’m glad to see that Percy is taking good care of you.”
Percy wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. He had to admit that watching Penelope and Pelonius interact with each other was amusing, reminding him of a mother-child reunion of some sort. “You know he sings that Beethoven song a lot?”
“I’m not surprised,” Penelope said with a smile. “He does like that song.”
“Because you like it.”
“Yeah . . . anyway, thanks, Percy. I’m so glad he’s doing well. I have a few more months left before I’ll come back home. When I come back, I’ll bring you a lot of Tim Tams.”
“Tim Tams?”
“Oh, they are the best biscuits in the world. You’ll love them when you try some.”
“Uh, all right. Just don’t bring back a kangaroo or something. You take care of yourself, Penelope.”
“Thanks. You, too!”
When the call ended, Percy took Pelonius back to his spot. As he set the pot down, he said, “The next few months will go by fast. You’ll be reunited with her soon.”
“Phwee!” Pelonius wriggled happily in his pot. “Phwee!”
Percy laughed. “You sure can be cute. Just don’t sing that Beethoven song for a while–”
“Phwee, phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeeeee!”
A few days later, when Percy came home from work, he saw Pelonius looking different. He was slumped over in his pot. His flowers appeared dry and droopy, and his leaves were all sagging on top of the pot. Alarmed, Percy dropped his cloak on the floor, not caring it’d get dirty, and quickly went to Pelonius.
“What’s the matter with you?” Percy demanded, gently picking up the pot and bringing him closer to his face.
“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius answered weakly.
Percy wracked his head, trying to remember if he had forgotten to feed or water Pelonius, but he knew he never forgot. Pelonius had never moved from its sunny spot, so the lack of sunlight could not be a factor. He only bought the flies that were the same brand Penelope used, so his feed could not be a problem.
He grew worried as he realised that something was truly wrong with Pelonius. And despite Pelonius’ obnoxious ways, he was not going to let a plant die on him.
Neville. The name popped in his head. He had to contact Neville, the only Herbologist he knew around here. However, he didn’t have an owl, and he didn’t feel comfortable using the Floo to call someone he didn’t know very well. Instead, he used the Floo to call Ron.
Thankfully, Ron was home. “What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw Percy’s panic-stricken face.
“Something’s wrong with Pelonius! I don’t have an owl! So can you please contact Neville for me and ask him if he knows anything about the Phwee Plant?” Percy then proceeded to explain what was wrong with Pelonius.
“Okay, okay, Perce! I’ll contact him. In the meantime, you calm down. Relax! Your whole head looks like a tomato.”
Percy bristled at the comment, but he thanked Ron, nonetheless. They then quickly cut off their connection so Ron could contact Neville. Percy went back to his sitting room and waited for what felt like hours as he paced around the room, his eyes never leaving Pelonius.
When he finally heard Ron’s voice from the Floo, he reluctantly left the room and walked over to the fireplace.
“I’ve got a hold of Neville. He has to quickly take care of some Hogwarts business. It shouldn’t take him more than half an hour. Then he’ll Floo to your place.”
Percy was not thrilled that he had to wait another half an hour, but he was glad Neville was still coming. “All right, Ron. Thanks a lot.”
“Let me know what happens. If you need help, Hermione and I will help.”
Percy thanked him one more time, and then he waited for Neville.
Percy was with Pelonius when heard his Floo come to life, and he heard a loud thud and an “Ow!” coming from the next room. Knowing that Neville had arrived, Percy rushed into the room and there he saw a dusty Neville Longbottom on the floor, looking sheepish with a wide smile. That was the first thing Percy noticed about Neville. The second thing he noticed was that Neville had changed a lot since his Hogwarts day. Gone was the pudgy-faced, short boy he’d known in the past. That boy had been replaced by a young man. A young man with faint scars on his face and stubbles on his cheeks and chin. Neville had grown taller and his shoulders had become broad. He was exactly the type of man Percy liked, and he was mortified when he realised he’d been staring at Neville.
Quickly, he reached out a hand to help Neville up. Their hands met, and he immediately saw the contrast. His was pale and freckled and slender. Neville’s was dark and large, and there were a bit of dirt under his nails.
Percy really liked how their hands fit each other perfectly, so when they had to let go, he was sorely tempted to not let go.
Neville stood up and brushed himself off. “Sorry about that.” Even Neville’s voice — all deep and husky — impacted Percy.
“Tits–” Percy desperately hoped he hadn’t gone red. He swallowed hard and cleared his dry throat. “It’s all right. Thank you for coming.”
“Not a problem.” He looked around. “Where’s Pelonsky?”
“Pelonius.”
“Oh, oops! Sorry, Ron was a bit hasty with his explanation, so I didn’t catch the plant’s name correctly.”
“Pelonius is over in the next room.” Percy quickly guided Neville to Pelonius, who still looked the same — all droopy and pathetic looking.
Neville immediately walked over to Pelonius and began to examine the plant. When he first bent over to inspect the plant even closer, Percy, who was standing a few feet behind Neville, got to see Neville’s lovely arse. Well, what he saw was the imprint of Neville’s arse, but he could see through the robes that Neville’s arse was well-shaped and nicely filled out. Percy shifted uncomfortably as he thought about how the round tush would fit in his hands when he grabbed them. The imagery sent a huge jolt of warmth to his mid-section. Percy felt his face turning red, so he desperately tried to think of something else. Something that would not instigate his libido!
He focused his attention on Pelonius, and on Penelope, who’d surely kill him if anything were to happen to Pelonius. He winced at the memory of the time she had kicked him in his balls. It was not his fondest memory, but it was one that always helped him calm down.
A few more minutes passed before Neville stood all the way up, no longer giving Percy an eyeful of that lovely arse, and said, “Pelonius is suffering from depression.”
Percy blinked. He knew Pelonius was rather sentient for a plant, but he was not expecting him to suffer from anything remote to depression. “What needs to be done for him?”
“He needs this special fertiliser blend. It acts like an anti-depressant drug for his kind of plant. I can bring some fertiliser tomorrow and show you how to give it to him and how often and so forth. And you need to do one more thing for him daily.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Sing to him.”
“Pardon?”
“At least once a day, sing to him. You heard how people sing to their plants to help it grow? Well, with the Phwee Plant, singing makes them happy. When it’s happy, it will sing by themselves, but when it’s not, it needs to be sing to. You have to sing, though. A recording does not have the same effect as a live performance.”
” . . . But I cannot sing.”
“It doesn’t matter if you can or can’t sing. If it’s loud and music-like, they’ll enjoy it.”
Percy took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead. “All right. I’ll sing.”
“Good,” Neville smiled. He reached out and patted Percy’s shoulder. “Pelonius will be fine. Just sing to him once or twice a day. Will it be all right for me to stop by tomorrow evening with the fertiliser?”
Percy nodded.
“Until tomorrow then.”
Percy eyed Pelonius after Neville left. “So I have to sing to you . . . ”
“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius still sounded weak, which made Percy feel really bad for him.
“You really must miss Penelope . . . ”
“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius said and slowly nodded.
“Well, I’ll sing, but remember I’m not going to be very good.” Percy tapped his chin thoughtfully, and five seconds later, he sang the first song that came into his mind.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lived there.
He once was a true love of mine.
As he sang, all out of tune and off-key, he thought of Neville once more. He was surprised that Neville had made such an impact on him. He had not felt attracted to anyone in ages, but he now felt a huge amount of attraction towards Neville.
He continued to sing as he thought about Neville raising the plants like parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. He imagined Neville working in the greenhouse, all hot and sweaty and dirty from the work, creating a picture of sexiness in Percy’s mind. He imagined Neville’s large hands on his shoulders, gripping him gently with enough firmness that would let him know that Neville would want him, too.
By the time he finished singing, his breath had gone ragged, and he was feeling so riled up that he knew he’d need to go to the loo to finish up his business. Before, though, he checked on Pelonius.
Pelonius was still droopy like before, but his “Phwee” sounded perkier. Relieved, Percy went to the loo.
The next morning, before he went to work, Percy fed Pelonius a fly and sang another song before he went to work. The song he chose to sing this morning was “Loch Lomond”.
When he finished, he patted Pelonius’ pot. “I’ll come home early,” Percy said, making a mental note to pick up some extra biscuits. “And I’ll sing to you then,” he promised.
During his lunch hour, Percy picked up the aforementioned biscuits, and he also got several more varieties of tea. He knew he hadn’t been hospitable the night before, so he wanted to make it up to Neville today.
Yet as the rest of his day ticked by, he felt himself growing more and more nervous. When he left work an hour early liked planned and came home, he was pretty much a wreck as he dashed around the flat making sure the place was clean and that the tea and the biscuits were all set for whenever Neville came by later.
In between his panic sessions, he talked and sang to Pelonius, who was looking slightly better than the day before. He was still slumped over, but he did phwee here and there with Percy when he sang, of all songs, “Macho Man”. It was definitely not a song he enjoyed, but it was a song Fred and George sang over a hundred times during the last big party at the WWW, so Percy had no choice but to memorise the whole bloody song.
Body, it’s so hot, my body,
Body, love to pop my body,
Body, love to please my body,
Body, don’t you tease my body,
Body, you’ll adore my body,
Body, come explore my body,
Body, made by God, my body,
Body, it’s so good, my body
Percy had to admit the song was pretty . . . sexual. Really, since the twins were singing it, he shouldn’t be surprised by their song choice, but this particular song was blatantly sexual. So sexual that he was picturing Neville following the song’s command by touching, adoring, pleasing, and teasing his body . . .
Percy shook his head, remembering that he had a sick plant in front of him. He looked at Pelonius, who was really looking better than before, so that encouraged Percy to continue to sing the song. He was so into the song that he did not hear his Floo being activated. In fact, he didn’t even know someone was in the room until Pelonius said, “Phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeee!” Percy stopped singing and looked at Pelonius, whose arm-leaves pointed behind him. He turned around and did a double-take when he saw Neville.
Percy turned bright red, wishing then that Pelonius was a Venus Flytrap capable of eating wizards. Especially idiotic wizards like him!
“Ne–Ne–Neville!” Percy spluttered. “I . . . I . . . ”
“You must really enjoy singing. Pelonius is looking a lot better.” Neville looked amused. He held up a small bag. “I’ve brought the fertiliser. Want me to show you how to do it?”
Deciding that his tongue was not going to cooperate now, Percy nodded.
“Okay. You really need to do this once a day, preferably in the evening before you go off to bed. Just scoop out this much and place it in his pot. Gently pat the fertiliser down, and he’ll be looking great in a few days or so. If he looks like he’s back to normal in a week, you don’t have to give him any more.”
“That’s it?” Percy asked, his tongue now back to normal.
“That’s it.”
“Well, I . . . to thank you, I have some tea and biscuits. Would you like some?”
“That’d be great. Thank you. Let me just go wash my hand. Where’s the loo?”
While Neville washed his hands in the loo, Percy got the tea and the biscuits ready. He set everything neatly in the sitting room, the same room where Pelonius was, and Percy sat stiffly, waiting for Neville to come back.
In no time, Percy had served them their teas — Darjeeling for him and Earl Grey for Neville — and the two drank in silence. Feeling awkward, Percy asked how it was like being a Hogwarts professor.
“I love it. I love teaching all these young wizards and witches about the subject I know and understand the most. Teaching has its own ups and downs, and sometimes it can be too challenging, but I can tell you that my days are never boring. I mean, it’s not like Potions where cauldrons and stuff explode, but these kids do get into some interesting situations.” Neville chuckled.
Neville’s easy-going attitude calmed Percy nerves. In fact, he was impressed by the way Neville exuded out natural confidence now, so different from the young boy he knew from the past. Percy smiled softly before asking, “What kind of situations?”
“Well, I had one student upset a special breed of cactus, and the cactus grew angry and squirted its juice at him. The student suffered from having a purple face for a week or so. That’s how long it took to wash off.”
Percy laughed, and in an ironic tone said, “That cactus must know my brothers.”
“The twins?”
“Who else do you know would make someone’s face purple?”
“Good point.” Neville grinned widely, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. “By the way, would it be all right if I stopped by in about three days? To check up on Pelonius?”
Percy nodded, glad that Neville was really interested in helping Pelonius, but he also felt disappointed that Neville was only going to stop by because of Pelonius. He found himself wishing that Neville would stop by even if Pelonius wasn’t in the picture. “Just ring the gong by the fireplace when you come.”
“What gong?”
“The non-existent gong I’m going to put up tomorrow. That way people can alert me that they’ve arrived instead of being subjected to my awful singing.”
Neville burst out laughing. “I have to admit, you sing better than I’d imagined. Though I never thought you’d sing that kind of song . . . ”
“Don’t worry,” Percy mumbled, knowing that he was turning red once more. “I won’t be singing that song any time soon.”
He looked at Neville then, and he saw that Neville had a curious expression on his face, an expression Percy wasn’t sure how to decipher. Before Percy could say anything, though, Neville glanced at the clock.
