He looks down at my hand and I let him go quickly.
"It's alright," he says and I know he means it. "I just forget you come from a different-" he gestures vaguely with his hand, looking for a word, "-different kind of world to me. Especially when you're like this, acting all normal."
I want to point out that this is so far from normal for me I'm probably about to burst into flame from the oddness of it all, but I don't. I sense it's not worth antagonising Potter right now so instead, I try to talk.
"I don't…I'm not sure I like that world much anymore."
"Really?" he wanders towards a fountain, a large square pool with a small bubbling dome in the centre. He sits on the stone edge and I follow suit.
"Yes," I say. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, and to Potter no less. "You know what I do every time I get home after an evening out, or a dinner party?"
He looks intrigued.
"I smash something," I tell him. "I get in, take off my robes and break something. Just because I've had to spend the whole evening playing a part that really doesn't feel right. It's suffocating."
"I know what you mean," he says. I want to be sceptical but I wait it out. "After the war, there were a lot of expectations for me to do certain things, and most of them I didn't want to. I could get away with saying no though, I'm lucky." He pauses and I sense there is more to be said.
"The Weasley's…" he begins, shifting where he sits. His knee knocks against mine. "They all expected me to marry Ginny and I had to let them down. That was hard. I dragged it out for as long as possible, convincing myself it was the right thing to do."
"But it wasn't?" I ask. I want to know why he didn't marry the Weaselette but try and put a lid on my curiosity. I'll only be able to stay quiet for so long; it's like trying to plug a volcano.
"Not at all," he says. "So I didn't. I eventually said no."
"I can't just say no," I remind him.
"I know," he says with a small, sad smile. "Like I said, I was lucky."
He leans back and trails his fingers though the water. I've a mad urge to jump in the fountain. I bet he'd do it with me if I asked.
"I can't believe I'm telling you all this," he muses, leaning further and further, one leg sticking out for balance, so his fingertips touch the blue tiles on the bottom of the fountain.
I reach out unconsciously and put my hand on his leg to stop him overbalancing. His skin is warm underneath my hand, his leg hair dark and smooth.
"Of all the people in the world that sort of understand…it's you," he says thoughtfully with a short laugh that's filled with wonder. He walks his fingertips across the tiles. "Water's warm," he adds, pulling his hand out and sitting back, his leg touching the floor once more.
Staring at the rippling water, I smile. "You ever get the urge to jump in?"
He grins at me. "Every damn day."
"Apollo! Fancy a few flights?" I run up to the attic which Apollo has taken up as his residence. It's full of furniture and odds and ends that I frankly can't be bothered to find a home for - Mother would be shocked if she knew.
He's sat on top of an old dusty wardrobe and cracks open a large amber eye, before spreading his wings with an imperious hoot. It's his way of saying of course I can.
I give him a few extra treats before he goes. Since I went shopping with Potter we've been owling back and forth nearly every day, sometimes more than once. Apollo must be knackered - I've not received or sent this much post in weeks.
Apollo leaves and almost immediately another owl swoops in, narrowly missing him as they pass. I recognise the bird and sigh, not wanting the letter that is attached to its leg. However, I've learnt my lesson about refusing to take post from owls so I take the missive with a bad grace.
Draco
That's two dinners running that you've missed, what are you playing at? If you're not careful Pierre Loubelle is going to usurp your seat and you'll have to sit next to Nott at the next party- he's still mad at you for the whole 'Potter isn't so bad' comment.
Thursday- cards night- BE THERE. I'm running around in circles trying to keep you at the top here and it'd be nice for you to make some effort in return.
And go and see Astoria- apparently Lady Greengrass is not happy that you haven't.
Blaise.
I stare at the letter and then crumple it into a ball, throwing it behind me. "Fuck off," I snap at Blaise's owl and it obediently takes off out the window. That note has put me in a foul mood now; I honestly forget that I'm meant to be with Blaise and the others when I'm thinking about Potter, and the owl has bought me back to earth with a painful and unwelcome bump.
Ten minutes later and I've called in sick for work for the next day and started drinking myself into a stupor. It's an old game but one that works well.
Sprawled on my back on the floor next to the sofa in my sitting room several hours and a bottle later, I stare up at the slowly revolving ceiling and wish things were simple. I wish I was straight and cared about the society games so I could just marry Astoria and be done with it.
Every sodding time I make my mind up to go see her, however, a face pops into my head. A messy haired, bespectacled face that's grinning at me as he nearly falls in a fountain, smiling as he see's me dressed in his clothes, looking earnestly at me as we discuss Quidditch over drinks in the Leaky.
I might just stay drunk and daydreaming about Potter for the rest of my sad lonely life.
A soft clicking noise makes me frown and then I realise it's Apollo, waddling inelegantly across the floor towards me, his talons making the tap tap tapping noise on the wood.
"Apollo!" I raise my glass in a toast to him. "My dearest friend and delivery bird. My little secret keeper. How was your trip to Potter's?"
With supreme effort I roll over and hold my hand out. It takes a while due to lack of co-ordination, but I manage to get the letter off of him. I'm smiling like an idiot as I break the seal and slowly unfold it. Every time I get a letter from Potter I feel both excited and nervous in a way I haven't in a long time.
Squinting until the words come into focus, I stay lying on my front with my chin on the rug.
Malfoy
You're so wrong about the Kestrels being odd's on favourites- their goalkeeper is shite even if the rest of them aren't. They'll be flattened by the Harpies just on goal difference.
And for your information I have read Hardman's latest novel- and I thought it was shit! Literary symmetry my arse. It gets half way through and then repeats itself all over again-pointless.
You'll probably be rather entertained to know that Apollo bit Ron- everyone is getting rather intrigued about who I keep writing to so he tried to snatch one of the letters. You must be rubbing off on me because I found it hysterical.
I'm hoping that story will put you in a good enough mood to say yes to my next request- on Thursday we're playing a muck around five aside Quidditch game and we're a player short. Hermione suggested that I invite my mystery correspondent and I sort of agreed to it.
So will you please consider saving my arse and come on Thursday?
Harry
Choking slightly, I roll onto my back laughing unstoppably at the