“I need to get going. I promised Minerva I’d help her with something. I’ll see you in three days?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Percy. And good bye, Pelonius.”
“Phwee!”
Percy walked Neville to the fireplace, and Neville said, “Thanks again, Percy. If anything changes with Pelonius, please call me by the Floo. Even if it’s three in the morning.” With one last smile, Neville left, and Percy went back to Pelonius.
“Phwee? Phwee?” Pelonius squirmed in his pot.
“You work on getting better.”
“Phwee!”
Percy sighed and sat back down on the couch. He gazed at the spot Neville had been in earlier, and his imagination took over once more as he pictured the two of them in a compromising position. He groaned loudly and said, “I’m falling for him. I really am attracted to him.”
Three days later, Percy made sure he did all his singing for Pelonius hours before Neville was to be expected. He did not fancy getting caught singing by Neville again. When he heard the Floo go off, he quickly went to Neville and greeted him.
“Good evening,” Neville said in his wonderfully deep voice, the same voice that nearly caused Percy to melt into a pile of wizard goo.
“Thanks for coming,” Percy said stiffly. “Pelonius is looking much better than before. That fertiliser and, ah, the other healing methods seem to be working well.”
“That’s great to hear. I’ll still have to check on him, though.”
“Fine by me.” Percy gestured Neville to go first, and he did. He brushed past Percy, and that brief moment of contact sent shivers down Percy spine. He could sense Neville was really warm, and he wanted to be embraced by that warmness. He followed behind, studying Neville’s backside, and he imagined how it’d feel to wrap Neville in a hug from behind, how it’d feel to rest his cheeks against that broad back and hearing the rhythmic beating inside.
Percy stifled back a moan. He was getting excited again, and he needed to distract himself. “You go check on Pelonius. I’ll go get the tea and biscuits ready.”
“All right.”
Once in the safety of his kitchen, Percy took several deep breaths to get his emotions and his body in control. “I will not make a fool out of myself. I will not make a fool out of myself!” Percy repeated this over and over again as he prepared the tea and biscuits. When he was ready to leave the kitchen, he carried the tray to the sitting room.
Neville, already sitting, greeted him with a beaming smile. “Pelonius is recovering nicely!”
Percy set the tray on the table. “I’m glad to hear that. All that singing is paying off.”
“It is.”
“Let me get your tea ready.” As he poured the Earl Grey into the cup, he could feel Neville’s eyes on him. He ducked his head lower to hide his red cheeks, and when he handed the cup over to Neville, his hands shook slightly. Neville’s larger ones steadied his hands, and Percy looked up and met Neville’s dark gaze.
Neville’s hands were hot, and the heat from his hands was going straight to Percy’s groin. Percy shifted uncomfortably and lamely said, “Your tea’s ready.”
“Thank you.” Neville took the tea cup and set it aside with one hand, but his other hand was still holding onto Percy’s hand. Their eyes were still locked onto each other, and Percy stared deeper and deeper into Neville’s smouldering eyes, feeling like all time had stopped. Slowly, inch by inch, Percy found himself moving closer towards Neville until soon their breath mingled with each other, and Percy’s glasses touched Neville’s face.
Without thinking, Percy closed his eyes, and he felt Neville coming even closer and . . .
“PHWEE!”
The loud, indignant shout from the ruddy plant broke their spell. Percy quickly pulled back, and pulled his hand back, and he blushed a furious shade of red. “Er, try the biscuit,” he muttered, grabbing a biscuit and munching it hard.
“Yes, thanks.” Neville rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and took a sip of his tea before he ate some biscuits. “I’ll need to stop by later this week to check up on Pelonius one last time, and then he should be fully well. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.”
“How are things at the Ministry?” Percy relaxed at that question, glad that they could talk the rest of the evening about mundane topics. And while he blathered on about the Ministry, he made sure that the kiss-that-almost-happened was not brought up.
Yet when Neville left later, he felt empty and dejected that the kiss-that-almost-happened had been interrupted by Pelonius.
“I can now say that Pelonius is fully healed.” Neville grinned as they both walked to the fireplace, leaving Pelonius in the sitting room. “You don’t have to give him the fertiliser anymore. You don’t even have to sing to him, but it’d help to sing to him every few days to keep him happy.”
Percy let out a deeply relieved sigh. “I’m glad. Now I don’t have to worry about Penelope kicking me in unmentionable places.”
Neville cocked his head to the side. “Are you still with her? I know you were dating her when you and she were still in Hogwarts.”
“No!” Percy exclaimed. “We’re not together. If we were still together, I think she’d have killed me by now! She doesn’t look it, but she can be very strong and violent when she wants to be.”
“I see.” Neville smirked a bit. “That makes things easier then.”
Percy blinked. “What does?”
“See, a certain plant told me that someone seems to be wanting to pollinate with someone, and the plant also told me that I should be the one to help achieve that goal . . . ”
It took Percy a minute to understand that cryptic message, and when he understood the implications, his face became so red that he was sure steam was coming out of his nose and ears.
“How in Merlin’s name did Pelonius tell you?!”
“He just told me.”
“Wait, you mean you understand all that Phweeing? Why did you not tell me you understand his Phweeing?”
“You never asked, but yes I’ve learned how to decipher the Phwee Plant’s language.”
“And he told you . . . Merlin’s balls!” Percy took his glasses off, carelessly tossed them on the mantle, and buried his face in his hands. He felt something tug on his wrists, and he allowed Neville to drag his hands away.
Neville tilted Percy’s head up with his fingers and said, “I guess that was not the best way for me to find out how you feel.”
Percy shook his head unhappily, wondering if he should move to Antarctica or somewhere desolate and unpopulated. Somewhere where he would not be recognised as the idiot whose secret was let loose by a plant.
“Percy, I . . . ” Neville cupped Percy’s cheek. “I like you, too, so if you want, we could . . . date?”
Percy stared at Neville, realising that this was the first time he’d seen Neville look so uncertain and nervous since he’d been re-acquainted with the grown up Neville. Seeing Neville acting like this reminded him that Neville, despite being confident and laid back, was still human, was still fallible just like anybody else in the world.
Also, he knew then that Neville felt something between them, too, so if anything, they could try dating like Neville had suggested. It wouldn’t hurt, and he did like everything about Neville so far.
“Well, I’m not against that idea,” Percy said softly.
Without his glasses, Neville appeared rather fuzzy, but Percy could make out the wide smile on Neville’s face. “That’s great to hear.”
And without any hesitation, Neville kissed him. Percy gasped in surprised, but he didn’t dislike the kiss. On the contrary, he loved how Neville kissed. The kiss was slow at first, but then Neville deepened it by entering Percy’s mouth. He could taste Neville, and the taste intoxicated him further as he wrapped his arms around Neville’s neck and he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, pulling Neville’s hard body against his.
Percy felt their body meshing well with each other, and that encouraged him to bring his hands lower. He rubbed Neville’s back, feeling the muscles shifting underneath his touch, and then he brought his hands down to grab those arse he’d fallen in love with upon their first meeting when Pelonius had got sick.
He could feel Neville’s own hands moving across his body, and everywhere Neville touched, he felt his body wanting more. He could feel himself hardening, and he knew Neville felt the same when he felt Neville’s own hardness against his thigh. When Neville’s thigh met his hardness, Percy broke the kiss with a loud gasp as the strong jolt of pleasure coursed throughout his body.
Neville moved to Percy’s throat, and as he nipped and sucked the sensitive skin there, Percy’s leg turned to jelly, causing him to heavily lean against the wall. He grabbed Neville’s hips and he gasped out, “So good . . . don’t stop.” Without thinking, he began to rub himself against Neville’s muscular thighs, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he came since it’d been ages since he had done anything sexual with somebody.
But suddenly, Neville grabbed him by the hips, and he stilled Percy’s movement.
“Neville,” Percy almost whined, not happy that the pleasure he’d been experiencing suddenly stopped.
“Percy,” Neville said after taking a deep breath. “Let’s stop now.”
” . . . You’re tired of me already?”
Neville recoiled sharply. “No! That’s not — no! I’m not tired of you at all! We just started, and I do want you, Percy, but I don’t want us to rush this either!”
“Oh.” Percy winced at his horrible mistake. “I . . . yeah, you’re right. Let’s not rush this.”
Neville leaned in closely and whispered into Percy’s ear. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. In fact, Pelonius has given us his blessing, so I think we’ll be together for a while.”
“Pelonius has given us his blessing?” Percy repeated incredulously.
“Yes. He says that he’s glad ‘Rose-head has found a good pollen mate’.”
“He did not say that. He did not call me Rose-head.”
Neville chuckled. “He did.”
Percy grumbled about how certain plants will need to be thrown out, but all that thought was soon forgotten when he felt Neville kissing him softly again.
“I think Pelonius is lonely. I have a female Phwee Plant back at my greenhouse. What do you say you bring him over one day?”
“Is this supposed to be a double-date of some sort?”
“If you want to call it that, sure.”
Percy smiled. “Then it’s a date.”
And in the next room, he heard Pelonius saying, “Phwee!”
Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.
]]>There’s nothing you can know that isn’t known.
Nothing you can see that isn’t shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.
When Severus Snape arrived at Spinner’s End, he welcomed its stillness, the layers of dust, the fraying curtains, and the faded carpet in the sitting room. He glanced at the yellowed wall, and his eyes landed on the familiar radio.
He was glad to be finally away from Hogwarts and a certain old, eccentric, meddling wizard who wore half-moon spectacles over his twinkling eyes and had a nasty habit of offering sweets to students and staff members at apparent random.
Then again, he thought, looks could be deceiving. The esteemed Hogwarts headmaster might be an old coot who was getting on years, but Severus knew better than to underestimate one of the greatest wizards known to the wizarding world.
Nonetheless, tonight’s conversation with the headmaster had left him unsettled to where he found himself wishing he could poke a liquorice wand up the headmaster’s crooked nose. Then again, maybe not. Knowing Albus, he’d enjoy the wand up there and make a comment such as, “Now it makes perfect sense why this sweet is long and thin!”
Severus rolled his eyes as his mind wandered back to the conversation he’d had earlier. In fact, he could not believe it was already a decade since that year, the year he’d failed to protect her . . .
At the end of summer, at the start of the new term, Severus would see him. The thought of it left him feeling rattled. He wondered if he had any of her traits, along with her green eyes.
Stifling another sigh, he threw himself on a chair. Next to him was the Muggle radio, the same radio he used to listen as a child. He stared at the thick layer of dust and spelled it away. Then he slowly reached out to flick it on.
First the radio spewed out static noises and indecipherable words. Severus fiddled with the knobs until he could hear something akin to music pour out of the speakers.
It was a song he hadn’t thought of for years; a song he had never quite liked because of its silly melody and lyrics. His fingers twitched, wanting to turn the radio off, but the dreadful song seeped into his mind.
“In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea. And he told us of his life, in the land of sub–”
The sound of water, the sea crashing against an unknown shore, a captain’s voice, and a brass band filled his sitting room.
Then, in his mind, another voice began to sing.
Severus stilled his hand.
“In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea. And he told us of his life, in the land of sub–”
“Lily!” Severus yelled, holding his hands against his ears for protection. “Stop!”
She ignored Severus and continued to sing, her voice loud and off-key. “–marines. So we sailed on to the sun, till we found the sea of green. And we lived beneath the waves, in our yellow submarine!”
Severus groaned and kept his hands on his ears, eyeing the back door of Lily’s house, hoping Mrs Evans would come out and tell Lily to stop her horrible singing.
Nobody came, so Severus was condemned to suffer until the song had ended. When she had — finally! — finished, Severus brought his hands down. She turned to Severus and said, “Come on! Sing with me!”
Severus recoiled in horror. “No! I am not going to sing!”
“Aw,” Lily said, her green eyes opened wide. “Why not? We’ll sing your favourite.”
“My favourite?” Severus stared at her, wondering if she had lost her mind. “I don’t have a favourite Beatles song.”
“Yes, you do.” Lily grinned and tossed her long red hair. “I heard you sing it before when I snuck up on you once. And stop glaring! You’re going to have a pinched forehead like Petunia if you constantly frown like that. Now come on. Sing! You say yes, I say no . . . ”
Severus gave a resigned sigh, and in a very monotone voice, completely the opposite from Lily’s belting vocals, he sang, “You say stop, and I say go, go, go.” That was what he did for the next hour. Lily would urge him to sing with her, and he’d sing, all flat and on one note, but that didn’t deter Lily. She just continued to sing happily and — unfortunately for Severus — horribly.
He didn’t mind, though. Not as much as he pretended to anyway.
He’d rather put up with Lily’s awful singing than listening to the daily arguments of his parents. Compared to their screaming and arguing, he found Lily’s voice beautiful . . . when she wasn’t singing.
Later, when he finally couldn’t postpone going home, he wondered if he should see if there were any potions that would improve someone’s singing quality. Better yet, he thought, maybe he could find some magical earplugs that were invisible when worn and that would block out someone’s off-key singing, but allowed the wearer to still hear everything else.
This idea had come to him last year when Lily suddenly had become interested with this band, but Severus had never acted on it because he didn’t mind Lily having fun with these awful songs. Mostly. He just hoped that she would improve one day.
“Hello, Severus.” Mrs Evans smiled. “Lily’s in the back. Do you want a jam tart before you go?”
He looked at the mouth-watering treats, something he’d never find in his own home. His pride made him decline them. “No, thank you. I’m still full from lunch.” He hurried away before she could insist and ignored his empty stomach’s protest.
Outside, he scanned the yard for Lily. She sat cross-legged under her favourite tree, where the afternoon sunlight peeked through the leaves above, creating a shadowy pattern. In her lap was a book, and she was smiling. Severus frowned slightly, realising that the smile on her face was different from her usual ones.
She smiled shyly when meeting someone for the first time. She had a polite, courteous smile that she always smiled (in fact it was hard to catch her not smiling). When she knew someone better, her smile was a bit more mischievous. When she had an idea, her smile grew knowing, secretive. And when she was with Severus, her whole face lit up.
The smile she had now was wide, and her eyes looked dreamy. That expression unnerved him; it was an expression he’d seen before, but he couldn’t remember where.
When he got closer, he saw it wasn’t a book but a magazine. He stopped in front of her, looked down, and stared at the gigantic pin-up poster of John Lennon. Lily was humming something, a very familiar tune that always made his stomach clench in disgust. Of all the Beatles songs, he found himself hating “Can’t Buy Me Love” most, and hearing her humming it made his ears hurt. As he tried his best to block out that tune, he glanced at Lily’s face once more, and that was when he realised where he’d seen that expression before. He’d seen it on Petunia when she’d been in love with that neighbourhood boy down the street.
Now Lily wore that same look. Did that mean she was in love with John Lennon?
Severus made a face at that thought. He hoped she hadn’t turned into a girl, like Petunia!
Lily looked up, finally noticing him, and asked, “What’s wrong with your face? Are you sick?”
“No, but what’s that?” He pointed at the magazine.
“A magazine.” Lily smirked at her answer as Severus resisted rolling his eyes. “Daddy got this for me. This has a lot of stuff about the Beatles. A lot of articles and posters. See? Look at this poster of John Lennon when he was younger! See that mop-top? I think that suits him waaaaay better than what he looks like now.”
He studied the two pictures, studied how different the Beatles had looked in the early 1960s compared to now. He could see that they had looked a lot cleaner when they had been younger, and then as they had grown older, they had turned into these messy people. He could not figure out who was who except for John Lennon, because of his glasses. “Do all grown-ups become this messy when they get older?”
“Maybe?” Lily shrugged as she went back to staring at the huge John Lennon poster. “He still looks good, though. I wish I could meet him one day. I wish I could go to their concert. I’m trying to convince Daddy and Mummy to let me go when I turn eleven. I’ll be all grown up by then, so they have to let me go! Do you think they’ll ever come here and perform?”
“I don’t know.”
“If they come here or any nearby cities, I’m going to go. Let’s go together, okay?”
Severus grimaced and took a step back. “I don’t think so,” he said fiercely.
“Aw, why not? I don’t want to go by myself. If you come with me, you can be my bodyguard! You already like wearing black, so you can wear that and protect me.”
Severus tried to figure out just what black had to do with bodyguards, but before he could ask, she stood up, set the magazine aside, and started singing a new song.
“Oh, please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man. And please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand!” Lily danced as she grabbed Severus’ hand. “Sing with me! We have to practise for when they come!”
“What do you mean practise?!” Severus asked as she yanked him around the yard.
“At the concert! When they sing, we have to sing along with them. So we need to memorise the lyrics and all.” She laughed and skipped around the yard, still holding Severus’ hand, and continued to sing, “Now let me hold your hand! I want to hold your hand!”
Once again, thanks to Lily’s convincing attitude, Severus found himself singing along with her off-key performance. Thank goodness she didn’t mind his flat singing, he thought. He didn’t fancy the idea of receiving singing lessons on top of all these Beatles songs.
It was cold when Severus woke up on the last day of the year. He blearily rubbed his eyes, and he sat up with a large yawn. He winced as he heard something crashing downstairs, followed by his father’s deep shouting and his mother’s softer sobs.
Already numb from the coldness in his room, he pulled his threadbare blanket tighter around him and lay back down on his lumpy mattress, curling himself into a foetal position and pulling the blanket over his head to block out the noises from below. Despite all his efforts, though, he could still hear everything through the thin walls. He heard his father’s cruel voice as he continued to yell at his mother. He heard the all familiar threats of him leaving them, and his mother begging him not to.
Unable to withstand it any longer, he got off his bed, stopped by the loo to do his business, and went to change into a pair of frayed jeans and an old but clean shirt. He slipped his feet into a pair of socks that had holes and into ratty-looking trainers which had once been white. Finally, he pulled on his coat, quietly crept through the house, and went outside.
He walked down the road, enjoying the blissful silence and trying to ignore the frosty winds that swept all over him. He pulled his coat’s collar up around his neck and ears and stuffed his hands deep into his pocket. In one of the side alley streets, away from the prying eyes of his neighbours, he jumped up and down and ran around in circles until he could feel himself getting warm.
Still, it was too cold to linger around, so he decided to go visit Lily and see if she wanted to play. He ran all the way to Lily’s house, and when he arrived, he could see his breath coming out in pants. Swallowing hard, he forced his breathing to slow down before he rang the doorbell.
Mrs Evans opened the door. Severus noticed that she appeared sad instead of her usual cheery self. “Oh, hello, Severus. You look chilled to your bones. Come on in!”
Inside, he quickly turned down her offers of tea and crumpets. “Thank you, but maybe later. Is Lily around?”
Sighing loudly, her face turned sad again. “She’s out in the back. I just checked on her five minutes ago, and she’s not ready to come back in yet. She’s quite . . . upset. Thank goodness she’s bundled up, at least. Go see her, love. Perhaps you can knock some sense into her so she’ll brood inside the house instead.”
“All right. I’ll–” Severus was cut off when Mrs Evans wrapped a fluffy muffler around his neck.
“There. We mustn’t let you catch your death of cold.” She finished tying the muffler and stepped back with a smile. “Go and bring her in soon. Otherwise, I’ll dig out my rubber crowbar and yank you two inside the house.”
Severus thanked her quickly, and he went outside. Just like that one time when she’d been fascinated by the magazine, he found her under the tree. Unlike last time, she didn’t have a silly smile on her face; instead, there were tears in her eyes. Worried, he wondered what had upset her. Quietly, he took a seat next to her on the hard ground.
“Hullo,” she said, pulling her knees closer to her chest and wrapping her thin arms around her legs.
“Hi,” he responded softly. “What’s wrong?”
Lily kept quiet, but her bottom lip began to quiver.
“Did Petunia do something to you?” he asked, alarmed.
She shook her head. “No. Not Petunia. It’s . . . it’s . . . ” She lost her control, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her arms. Her shoulders heaved and shook.
Awkwardly, Severus put an arm around her shoulder, but barely touching her, afraid to upset her further. Then, without warnings, Lily turned and leaned into him, sobbing into his chest. His eyes now wide open, he slowly hugged her very stiffly.
They stayed like that for a few minutes as Lily’s sob subsided. Soon, she was only sniffling. He asked again, “What’s wrong?”
“Thebeebmamdumedinagoo.”
“The Bee Man made dinner goo?”
“No!” Lily pulled away from him and giggled before she remembered her pain and turned sombre again. “The Beatles are breaking up for good.”
He blinked. “For good?”
“Back in April, Paul McCartney had left the group. So I was waiting for Paul to realise how he was being silly and needed to come back to the group, but now . . . ” Her bottom lip began to quiver again. “I always thought they would stay together forever.”
Severus was slightly dismayed. He knew she really liked the band, but he didn’t think their break up would affect her this much. He couldn’t understand why she was so upset, but he didn’t want to see her so miserable.
“Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,” he began to sing the first song that came into his mind. “And I say it’s all right!”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. He continued to belt out the song, not caring that he sounded worse than she usually did. “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun . . . ”
“And I say it’s all right!” Lily finished in a shaky voice. They smiled at each other and continued to sing. It was one of their worst attempts at singing Beatles songs, and they most likely butchered the song to where Severus would have definitely preferred an earplug or three . . . but he didn’t care. Lily wasn’t crying, and that was more important than his ears.
Together they finished the rest of the song.
“Will you promise me something?”
They were back in Lily’s house, in the sitting room, eating and drinking Mrs Evans’ wonderful tea and crumpets. Severus was going to soak in all the warmth here before he had to return to his cold home and celebrate New Year’s Eve with his parents, hoping they wouldn’t fight for once, hoping they’d call a truce for tonight and perhaps even fight less in the New Year.
He looked into her serious green eyes, the same eyes he’d looked into for years. But now they appeared different. “What is it?”
“Promise me that we’ll always be friends, no matter what. Promise me that we’ll never break up like the Beatles.”
Severus slowly grinned. “I promise.” Lily was his true friend; he would always be loyal to her.
She smiled back, her green eyes becoming brighter. She grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together before saying, “Friends forever.”
He nodded and looked at their intertwined fingers and echoed her, “Friends forever.”
When the song ended, Severus finally turned the radio off. He leaned heavily against his chair and stared at the wall in front of him; an image of Lily, so beautiful with her long red hair and her endearing green eyes smiling at him, came to his mind.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw her holding up a baby up to her bosom.
He had broken his promise.
Yet, maybe, there was another chance.
Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.
As Albus’ voice drifted away, Severus smiled sadly. “Friends forever,” he whispered. Lily looked at him and mouthed a single word.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me.
Dear Draco and Neville,
How is Seoul? I hope you two haven’t suffered from Portkey-lag. I miss you two a lot. Neville, don’t forget to give Professor Lee all the Quibbler magazines. Also, be sure to look for that very rare squirrel, the one I am calling the Slytherin Squirrel (because of its green fur and its shy nature!), hidden somewhere on the Yonsei University campus. Good luck with that and your Korean herbology studies!
Are there a lot of Nargles, Wrackspurts, and Bibbering Humdingers there? I’ve heard that cucumber kimchi attracts them the most, so I am certain you’ve run into plenty there. Do keep track and see if my theory is correct.
Oh, and Draco, how’s your job? You’re sponsoring the Korean artists, aren’t you? Don’t forget your promise! Send me music samples of the artists you sponsor. I would love to hear their music. Muggles’ music is so much more interesting than wizarding music.
Write back when you can. Don’t mind Hermes biting you, Draco. He does that because he likes you.
Love,
Luna
“Bloody owl!” Draco glared at Hermes, rubbed his sore fingers, and watched how that blasted thing flew over to Neville. Hermes landed on Neville’s shoulder and let out a soft hoot before he nuzzled against Neville’s cheek.
Neville smiled apologetically. “What did Luna write?”
“The usual.” He handed Neville the letter. “She’s reminding you about the magazines and the squirrel, which she has decided to name the ‘Slytherin Squirrel’, and she wants us to test her cucumber kimchi theory, and she’s asking for free samples of the artists I am working with.”
“Mmm.” Neville read as he petted Hermes. “You better write her now. Remember what happened the last time you took your time responding to her?”
Draco groaned. “Don’t remind me. I swear, women are dangerous, and Luna is probably the most dangerous one of them all, even more dangerous than Granger. At least with Granger, she just punches me. But Luna . . . ” He shook his head and took out a parchment and began to write.
“While you do that, I’ll go find some treats for Hermes.”
“Yeah? Just make sure he doesn’t leave any of his nasty ‘surprises’.” Draco ignored Hermes indignant hoots as he wrote a response back to one of his dearest (and weirdest) friends.
“I’m thinking you pissed Hermes off last time, so he refused to deliver the letter . . . ”
“Oh, yeah, it’s always my fault!” Draco scowled at Luna’s newest messenger. “But really, did she have to send a vulture?!”
Neville chuckled nervously before he put his arm around Draco’s shoulders. “At least this one seems well-trained. It’s not poking our eyes out . . . yet. Still, better read what she said and write back as soon as possible.”
With Neville’s arm still on him, Draco leaned comfortably against him, and he began to read the letter out loud, keeping one eye on that vulture.
Dear Draco and Neville,
Hermes has a girlfriend, so he’s too busy with her to deliver this letter. I’ve sent Vladimir this time. His kind is so misunderstood. Just know that Vladimir is gentle. Try petting him on the top of his head. He loves it. One last thing about him — he has a tendency to sing when he’s hungry, so be sure to feed him. He especially loves raw meat.
So, Neville, still no signs of that Slytherin Squirrel? I’m not surprised. It really is shy, so just keep trying. I heard if you entice it with candy floss, your chances of seeing it increases. Oh, and thank you for sending me those articles about Korean herbology. They make excellent reading when I am in the bubble bath.
And Draco, I am really loving the music of Dong Bang Shin Ki, but what is the meaning of their name? Is it some sort of a secret code? Do they change into Nargles if someone figures out their name? Also, thanks for the DVD of their concert. Harry had to push some random buttons on the controller to break something so the DVD would play.
Going back to the concert, these young men are fascinating. The way they dance and sing, it is all wonderful. I think my favourite is Changmin, or Max as he prefers to be called in English. I’ve been learning bits of Korean from watching them. I love Korean. It sounds so different from English . . .
Draco skimmed the rest of the letter, which was incredibly long. “She goes back and forth between talking about the artists, Korean, and about her recent adventure of Wrackspurts hunting with Potter in the Forbidden Forest.”
“Sounds like she’s smitten by that Dong group. What does their name stand for anyway?”
“I . . . ” Draco paused. “I’m not sure. I never asked.”
“Are you going to find out?”
“Maybe–”
Vladimir let out a loud screeching noise, an unpleasant sound that made Draco’s insides twist painfully.
Draco and Neville looked at each other. In a whisper, Neville asked, “Is that his so-called singing?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I guess you–”
“You can feed him, and I’ll write to Luna.” Besides, Draco thought, the sooner he wrote, the faster he could send Vladimir away.
“Fine, but next time you deal with Hermes or Vladimir.”
“Why? You deal with animals better than I. So quit complaining.” He smirked. “I’ll make it up to you later . . . ” He winked as his voice went down to a whisper.
Draco’s smirk grew louder as Neville inhaled sharply before he went to tend Vladimir. As Vladimir’s “singing” increased in volume, Draco quickly started on his reply.
“No letter from Luna?”
Draco shook his head, surprised that it’d been weeks since he’d last heard from her. “No, but given that I haven’t received any frantic owls from Potter, I’m guessing she’s just busy.”
“Shame. I kind of miss Vladimir and Hermes.” Neville carefully trimmed his bonsai tree, a gift Draco had given him a few years back.
“I don’t.”
“Right. Ever since our third year . . . ”
“Don’t remind me!”
Neville chuckled. “I’ll write her a letter.” He glanced at the clock. “You better get going. Don’t keep Rain waiting.”
“Bi.”
“What?”
“That’s the Korean word for ‘rain’.”
“Right, Bi.”
Draco checked over his suit one last time. He looked impeccable, like always. “All right. I’ll be off. Don’t be late tonight.”
“I won’t. Seoul Tower at eight. I’ll get the bus up there. One of my professors told me the cable car was not worth the money, saying something about how they cram about fifty people into that thing.”
“How vile.” Draco pecked Neville’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Draco looked out the window as his driver, Mr Kim, inched the car through the heavy Seoul traffic. He’d been at the Leeum Samsung Art Museum at the edge of Itaewon, and now he had to go to Yonsei University to meet Neville for dinner. He could have chosen to Apparate, but he opted for the car ride so he could watch the scenery and the people.
He just wished they weren’t stuck in traffic. According to Mr Kim, that intersection at Hamilton Hotel was the cause of the traffic in Itaewon, and Mr Kim assured him that once they passed that intersection, things would move a lot faster.
Outside, his eyes landed on a woman with long pale blonde hair. Her hair reminded him of Luna, and he fondly remembered how they became friends.
It was during his “eighth year” at Hogwarts. His father was imprisoned in Azkaban. Thanks to Harry Potter, Draco and his mother didn’t get sent to Azkaban, but the Malfoy name was still disgraced after the war. He hadn’t wanted to go back to Hogwarts for his eighth year, but his mother had insisted on him finishing his education, so he begrudgingly went to Hogwarts.
Seeing Luna at Hogwarts reminded him of how she was kept captive in his dungeons, and that guilt made him stay away from her. However, in her strange, peculiar way, she sought him out. At first, he hated her strange conversations about Nargles and Wrackspurts, plus the way she always talked about the Quibbler and always made sure she had a copy for him. Soon, though, Draco came to appreciate Luna’s unique way of looking at the world. He still didn’t exactly like her, but that all changed one day when he went to see his mother at Hogsmeade. Everyone around them had given them nasty looks and indiscreetly talked about them, but not Luna. She just came up to them both and started talking about how emeralds really made his mother’s complexion look youthful.
Afterwards, when the two of them walked back to Hogwarts, Draco knew then that she was a friend. She was odd, but she was a friend, and he knew deep inside that she would not be easy to get rid of even if he’d tried his hardest to shun her.
Exactly two days after his big revelation, she had begun dragging him into the greenhouse Neville worked in. It was awkward, he remembered. Draco didn’t know how to act around Neville, and to his horror, he even discovered he was attracted to him. Still, through the mysterious power of Luna, the two became friends. And it wasn’t long before she began to leave them alone and even told them to hurry up and snog one another before she had to resort to locking them up in a tiny room with Nargles.
Throughout all this, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Luna really was a Ravenclaw. She seemed sneakier than most hardcore Slytherins.
“We’re almost there.” Mr Kim’s voice interrupted his daydreaming. Draco looked up with a start at the familiar Sinchon Rotary.
Draco nodded. Neville had mentioned to him this morning that Luna hadn’t written back yet. He knew that nothing had happened to her because there hadn’t been any anxious owl messages or Floo-calls from Harry, but he found it odd that she went this long without writing them a letter. In fact, he found himself missing her quirky letters.
In a couple of weeks, he and Neville would finally have some time off from their jobs. He decided then to ask Neville about going back to England for a few days and surprising their friends and families on an impromptu visit. He knew Neville would love the idea, so he created a mental list of gifts, including kimchi, he could bring back home.
DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEEEEEEEEEE!
“Fucking hell!” Draco hated that “Fur Elise” doorbell. He especially hated it at three in the morning! He sat up while Neville stirred next to him but didn’t wake. Grumbling and cursing, Draco stomped out of the bedroom and went to look on the screen of his doorbell phone. He didn’t see a face, but he saw a stuffed bear.
Frowning and wondering if a drunk was out there, he grabbed the phone and snapped, “Who are you and why the fuck are you here so late?”
“I’m not late,” said a familiar, dreamy voice. “I’m early.”
“Oh, great. I must be dreaming. A Korean ajusshi that sounds like Luna,” Draco mumbled.
“I’m not an old Korean man. I can be one if you want, but it’d have to be temporary. I don’t think Harry will appreciate me switching genders on him.”
“Wait–” Draco reached the door in two seconds. He pulled it open, nearly jerking his arm out of the socket from the force, and stared at Luna and her three large rolling suitcases, her creative and colourful outfit, and her stuffed bear she had named “Bear”.
She beamed at Draco and said, “Good morning!” Then she flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “That was a long Portkey ride. I was surprised there was such a long queue at Hong Kong, but then again, I think King Kong must have been visiting, so that caused the extra waiting around. Anyway, surprise! Happy birthday.”
“Luna, my birthday was two months ago!”
“Oh, then happy early birthday!” She somehow managed to wheel in all three suitcases at the same time — how, Draco wasn’t sure — and she sat on the couch and fingered her kimchi pot earrings. “Is Nev sleeping?”
“Yeah. You know he sleeps like a rock.”
“Yes, I remember now. Oh, and I’m sorry I haven’t been writing. Things have been so busy with trying to plan this surprise visit. I even told Harry to keep it a secret.”
“Well,” Draco said dryly. “You did a great job on that, and you beat me and Neville at our own plans. We were going to go back to England next week and surprise everyone, too.”
“Daddy did say great minds think alike. I only wished Harry could have come with me, but Kingsley really needed him right now, so he wasn’t able to get the time off. At least I promised to bring back a huge container of fresh kimchi.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, I can’t wait to explore this wonderful place for my one-week stay, but I think sleep is finally coming to me. Don’t mind me if I start sleep-walking, all right?”
Draco couldn’t help it. He began to snigger. “Right, right. Let me take you to the guest room.” As he helped Luna settle in her room, he set aside his gift list and focused on a new sightseeing list for Luna.
The next few days passed by in a blur, thanks to them Apparating and Portkeying everywhere. Neville, excited by Luna’s surprise visit, showed her all over Yonsei University and Sinchon, and they even walked around Yonsei University campus with Professr Lee to see if they could get a glimpse of that elusive squirrel. The Slytherin Squirrel remained hidden, but that didn’t deter Luna at all as she ate some of her candy floss and said, “It has to be just right for it to appear. We just have to be patient.”
Otherwise, she loved everything about Seoul and South Korea.
When they took her to Myeong-dong and Namdaemun Market, she marvelled at the marketplaces and the merchandise, amazed that these two places were more condensed and labyrinth-like than Diagon Alley.
They took her to Insa-dong on a Sunday, where the whole street was blocked from traffic, and many arts and crafts vendors filled up the streets. Luna adored that place, and there she said she had got new ideas for her future jewelleries.
She became enthralled with Korean architecture when they visited Gyeongbok Palace. Harry had given her a digital camera, and Luna had taken so many photographs that they had to go to the sprawling Yongsan Electronics Market later to stock up on more SD cards.
Luna, not really into the clubbing scene, still decided to check out the night life at Hongdae and Sinchon, and they even walked around Itaewon, bar-hopping on the side streets and in the so-called Hooker Hill area.
They rode the Han River cruise boat, and they went to the wealthier neighbourhoods in Gangnam district. From there they went to Coex Mall, and they visited a Buddhist temple, Bongeunsa, across from it.
They even managed to make a getaway to Gyeongju, the old capital of the Silla dynasty, and there Luna snapped more photographs of the old king’s burial mounds.
Finally, they stopped by Jeju Island, where Luna insisted that she wanted to see Love Land, the sex-themed theme park that is popular amongst honeymooners. Both Draco and Neville found themselves blushing, but Luna remained unfazed as she clicked away on her camera. “I can’t wait to show Harry these pictures,” she exclaimed at one point.
Unfortunately, all good things came to an end eventually, and Luna’s week was slowly, but surely coming to an end. On her last night in Seoul, Draco decided to surprise Luna.
“You have three tickets to a Dong Bang Shin Ki concert? And I get to meet them after the concert backstage?”
Draco chuckled. “Yes, you’re a VIP for today.”
Luna smiled widely, and she practically pounced on Draco as she hugged him. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe I get to hear them live and meet them! I better get ready!”
When she dashed off, Neville leaned over and whispered, “I hope you have earplugs ready for us.”
“Hrm?”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think my ears will appreciate millions of fangirls screaming for DBSK.”
“Oh, right.” Draco reached into his pockets and pulled out two pairs of earplugs. “I learned my lesson the last time I had to attend one of these things.”
Neville pulled Draco into a warm embrace. Draco felt warm lips grazing his forehead, and that gave him an idea. He arched upward, leaned in close until his breath ghosted over Neville’s ears, and said, “Want to try out some of those positions we saw at Love Land tonight?”
Draco sniggered at Neville’s sputtering and red face. He laughed even harder when Luna came out and asked, “Why so red, Nev?”
“He’s just a bit steamed up. Don’t worry about him.” Draco walked up to Luna, who was dressed in a simple black strapless dress. She had on tights that were striped in blue and bronze, and she wore a dangling kimbap earring. He held up an arm and said, “Let’s go, love.”
“Good morning!” Luna cheerfully greeted.
Draco and Neville stumbled towards the dining room. Neither were morning people, but they woke up early so they could pack and go back to England with Luna.
Draco stared at the plate in the middle of their table. It looked like carrot cakes, but they were cut into brownies. Both Draco and Neville sniffed the fragrance that permeated their whole place, and Draco knew then that whatever was on that plate was not carrot cake.
Neville cleared his throat and said, “Luna, is that . . . ”
“Oh, that? It’s my newest baking experiment. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I didn’t want to interrupt you two, so I made this — kimchi brownie!”
Instead of blushing, Draco and Neville both glanced at each other, and they both mirrored the other’s pale, blanched expression.
Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.
“I baked this to thank you guys for the wonderful visit. The whole week has been fantastic, and last night was especially the best. All of the DBSK boys were adorable and fun. I especially loved talking to Changmin, and I am further convinced that he’s been reincarnated from a Nargle, which makes him extra special.”
Draco nodded and forced a smile on his face. “That’s great, Luna, and I am glad you had a wonderful visit, but, ah, I am not very hungry right now so I’ll try the brownies later, all right? Besides, Neville and I have to pack.”
Luna clapped her hands once. “Right! I need to pack, too! I’ll bring these brownies for our trip back to England. I’ve a feeling we might be receiving another visit from King Kong in Hong Kong, so these will come in handy. Plus, I can give some to Harry. He’ll love these.” She hummed and went to her room to pack.
Neville and Draco went to their room to pack, too. Behind the closed door, Draco muttered, “Don’t worry. I have some extra anti-acid potions for us.”
“Might as well save some for Harry, too. I’ve a feeling he’ll be eating most of those brownies,” Neville mentioned. “Oh, and are you sure Jaejoong will be able to take care of my plants?”
“He will. You know he aced herbology at his school.” Draco sniggered. “Otherwise, I can bring back Luna’s brownies and give them to him.”
“So cruel,” Neville teased as he carefully placed his grandmother’s gift, a beautiful celadon vase, in his trunk. “Still, I’m glad we’re going home for a week. It will be good to see everybody.”
“Yes.” Draco then added, “At least no one’s doorbell will play that blasted tune.”
“Someone really loves Beethoven, doesn’t he?”
“Ah, shut it, love. Let’s finish packing so we can take some of that potion. I’ve a very bad feeling we will be stuck in Hong Kong for a while. This is peak season for international Portkey travels.”
“Right. Do you really think King Kong hangs around in Hong Kong?”
Draco rolled his eyes and continued his packing.
“Draco! Vladimir is here. Remember, you have to take care of him this time.”
“I know, I know,” Draco groused. Despite his grumbling, he discovered that he and Vladimir got along way better than he and Hermes ever did. He served Vladimir some raw meat while Neville read out loud Luna’s letter.
Dear Draco and Neville,
Harry suggested that I send you some more kimchi brownies, so here’s another batch! I hope you guys enjoy these.
I really miss the two of you, and I am really thankful for all that you did for me when I visited last month.
The new school year at Hogwarts has started, and things have been incredibly busy. I’ve introduced Dong Bang Shin Ki to my Muggle Studies students, and all the girls love them. I’ve convinced Minerva to let Muggle electrical devices work just in my classroom. I’ve shown them all my DBSK DVDs, and I let them listen to their music any time they want.
Right now I am in the process of convincing Minerva to allow me to bring ten female students to South Korea during winter break for a few days. I’ve even told her that you’d be happy to house us while we are there. If you need assistance with room expansion charms, Harry will come along and lend a hand. He’ll be able to help me chaperone this winter. Ginny, too. She wants to come along and see the Korean brooms and purchase a few for her Flying class.
So what do you think? Will you be able to let us stay? Let me know as soon as possible!
Love,
LunaP.S. — Hermes is now a father! When I come this winter, I’ll bring you one of his babies!
Draco and Neville stared at each other. Neither spoke for a while until Neville said, “Do you still have those earplugs?”
“Yeah. I guess we’ll need them if we host ten mad fangirls for a few days. Something tells me that Silencio will not block their squealing.”
Neville’s face turned green. “This will certainly be interesting.”
“Mmm . . . ” Draco scratched Vladimir’s head and asked, “Think I should introduce Luna to Super Junior?”
“If you do, you’re on your own hosting them this winter,” Neville deadpanned.
“But both Potter and Weasley are coming. You wouldn’t dare leave me defenceless against them and ten teenage girls, would you?”
“Well,” Neville conceded. “Fine, but introduce her to Super Junior after they leave!”
“Deal.”
]]>** The fanmix for this fic is here. **
There was a floor in the flat, somewhere, hiding under wrinkled clothes that covered up the stained carpet. The kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, cups, and silverware, all carrying some kind of food residue like rusted metal. Dust had piled up on top of the bare mantel; beneath it, the fireplace was cold and lonely. The windows of the flat were cracked open an inch and covered with drab-looking curtains that used to be white; their ends were frayed with threads hanging and fluttering from the light breeze. A tiny beam of light tried to peek through the drapery, but it was soaked up by the darkness of the place; the sitting room’s only light source was the telly, which blared with well-timed laughter and applause, and a lamp in the corner.
Off in that same corner were two orange-coloured armchairs that had seen better days. Between the chairs was a small table with a chess set on it. The chess set was the only thing in the room that looked immaculate. The board, its black and white squares made of black onyx and Mother of Pearl, were enhanced never to chip or scratch, even when the game became violent. Each piece was hand-carved with intricate details and spelled with a powerful charm that granted them strong and unique personalities. Just like the board, they were spelled never to become permanently damaged.
One of the chairs was occupied, and its occupant let out a weary sigh. The owner’s freckled hand reached out and slowly moved a piece to its destination.
“Checkmate,” Ron said softly as he set the black piece down in the square to deliver the game’s final move. He didn’t hear the cheerful laughter from the telly as he leaned back heavily against his chair, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.
He turned his head slightly to his right, his eyes passing the telly and meeting the upright piano. It was covered in dust, like practically everything else in the flat, but it still had a stately feel to it. It was an Essex, a cheaper brand produced by Steinway and Sons; its dark-brown finishing was warm and inviting, and it had taken his breath away when he’d laid eyes on it months ago. He recalled how the off-white keys had felt cool to his touch. The black keys were a beautiful contrast to their cream-coloured counterparts, and his fingers had danced across them briefly, effectively shutting the shopkeeper’s overeager sales pitch, as the piano sang out its melody. He’d played a light, crystal-clear tune that’d been the opposite of his gloom, surprised to have chosen an old childhood lullaby his mum had sung when he was upset. He’d only played a few measures of the tune, but he’d known immediately he’d found the right piano.
Now it was abandoned.
He turned his attention back to his chess set, and with another sigh he re-organised the pieces to start a new game. After all, there really was nothing to do except to watch the telly while he munched on some crisps and drank Firewhisky until it was time to sleep.
Work was no longer fun. Back when Ron had first become an Auror, the rigorous training and field work had made him feel alive with enthusiasm. Whenever he and Harry had to investigate a new threat, whether it was a wanted criminal or a dispute between two drunken wizards, adrenaline had sparked every cell in his body, and the rush had encouraged him to work harder and better. That led to promotion after promotion, and it wasn’t long before his position as a unit leader confined him to his desk with mountains of paperwork, while the younger Aurors went out and did the job he’d enjoyed in the past.
Day after day, he sat at his desk, sometimes shuffling papers, sometimes writing briefs, but most of the time Ron stared at this mark on the wall that was shaped oddly like a pumpkin, while his subordinate in the next room blared music from the wireless. He would be subjected to all the screeching and howling that would permeate his own office — something he’d learned quickly to tune out since Silencing Charms weren’t allowed in their area. Once in a while, classical music played. Ron found himself looking forward to those days; he usually found the classical music soothing.
That day was different, though.
It only took three notes, and he found himself pounding on his subordinate’s door. “Turn that thing off, Horowitz!”
The door opened. Horowitz gave Ron a strange look. “You got something against classical?”
“No, I just don’t want to hear that piece right now.”
“You hate Rachmaninoff?”
Ron’s lips thinned. “Just turn that shite off.” He turned and went back to his office.
Leaning against his closed door, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was now silence, but Ron could still hear that piece in his head.
“Rachmaninoff’s ‘Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor’,” he muttered. Normally, he liked Rachmaninoff, but this was a favourite of his ex-wife, and he was reminded of the news article he’d read last week in the Prophet — an article proclaiming Hermione Granger-Weasley getting married to Quidditch star Viktor Krum.
He lowered his hand back to his side, and his fingers began to play that song on his thighs. “No!” he mentally shouted, not wanting to think of that song. He looked around, and he swore the room had grown smaller on him as his breathing quickened and his stomach flip-flopped until he was feeling queasy. He strode over to his desk, and he quickly scribbled a note on the Ministry Message Pad.
I’m going home early today. Not feeling well. Just need sleep.
— R
After he tapped the message with his wand and said Harry’s name, he made his escape.
“Bloody hell!” Ron threw the bishop against the wall and ignored its indignant squeals. He began to pace around his small flat. His skin became taut, his mouth turned dry, and his heart rate increased as his agitation grew stronger inside of him. He wanted to punch something so he could hear the satisfying crunching noise. He needed to release that dam inside of him, but something was blocking it, and he had no idea what that something was.
He’d tried sleeping earlier, but he couldn’t sleep. Whenever he stared at the dark ceiling, he could see Hermione and Viktor in a deep embrace as they snogged each other’s tonsils out. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them — a calloused hand hiking up a skirt, feeling the smooth skin there before it disappeared under the material — and it further angered him.
He ended up doing acrobatic moves on his spacious bed, even banged his arms and legs against the wall several times, before he gave up and resigned himself to a game of chess in the middle of the afternoon. He wanted to clear his mind and only think about chess, but his attempts were fruitless.
His mind was full of so many conflicting thoughts about his current life, and it didn’t help that the stupid song was still in his head. That blasted Rachmaninoff piano concerto was lingering in the back of his mind, and like a stubborn itch it refused to go away.
He stopped pacing and gripped the top of his armchair. He wanted to squeeze his frustration through the cushion. Just as he was at his wit’s end and was about to scream his lungs out, his doorbell rang.
He stalked over to the door, sure it was a salesman of some sort, and yanked it opened, ready to tell the salesman to piss off and never come near his flat again. His yell caught in his throat as he found himself staring at a smiling Teddy Lupin.
The next minute or so passed by slowly as Ron studied Teddy. The most obvious thing about Teddy was his hair. Ron was used to seeing Teddy’s hair in unusual colours (he was certain Teddy had tried out every single colour of the rainbow), but seeing Teddy’s shaggy brown hair and fringe littered with yellow and green polka dots was definitely something new. He also noticed that he didn’t have to bend his head to look at Teddy’s eyes, which were a mesmerising shade of blue. Ron took a step back and he glanced over Teddy’s build. Gone was the skinny teenager he remembered from a few years back. Teddy was now broad-shouldered and had some muscles in his upper body. He wasn’t heavy like Ron, but he no longer looked like one of those chips from Loch Arnold burger chain.
“Hello, Ron. May I come in?”
To Ron’s dismay and before he could say anything, Teddy slipped past him, causing a shiver to go down his back as he felt Teddy’s shoulder brush against his. Ignoring that strange sensation, he closed his door with the full intention to tell Teddy — politely — to bugger off, but Teddy began to dig around his bag for something and his mouth started to yap really fast.
“Apparently Harry got called away to Wales — he said something about flying computers with wings, along with some flying pigs and cows, and that it’s going to take him all night to resolve. Anyway, I finished my job for the day — you know I’m a freelance writer, right? — and I stopped by Harry’s office since I hadn’t seen him in ages. But he was in a terrible rush. He told me that you went home early because you didn’t feel well, so he asked me to give you this — if I can ever find the darn thing in this bag. I swear, I love this bag, but it’s like a black hole. Once something goes in there, it’s impossible to dig out . . . Ah-ha! Here it is!”
Teddy pulled out a foil-wrapped package that looked like it’d been beaten by several Bludgers. Ron took the smushed package and stared at it warily. “What is it?”
“Banana nut bread. Harry baked some. It’s his way of relieving stress lately, and he’s baked a whole boat load’s worth and has been giving them away. He gave me and Gran about three loaves, and he asked me to give you one.”
“Er, thanks.”
Teddy grinned. “Bitte.”
“Huh?”
“It means ‘you’re welcome’ in German, I think. I’ve been recently watching a lot of German films with English subtitles.”
“Oh, right.” Ron set the bread down on the table, and he finally remembered his manners. He gestured at the two orange armchairs. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”
“Actually, might I take your offer later? I’ve still got to deliver the rest of these loaves to your parents and the rest of your family.”
“Huh?” Ron repeated, wondering if he was going senile at such an early age.
“I told you. Harry baked a lot of this stuff. He also asked me to deliver some to your parents, to Bill and Fleur, to George, to . . . well, you get the gist. Harry had the bread all piled up on his desk, but he had to go to Wales, so I’ve become his delivery boy for the day.”
“And all that fits in your bag? I’m . . . impressed.”
“Yeah, it’s a great bag, except when I want to find something. Anyway, will tomorrow work?”
“Uh, I guess.”
“What time?” Teddy’s eyes shone brightly as he flashed a smile, giving Ron a good view of his crooked teeth.
Ron momentarily lost his thoughts. The crookedness reminded him of Hermione and her family’s fondness for straight teeth, and he almost shuddered at a memory where, because of his father’s morbid curiosity, Hermione’s parents demonstrated how braces worked. He jerked himself back to reality and said, “Well, tomorrow’s a half-day for me, so I’ll get off work at one . . . ”
“Great, then I’ll stop by at about two. Enjoy the bread!” Teddy rushed out, and Ron stared at the now empty spot.
“Fantastic,” Ron muttered. “Did I just get conned into a visit from Teddy Lupin, of all people?” Not that there was anything wrong with Teddy, really. It was just that he’d never been really close with him. Harry and George had been the one who interacted with Teddy the most, so he only knew Teddy through Harry, George, and their family gatherings.
To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to this unexpectedly planned visit. It would certainly break his routine up a bit.
Sitting back on his chair, he picked up the fallen bishop and wondered what tomorrow would be like. Just as he was about to resume his lonesome chess match, he sniffed and scrunched his nose in disgust. He stood and looked around his flat and grimaced.
“So much for finishing up this game,” he muttered to himself.
At exactly two o’clock, with Ron’s flat now in a much cleaner state — at least it smelled better and wasn’t as dusty — his doorbell rang. Ron walked over to the door and let Teddy in. They exchanged the usual pleasantries before Ron gestured at him to take a seat and asked, “Tea?”
“Tea would be great, thanks.” Teddy walked over to the chairs and he stared at the chess set. “Oh, hello, there. You, Bishop, you were on the floor yesterday, right? Why were you on the floor? Did you upset the queen? Women and their tempers . . . you’ve got to watch out for them!”
Ron burst out laughing at the wayTeddy was talking to inanimate objects. It reminded him of how Rose had played with her toys. Normally Ron thought it was childish when adults acted like that, but it actually suited Teddy — albeit, in a strange and enticing way.
“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” Teddy said when Ron came over carrying a tray with a teapot, two teacups, sugar, and milk. Teddy set the chess set carefully on the floor, and Ron set the tray down.
As he prepared his cup, Ron shrugged and said, “I’m all right. I’m not that great with it.”
“I bet you are!” Teddy insisted as he poured some milk into his tea.
“I’m not,” Ron said, scowling.
“Prove it.”
The words sounded like a challenge, but Teddy didn’t look like he was issuing one at all; his eyes, now dark brown, reminded Ron of a puppy. Teddy’s smile, so gentle and imploring, made Ron’s insides twist in a way that made him want to play the piano, right then and now. “Prove it,” Teddy repeated. “I want to hear you play.”
Ron cleared his throat and averted his gaze from those puppy eyes. “Fine, but I haven’t played in a long time, so don’t you dare laugh if I make a lot of mistakes!”
Taking a seat at the piano, Ron opened up the cover to reveal the ivory and black keys. He glanced to his left, noticing Teddy’s relaxed posture as he stood off to the side, still smiling with unabashed eagerness. Ron cleared his throat and ignored the way his stomach churned and his hands got wet; he quickly wiped them on his trousers.
His mind raced as he tried to pick a piece to perform, but the only thing in his mind was that dreadful Rachmaninoff piano concerto. He closed eyes tightly, desperate to chase that song from his head; when he heard the faint sound of rain, he knew what to play. He opened his eyes and positioned his hands over the keys, and he played Chopin’s “Raindrop Prelude”.
It was sloppy, but that was expected since it’d been a while since he’d last practised. He made mistakes everywhere, his fingers stiff and clumsy, but he didn’t stop, only concentrating on reaching the end. The first part of the piece washed over him, its serenity echoed in the small flat, and the repetitious A-flat from his left hand gave him a strange sense of peace. He continued the song and reached the middle section, and his tranquil mood dissipated to something like melancholy as he shifted from major to minor key. He wanted to hurry his pace, wanted to leave that gloomy C-sharp minor section, but he kept it slow and steady. As soon as he modulated into the major key once more, he relaxed in his playing. He slowly came to an end, feeling lighter than he had been for days, and he found himself wishing he didn’t have to end the song. As he played the final notes, holding them longer than usual, he startled from the sudden sound of thunder.
He blinked up at Teddy, who was clapping enthusiastically with a beaming smile. “That was brilliant. Really, really brillaint! Chopin’s ‘Raindrop Song’, right? See, I knew you were good!”
Ron felt his face turning red. “I’m not! That was actually one of my worst attempts ever! There were so many mistakes!”
“Oh, blah-dee-dah! Don’t be so modest. That was actually pretty good, considering how you hadn’t played in a while.”
“Shut up,” Ron muttered.
“Shove over,” Teddy said.
“What?” Ron was about to stand and close the piano, but Teddy had scooted next to him and sat down. He could feel Teddy’s hip and thigh against his, and that closeness made him dizzy. “W-what are you doing?”
“I want to show you my piano skills. They’re really terrible, actually, but I wanted to play ‘Heart and Soul’ and ‘Chopsticks’ with you,” Teddy whispered into Ron’s ears, his warm breath affecting Ron’s breathing.
Ron felt strangely light-headed, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable, and he realised that having Teddy this close to him felt normal, almost natural — like they’d done this before, but they hadn’t. In fact, it was as if Teddy’s definition of personal space were different from most people’s, and Ron wanted to tell Teddy to move over a bit, but he didn’t. What he said instead was, “Which ‘Chopsticks’?”
Teddy looked at him blankly.
“I mean, there’s the version known as ‘The Celebrated Chop Waltz’ which is what the Americans call ‘Chopsticks’, and then there’s the one we call ‘Chopsticks’ which is really known as the ‘The Flea Waltz’,” Ron explained as he demonstrated the two pieces.
“Ah-ha! I know both. Let’s play them. I’ll be the left-side part.”
“The chords?”
“Yeah. Those three songs, plus ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ are all I know how to play. You can have fun with the variations on the right.”
Ron chortled. “Fine, fine.”
Teddy started playing the chords for “Heart and Soul”, his right arm bumping into Ron’s. Two grown men on a single piano bench really didn’t leave much space at all. Ron could feel warmth emanating from Teddy, and he could feel himself growing light-headed once more. Light-headed or not, though, with Teddy’s steady rhythm and beat, he was drawn into playing the songs Teddy wanted to play. Variation after variation, the melody flowed through his fingers, and Teddy kept up with Ron, never faltering. At one point, Ron glanced at Teddy’s face, and he saw the closed eyes, the happy smile. Teddy was deriving simple pleasure from playing the simple part of the songs while Ron played as complicated as he wanted to. They somehow meshed well together. When Ron played slowly, Teddy slowed down, and when Ron sped up, Teddy would match his tempo without a break in his playing.
Playing with Teddy was exhilarating. Sure, they were playing songs that Ron found easy and unchallenging, but this was the first time he felt like he found a partner who was perfectly in tune with his playing. In the past, whenever he played duets with anyone, he had never really fit with them, but with Teddy, it was almost a flawless match.
After they came to the end, Ron asked, “Have you had musical training?”
“I took violin lessons for years. What about you? How long have you played?”
Ron eyes grew large. “Really? That would explain your good sense of rhythm. My great-aunt Muriel wanted to teach one of us. I think she really wanted to teach Bill, but he and the rest of my siblings weren’t interested. Except for me. I had lessons with her from when I was four until I went to Hogwarts. To be honest, she was a real harpy, but she did teach me a lot.”
“I’m absolute pants with the piano, though. Gran tried to get me to be skilled with both the violin and the piano, but I preferred the violin more. In fact . . . ” Teddy’s face became thoughtful, and his hair colour changed from brown to turquoise. “Do you know that ‘Spring Sonata’ by Beethoven? I think it’s ‘Violin Sonata No. 5’? And ‘Salut d’Amour’ by Elgar?”
“I know ‘Salut d’Amour’, but I’ve never played the piano part.” Ron frowned as he tried to remember the Beethoven piece. “How’d the ‘Spring’ one go?”
Teddy started to hum the piece, and Ron nodded slowly and said, “Sounds familiar.”
“I’ve got the sheet music for them. I play them sometimes, but it’s rather boring playing without the accompaniment.” Teddy plunked out some notes on the piano, and he stared at the keys. “If I bring the music, would you play with me?”
Ron studied Teddy’s body language, and he realised that Teddy was nervous about asking this. That made him feel uncertain, too, and he said, “Well, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think I’m that good to accompany–”
“You are good!” Teddy interrupted, his brown eyes looking determined and his hair colour turning more vivid. “I’m just not sure I’ll be good compared to you. It’s been forever since I’ve played the violin, too.”
Awkwardly, Ron patted Teddy’s shoulder, feeling the tense muscles there, as well the heat. “I’ll be the judge of that. Just bring the sheet music and we’ll play together.” He was keen on the idea. It really had been far too long since he’d been this interested in music. Plus, he trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Teddy was a good violinist. “How does Saturday sound to you?”
Teddy grinned. “Just not early, okay? I cannot wake up before noon.”
Ron raised his eyebrow. “Will three o’clock work for you, Mr Late Sleeper?”
“Great!” Teddy stood up and stretched, making his shirt ride up and revealing his well-toned abs.
Ron’s mouth grew dry, and he briefly wondered why Teddy had this effect on him before saying, “Let’s finish our tea. I’ll warm them up with a spell.”
After a long conversation about the Cannons — Teddy was a fan, much to Ron’s delight — they talked about other things, mostly about Teddy’s job as a freelance writer and Ron’s earlier days in the field, and about what they had seen on the telly. When it was time to eat supper, Teddy treated them to a take-away of fish and chips. It was fun, Ron thought, to talk with Teddy. It’d been a while since he had felt comfortable enough with someone to talk about innocuous subjects, and Teddy was just a cheerful bloke to talk with. He realised that, after being alone for months, he actually missed human company. His other friends had tried to get him to hang out at pubs or wherever, but Ron had shoved them away, not wanting their pity or to be around fake cheeriness, something he couldn’t stand. Whereas, Teddy just simply came into his life and showed him simple companionship that was real. And a bit odd, if he was really honest with himself, but he didn’t mind Teddy’s quirky personality at all.
Aside from their conversations, Ron found himself looking forward to hearing Teddy on the violin. He was curious on what sort of a sound Teddy would produce. He just hoped Teddy wasn’t one of those musicians who sounded like crap despite their long years of training; after all, it wasn’t that length that mattered, but it was rather the individual’s dedication to better himself through practise.
On Saturday, Teddy arrived with his violin. Ron wasn’t an expert on the violin, but from what he could see, it looked rather expensive and also old. He watched Teddy take the violin out carefully from its case, and he admired its rich brown colour. He wondered if it was a Black heirloom or not, but before he could ask, Teddy said, “I’ve brought over Stravinsky.”
“Stravinsky?”
“Yeah, that’s what I named my violin. Gran gave it to me. She was appalled I’d call her heirloom after a composer she detests.” Teddy shrugged and placed the violin under his chin. “I don’t know why she has a thing against him. I think his works are brilliant.”
Ron nodded, though secretly agreeing with Andromeda’s opinions on Stravinsky. “Well, not everyone likes him, I guess.”
“A shame, really.” With the violin still under his chin, Teddy went through his bag and pulled out the sheet music after muttering to himself during his search. “Here. I couldn’t find the Beethoven one. It’s hiding somewhere in my room — Gran says my room is more like a rubbish bin — but I found the Elgar piece.”
“Thanks.” Ron placed the sheet music on his piano. “What about you? I could transfigure something into a stand for you.”
“Nah, I’ve memorised the piece. Can you play the tuning pitch? I don’t think we’re going to sound good if I’m not in tune with you.”
Ron obliged Teddy’s request and played the pitch, listening to Teddy tune and adjust his strings and begin his warm-up. Ron tuned out Teddy’s scale exercises, and he studied the sheet music in front of him, his fingers hovering over the keys as he played out the song without making a sound.
“Okay,” Teddy said. “I’m ready.”
With a nod, Ron began to play the accompaniment, his opening a solo. When Teddy came in, Ron nearly froze upon hearing Teddy’s first note. Teddy’s sound was clear and bright, and it washed over him, lifting his mood. They played and they were in perfect sync. Just like Orpheus and his lyre, Teddy’s violin demanded Ron’s attention and he wished time would stop; there was an invisible, unspoken connection between him and Teddy, and he didn’t want the song to come to an end, lest the connection disappear from him forever like Eurydice did.
Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.
The piece, unfortunately, came to an end, and Ron turned around and met Teddy’s intense gaze. The air felt heavy between them, yet it didn’t weigh Ron down at all. Instead, he slowly stood and in a raspy voice he said, “That was fantastic. I’m not going to believe anything you say about your playing from now on.”
“I really haven’t played in a while,” Teddy insisted, but he smiled.
Ron smiled back, and they continued to stare at each other — Ron in front of the bench and Teddy a few steps away, still holding onto the violin. He didn’t know what to say next. Somehow, there wasn’t really anything more he could say. The heaviness in the air wrapped around him once more, and he found himself moving closer to Teddy. He reached out his long fingers and he touched Teddy’s slender fingers, the ones holding onto the bow, and he grasped the bow and set it aside gently, and then he did the same with the violin until there was nothing obscuring Teddy’s body. Their eyes met once more, and Ron’s breath hitched slightly as Teddy moved closer and whispered into Ron’s ear. “Do you like Beethoven’s symphony?”
Ron suppressed a shiver and licked at his dry lips with his tongue. “Which one?”
“The seventh. It’s my favourite.”
“I prefer the fifth, but the seventh one isn’t so bad.”
“I’ve got two tickets to the Royal Albert Hall. London Philharmonic Orchestra is going to perform that. Would you like to go?”
“Uh . . . ” Ron’s brain felt hazy. It took him a few seconds to get his tongue working again. “Sure, why not?”
“Great!” Teddy yelled.
Ron jerked away, and he scowled, realising that the weird spell that had overcome him had been broken with Teddy’s excited shout. “Next time, yell into someone else’s ear!”
“Oh, sorry.” Grinning, Teddy stepped away and he grabbed his violin and bow and began to play a wild version of “Heart and Soul” on it. “I’m just excited because none of my friends like classical music, so I always attend those concerts by myself. It’s more fun to go with someone who likes that sort of stuff. You won’t mind if I bring a notepad, will you? I need it to jot down notes about the concert since I am a music critic for one of my freelance assignments.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay, then next Saturday at six? And wear a nice outfit.”
Ron grimaced. “Does that include a tie?” He hated those things because he felt like they always choked him.
“Nah, though I think you’d look nice in one.”
It was just an offhand comment, but something about it made him want to ask Teddy something. He didn’t. Instead, he let the comment slide and said, “We’ll see.”
“All right. Do you mind if I practise a bit more?”
“Go ahead. I’ll get us some tea.”
The telly was on, but Ron wasn’t paying attention to it at all. In fact, the telly might have been on mute since all he could hear was Teddy’s humming as he pondered on his next move in their chess game. The concert had ended a couple of hours ago, but they’d come back to Ron’s place to have some tea while they relaxed with a round of chess — Teddy as white and Ron as black.
Ron, his head ducked as if he were studying the board, was really looking at Teddy, who, with a wide smile and his purple hair, was happily humming Beethoven’s seventh symphony. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up; Ron really liked that look on Teddy. He noted Teddy’s rosy, dimpled cheeks, and he knew that Teddy had really enjoyed the performance. Until today, he had never really paid attention to Beethoven’s seventh symphony, never noticed how it was one of those symphonies that had so much passion. Of course, the second movement wasn’t as bouncy and exciting as the other movement, but it was beautiful regardless of its melancholy mood. The symphony fit Teddy’s personality, and that conclusion made Ron like the whole piece even more.
Teddy also proved to have really good hearing as he talked about the concert. “That was great. I always enjoy listening to London Philharmonic, but I think the second violins were a bit off tonight.”
“Were they? I didn’t hear anything off.”
“Oh, they were. Then there’s the brass section. They overpowered the strings in some parts. But all in all, this was a good, solid performance. I’ll have fun writing my article later tonight.”
Ron raised an eyebrow, remembering how when he’d glanced at Teddy’s notes earlier, they looked like illegible scrawls that he could never decipher. “It’s already almost ten. When is this ‘later’?”
“Oh, probably two in the morning. All my best writing comes out after midnight, strangely.” Teddy grinned and finally moved his piece.
“A night owl, huh?”
“A big one. My sleeping schedule drives Gran crazy. She can’t comprehend why I can’t sleep from ten at night to six in the morning like the ‘normal’ people.”
“Ah.”
“Though if I was in a relationship and shagged regularly, I reckon my sleeping schedule wouldn’t be so backwards.”
Ron nearly spat out his tea at that statement — which was said in a very frank manner — but started to cough instead. “I . . . I see.”
“Yeah. It’s been a while since I found anybody I’d want to be in a relationship with.” Their eyes met right when Teddy finished that sentence, and Ron found himself unable to look away. Teddy’s face was smiling, but his eyes were serious, and those eyes burned Ron, making his mouth grow dry. Just like that day when they’d played together, Ron felt like someone had cast a spell on him. He set his tea cup down and he let his hand reach out across the board to — to do what, he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was to stroke Teddy’s red cheeks, which appeared more flushed than earlier, or maybe it was to run his thumb over Teddy’s bottom lips and feel the chapped skin there.
Instead, he pulled off a piece of lint off of Teddy’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” Teddy said in a husky voice that sent heat to Ron’s middle.
Ron didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His vocal chords had died on him, and he felt like his hands had become their own entity as they reached out to cup Teddy’s face . . .
“Oh, bugger!” Teddy shouted and jumped up. “I just remembered I have another article I have to write that’s due tomorrow at eight in the morning!” He grabbed his jacket and looked at Ron with an apologetic expression. “Sorry to dash off, but can we meet sometime next week for dinner? I know a very good Italian restaurant nearby. I’ll send you a message.”
Startled, Ron could only nod at Teddy’s request. Teddy grinned once more before he Apparated away with a crack.
It was only when he was in bed later did he realise that Teddy had yet somehow conned him into another meeting, another date of some sort. Like an unexpected whirlwind, Teddy had swooped into his life, breaking a monotonous routine he’d set himself up for months, and it was Teddy who showed him that he’d been truly lonely. Had it been anybody else, Ron surely would have resented that person from disrupting his solitude, but he didn’t mind Teddy at all. Really, he didn’t, but he was even more confused with his feelings than ever. Did he like Teddy? Was he gay? Since when? Sure, Teddy was attractive, and he did enjoy Teddy’s company, but did he like Teddy that way?
Confused, he fell asleep with all those questions in his mind.
When Ron opened his eyes, he found himself standing next to his bed. On his bed, sprawled out naked except for a sheet covering his lower body, was Teddy, who was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His chest heaved as he panted lightly. Ron gazed at Teddy’s swollen lips, growing warm as he watched Teddy’s tongue flicked out. Teddy’s hair was the same colour as his flushed skin, and they were matted against his forehead.
But it was Teddy’s eyes — full of lust and desire — that captured Ron’s attention. Ron found himself being drawn to them again, drowning in them, and when Teddy let out a low “Ron, more, please!”, he climbed on top of Teddy and kissed him hard, without any hesitance, desperately wanting to taste Teddy, to soothe that fire burning deep inside of him. His hands flew everywhere, touching, grasping, stroking — never stopping at all.
They both moaned when Ron grinded his hips against Teddy’s, the friction from their movement and the sheet between them sending waves of pleasure through their bodies, both shifting and groaning as they sought the release they desperately wanted. Ron slipped his hand in the sheet, grasped at Teddy’s hip, and he rubbed the area with his thumb, so close and near his goal . . .
Ron startled awake when he heard his alarm. Disorientated, he squinted his eyes and looked around his dim room. He sat up in his bed, and he felt stickiness in his pants.
“Merlin,” he groaned. He hadn’t had a sexual dream in ages, not since his divorce, and he was perplexed that Teddy would be the first one to grace his dreams after all these months.
Feeling quite frustrated, he did the only things he could do — wank away his fantasies and hope they would disappear soon, and, as Hermione would do, overanalyse this new predicament.
“Aren’t we supposed to meet at the restaurant in an hour?” Ron asked, staring at Teddy, who was holding a picnic basket in the middle of his sitting room, noting Teddy’s attire consisting of a t-shirt, shorts, a light jacket, and a pair of trainers. “And you told me it was a slightly fancy restaurant, so why are you dressed like . . . ” Not that he was better dressed than Teddy. He himself was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, as he was going to get ready and changed until Teddy appeared in his flat.
“The restaurant I was going to take us to is closed this week for renovations. I thought about some different alternatives, and I came up with the idea that we should have a picnic!”
Ron glanced at the window and then back at Teddy. “But it’s raining out today.”
“Ah, I meant an indoor picnic.” Teddy beamed and motioned at the sitting room. “May I?”
Nodding, Ron watched Teddy carefully set his chess board in safe place, shrink the table and the two chairs, pull out a bright orange blanket, spread it on the floor, and place the basket in the middle. “Have a seat.”
Ron started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. This was a kooky idea, but he actually had to admit it was very unique and different from anything he’d ever done so far. Admittedly, it was rather childish, but Teddy’s enthusiasm made everything seem so refreshingly new that Ron couldn’t help but go along with it.
Still laughing, he sat on the soft blanket, and Teddy joined him and emptied the basket of enough food to feed the entire Ministry. There were sandwiches filled with juicy meat, crunchy lettuce, and fresh tomatoes on toasted bread that were still warm. The strawberries and watermelon slices were sweet and cold and delicious. The biscuits were sweet, too, and they were mouth-meltingly perfect. Teddy had even brought a bottle of champagne. Ron was amazed by how thorough Teddy was with his planning. He wondered if Teddy had originally planned this in the first place and the Italian restaurant suggestion was just a bluff; thinking this made him smile into his sandwich. If this was Teddy’s intention all along — to have a picnic in the middle of a sitting room — then Ron wasn’t surprised by the way Teddy presented the idea. The bloke was a Slytherin, after all.
Still musing about how this was a very interesting idea, Ron chewed and swallowed before asking, “Did you make these sandwiches?”
Teddy nodded.
“You must be a great cook.”
“Actually, I’m horrible at cooking,” Teddy explained with a grin. “Sandwiches are the only things I can make without causing an explosion in the kitchen.”
“Really?” Ron eyed the biscuits because they were certainly home-made and not store-bought. “What about the biscuits?”
“Oh, those? Harry baked those and sent some over to me when I told him I was going on a picnic.”
“Did you tell him it was going to be an indoor picnic?”
“Of course. This was his idea.”
“Huh?” Ron felt something clench inside of him. Had Harry become psychic and somehow found out about all of his hidden, unexplainable, desires and fantasies about Teddy? But if Harry found out, then what kind of idea was this? Was this his way of saying to be with Teddy? Was this just another scheme to get him to go on a date with Teddy? But if this was yet another date . . . then did that mean Teddy liked him back?
With that many unanswered questions battling in his mind, he almost missed Teddy’s explanation. “When I was younger, Harry would do this with me, especially on a rainy day. To keep me from going stir-crazy, this was something we’d do as a lunch substitute.”
“Oh,” Ron exhaled loudly, relieved that Harry hadn’t indirectly set this up or anything. But now all those nightly wanks and fantasies of seeing Teddy naked on his bed bombarded him, and he felt heat pooling up deep inside of him. Stifling back a groan, he willed himself to calm down and to think about that one time he accidentally saw Aunt Muriel naked when he was about nine, truly one of his most traumatising childhood moments aside from that Spider Bear incident.
That did the trick, but then he made the mistake of looking down at Teddy’s bare feet and legs. One of his most recent dreams had featured Teddy — naked as always — on his back, with Ron ravishing Teddy’s chest. Teddy let out moan after moan, all of them sultry and growing louder whenever Ron had found a sensitive spot, and Teddy would arch his back and extend his strong legs as his toes curled from the pleasure. And those same legs would later be wrapped around Ron’s waist, locked tight at the ankles to make sure Ron didn’t go anywhere.
“Ron?” Teddy’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Ron welcomed that distraction as he thought about Aunt Muriel again.
“Yeah?”
“Since we’re done eating, let’s clean up and I’ll put your sitting room back in order.”
“All right.”
Ron stood up and they both cleaned and arranged the room back to order. It was when they were finally sitting in the orange chairs that Teddy said, “It’s kind of last minute, but I’ve been given two tickets to a concert in a couple of days. It’s going to be a piano concerto.” Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “Want to go with me?”
Despite his conflicting feelings towards Teddy, Ron ended up smiling. Teddy’s positive attitude was contagious and, strangely enough, addicting. “Sure, which piano concerto is it?”
“It’s a Rachmaninoff piece.”
“Oh?” Ron felt something akin to dread in his stomach.
“It’s the second one.”
No longer smiling, his eyebrows now scrunched together, Ron’s answer came out swiftly. “No.”
“No?” Teddy looked at him with a startled expression. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I hate that piece.”
Teddy began to frown. “Why do you hate it? It’s such a brilliant piece, truly one of the best piano concertos in the world, so I can’t understand why someone like you would–”
“Shut up.” He was growling, and he didn’t care. He really didn’t want to think of that song right now.
“If you could just explain to me why–”
“You’re too young to understand!”
“I’m not that young. How can you assume that without testing me first? I want to understand, and if you explain–”
“Why don’t you drop this?” Ron stood up and began to pace around the small room. “I hate that bloody song, and I hate it when people listen to it around me! Now you’re trying to get me to go to an actual live concert featuring that piece? And now you want to know why? I don’t have to explain it to you!”
“Ron, wait–”
“Stop it already! Leave!”
Teddy looked stricken, and that painful expression and the forlorn and downcast eyes made Ron feel guilty at the way he snapped at Teddy, but he was too upset, too disgusted with the way he was acting to apologise. Wearily, Ron whispered, “Leave.”
Without another word, Teddy left, and Ron could feel all the happiness being sucked out of his flat and out of him. He threw himself onto his chair and threw his arm over his eyes, and he clenched his fists hard until he could feel his nails digging into his palms. Feeling like shite, he muttered, “Bloody hell, I’m a fucking prick.”
Ron stared at the blank screen of his telly. Already a week had passed since his picnic with Teddy. His flat, which he’d been trying to keep clean, had returned to its smelly state, and it was rapidly becoming dusty, too. All week long, he’d been in a terrible mood as guilt, confusion, and frustration waged several wars inside of him. He was especially an ogre on the day of that damned Rachmaninoff concert. Everywhere he went, the song haunted him, and so did Teddy’s hurt expression. He shouldn’t have said that to Teddy; he should have apologised and just changed the subject that day. He should have stopped Teddy from leaving; he shouldn’t have taken his anger and frustration out on him.
He also hated himself for being confused on his sexual orientation. He was 39, almost 40, so if he was gay or bi or whatever — how much of an idiot was he to realise this fact now? He considered that maybe he was confused since it’d been a while since his last shag, but he knew, deep inside, that that wasn’t the case. He wanted Teddy. There was nobody else he was attracted to. Teddy was the only one he wanted, but he was too insecure, too unsure, and too afraid to do anything about this. In fact, he wasn’t sure just how he could mend their rift at all.
Angrily, he stood up, so wound-up that his skin felt taut. He needed to do something to let off his steam, and chess was not going to help this time. His eyes landed on his piano, and he stalked over to it and sat down, playing the first thing that came into his mind. It was a song he always played when he was upset, a piece that required so much strength and power that it always left him feeling exhausted, like he’d run a marathon.
Chopin’s Étude Op. 10, No. 4, otherwise known as “Torrent”, sounded out from his piano, his fingers furiously flew up and down the keys, his back tense as he played out the aggravation he’d had the entire week. He closed his eyes, and Teddy’s face — hurt and miserable looking — flashed by, and he played harder, his foot stepping on the pedal with enough force to nearly put it through his floor. He didn’t care about that. He only wanted to play this piece and hear the sixteenth notes thundering and echoing in his flat. He wanted to tire himself out and not think about Teddy and everything else that was aggravating him.
He eventually came to the end of the song, and he was panting from the sheer workout he’d just been through; his arms and back were sore, and his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. Unfortunately, though, he was still too tense and upset. He was about to slam his fists on the keys, not caring if he broke the piano or not, when he heard something behind him.
Standing, he spun and pointed his wand into his brother’s face.
“Oi! Point that elsewhere!” George protested, backing away as he held onto a pie in both hands.
“It’s you,” Ron said in a flat voice, bringing his wand down as he sat back on the bench, his legs weak after the sudden rush of adrenaline. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet your favourite brother?” George asked, making a face as he set the pie on the mantel.
Ron rolled his eyes and glanced at the pie. “What’s with the pie?”
“Harry baked this and he requested I bring you one. It’s Hogsmeade weekend, so he took off to go deliver the rest of his baked goods to my lovely niece and nephews.”
Upon hearing about Hogsmeade weekend, Ron felt another pang of guilt. Ever since the divorce, he hadn’t been keeping in touch with Rose or Hugo. He really should respond to Rose’s letter and send some new Muggle trading cards he’d promised to Hugo and make plans to meet up with them at Hogsmeade. Not wanting to think on all the parts of his life that had gone to shite, he put on a tight smile and said, “How’s your shop?”
George’s eyes grew intense and focused. “Surely that’s not what you really want to talk about, is it?”
“What?”
“Along with this pie, I’ve also come to knock some sense into you. Just what the hell did you do to Teddy? He’s been coming to the shop all week, so depressed that none of my prank items are making him laugh! And I need him to be in a good mood. His writing’s turned dismal and his articles reviewing my prank items have none of his eager and cheerful attitude!”
Ron’s mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it and demanded, “How — what — what makes you think I have anything to do with this?”
“I know, Ron.” George frowned and continued, “I know he likes you.”
“Of course he likes me — we’re friends,” Ron answered in an unconvincing tone.
“Ron. He fancies you! He told me about you guys playing the violin and the piano. He told me about that Beethoven concert. And he also told me about the picnic, which had gone all right until you kicked him out for no reason.”
Clenching his fist, Ron mumbled, “I had my reasons.”
“Oh? Do tell.” George crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at him pointedly. “He mentioned something about you hating a Rackmoney bloke. Said something about you not wanting to go to a concert he invited you to.”
“Rachmaninoff.”
“Don’t snap at me, baby brother. How about explaining to me what got your prick wound up like a pretzel?”
A long moment of silence passed. Ron opened his mouth to tell George to piss off, but before he could say anything, George continued, “Let me guess. It’s because that particular Rackmoney bloke’s song was a favourite of Hermione’s.”
“Shut up!” Ron growled, turning his head to look at the drab-looking curtains.
George sighed loudly, and he leaned against the mantel. “I want you to think about this. Are you really angry at Hermione for leaving you for Krum, or are you angry at her for something else entirely?”
“What other reason would–”
“I’ve always questioned your obsession with Krum in your fourth year. I also can’t help but wonder if you’d be this angry with Hermione if she had gone for a different bloke.”
George’s words punched him in his stomach, making him wrap his arms around himself as he tried to deny his brother’s words — words that were so true and so finite that he desperately told himself that he had his reasons back then and had his reasons for denying his real desires all these years. The dam he had deep inside broke as all the years of suppressed desire and guilt came tumbling out.
In a soft voice, George said, “Don’t do this, Ron. Don’t try to lie to yourself any more. No one’s going to begrudge you for your choices. You . . . you have the choice to do what you want.”
There was a catch in George’s voice that made Ron look up, and he saw sorrow in his brother’s eyes. Ron didn’t have to ask. He knew what George meant in his unsaid words.
George gave a wan smile as he fingered the ring on his finger, Fred’s ring. “Think about it, Ron. At the least, go apologise to Teddy.” He turned and Flooed himself out, and Ron was left alone.
It was a long time before Ron moved from his spot on the bench. When he did, he knew what he wanted to do.
Ron stared at the door, ignoring the whispers from the passer-bys, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this. He had to make amends with Teddy and get over his past.
He rang the bell, his finger shaky, and he waited.
The door opened, and he momentarily startled upon seeing a dull looking Teddy. Gone was his bright coloured hair, replaced with a drab-looking brown. His eyes were blank, and there were bags below them. Still, Teddy smiled — forced a smile — and said, “Hello.”
“Huck–” Ron cleared his throat. “Hi.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and he looked down at his feet.
Teddy stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He walked in and looked around. “Where’s your grandmother?”
“Gran? She went to visit Aunt Narcissa.” Teddy led them to the sitting room. “Do you want anything to drink?”
Ron hated this Teddy, this stiff, formal Teddy who was nothing like the passionate and slightly eccentric young man he’d grown fond of in the last few weeks. Shaking his head, he sat down at the couch, and he quickly launched onto his question. “Do you have a recording of that Rachmaninoff concerto? The first movement, at least?”
“Yes.” A curious expression crossed Teddy’s face.
“Look, I’ve got lots of crap that is associated with this particular piece, but I . . . I want us to listen to it together. I want to listen to it with you because I know it’s one of your favourites.”
Teddy cocked his head and looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve a stereo system in my room. We can listen to it there.”
Ron nodded, trying not to think about how intimate the idea was. “Sure.”
They went to Teddy’s room, and Ron knew immediately why Teddy couldn’t find that Beethoven violin and piano sonata. The room was filled with books and papers everywhere. There were books and papers on the nightstands, on the stereo system, on the desk, on the desk chair, and everywhere on the floor, including under the bed — the top of which was surprisingly the only clean spot in the whole room. That was where Ron sat after he carefully stepped around the books and papers.
Teddy fiddled around with the stereo system, and when he finished he joined Ron on the bed, sitting next to him, but not touching him at all.
Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Ron opened his eyes when he heard the first notes, the familiar bell-like sounds, followed by the orchestra playing the main melody, and he remembered the first time he’d heard and fallen in love with this piece. As the concerto played, he travelled back to the summer before his fourth year, before the Quidditch World Cup. This song had come on the wireless as he had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine. He stopped when he saw the moving picture of Viktor Krum, who was flying with a sullen expression; yet when Ron’s eyes gazed over his slender body, in his Quidditch uniform, Ron was captivated. He stared at the way Viktor would fly around the page, watched the grace that was visible in most Seekers, his movements matching the elegant, lyrical piece of the song, and when he did the Wronski Feint, the piano repeated the main melody in a march-style that made Ron’s chest burst with emotion.
That was the moment when he had fallen for Viktor Krum. He remembered how he’d been horrified by this revelation and how he’d felt like he was the odd one out in his family, so he frantically tried to suppress any thoughts about Viktor, but it was hopeless. He fell more in love with him at the World Cup match, at Hogwarts when the tournament was going on, during the Yule Ball when he saw that Viktor had taken Hermione to the ball . . .
Then when he’d finally got together with Hermione, he succeeded in his quest to suppress any sexual urges he had towards Viktor. With the Rachmaninoff piece — how ironic that Hermione had ended up liking that particular piece — he was able to associate that with Hermione instead of Viktor . . . until Hermione went to Viktor after the divorce.
But Ron no longer wanted to associate this song with them. He wanted to focus on the present, so he turned his head to look at Teddy, with the song still playing in the background. The song didn’t fit Teddy at all; it was kind of strange that Teddy even liked this song since he generally preferred music in a major key. He tried to figure this puzzle out, and then Teddy’s eyes met his. Ron lost all sense of time while he stared into those deep eyes.
Passion, he realised. Teddy was full of passion. Whatever he did, whether it was to play the violin with such force that each notes commanded his attention, to play those simple piano pieces that brought a smile to his face, to talk his ears off about the most inane things, to come up with ideas that turned his life around — it was what made him Teddy, and it was what the Rachmaninoff piece had — passion — despite the sombre tone.
Towards the end of the song, Teddy’s gentle hands reached out and cupped Ron’s cheeks, and Ron, feeling the tears in his eyes, feeling drained from weeks and months of uncertainty, guilt, and sadness, accepted the tender touch; he moved closer to rest his head on Teddy’s shoulder and pressed himself closer when Teddy’s arm wrapped around him.
Soon, the first movement finally came to an end. Ron tried to explain everything to Teddy. “Look, I . . . y-you see, back when I was about fourteen, I — er –” He swallowed hard and tried again. “I associated this song with someone . . . a guy . . . and I–”
Run shut up when he felt one of Teddy’s callused fingers on his lips. He looked up and he nearly sobbed from seeing the understanding expression on Teddy’s calm face. Teddy whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Ron. I know. I know.”
That simple declaration broke the last remaining barrier Ron had up to now, and he reached up and kissed Teddy, who kissed him back with so much force and heat that Ron lay back on the bed and pulled Teddy up on top of him.
He didn’t know how long they kissed. He didn’t care. He only knew that Teddy, pressing down on him, felt so good. When Teddy slipped his tongue inside his mouth, Ron felt heat explode everywhere inside of him. He could taste Teddy and smell him and feel his warmth. His hands touched everything and played their own solos as they explored and found spots that made Teddy moan in their kisses. His own moans echoed with Teddy’s, and he wanted Teddy to touch him until they both reached that edge they both needed and wanted.
When Teddy whispered, “You’re the only thing — one — I ever want anymore,” Ron kissed him again, and also whispered, “Me too.”
“I can’t believe you made me wear a tie.”
“It looks good on you.”
“It’s yellow with black polka dots. Are you trying to tell me something here? You do realise I was a Gryffindor, right?
“I know, but red and gold is boring.”
“And you’re wearing a blue and silver tie.”
Teddy laughed. “Your point?”
“Next time, stick with our individual house colours!” Ron gave him a mocking glare, but it quickly turned into a smile. “This is how you thank me, huh?”
“Oh, I’ll thank you in a much different way when we get home after this concert.”
Ron felt his cheeks getting warm, and he ducked his head as he looked around the lobby, which was filled with people waiting to go into the concert hall to hear Tchaikovsky’s “Violin Concerto in D Major”.
Teddy leaned over and whispered, “I’m really glad you invited me to this concert. I’m actually looking forward to enjoying a concert I don’t have to write a review for.”
Ron nodded. He purposely chose this performance because it was a violin concerto; it was a piece he’d heard recently on the wireless and it was one of those pieces that just fit Teddy. So when he heard about this performance, he bought the tickets and invited Teddy. Of course, he also had an ulterior motive to all of this. He lowered his voice and conspiratorially said, “Yes, you don’t have to write a review, but I expect you to perform the solo part tomorrow from memory for me.”
Teddy’s eyes opened wide before it narrowed and he said, “If you make me do that, I’ll spell a permanent cock ring on you.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would,” Teddy said as he straightened himself up. “So what are you going to do? Do you still want me to play tomorrow?”
Ron sighed loudly and smiled. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to play it tomorrow. But I do want to hear you play it one day.”
“All right.” With a last impish grin, Teddy leaned and planted a soft kiss on Ron’s cheek. He looked at the opened doors. “But let’s worry about that later.” He laced their hands and they walked into the concert hall.
Together.
Ron tightened his hold and he said, “All right, Teddy. All right.”
]]>This fanmix was made for 2011 Teddy Fest. This is based on the fic of the same name.
1. Rachmaninoff – Piano Concert No. 2 (1st mov.) (DL)
2. Chopin – Prelude No. 15 – Sostenuto (Raindrop) (DL)
3. Piano Short – Heart and Soul (DL)
4. Cain – Chopsticks (DL)
5. Piano Short – Der Flohwalzer (The Flea Waltz) (DL)
6. Beethoven – Sonata for Violin and Piano No. 5 (1st mov.) (DL)
7. Elgar – Salut d’Amour (DL)
8. Beethoven – Symphony No. 7 (1st mov.) (DL)
9. Beethoven – Symphony No. 7 (2nd mov.) (DL)
10. Beethoven – Symphony No. 7 (3rd mov.) (DL)
11. Beethoven – Symphony No. 7 (4th mov.) (DL)
12. Chopin – Etude No. 4 – Torrent (DL)
13. Tchaikovsky – Violin Concerto in D Major (1st mov.) (DL)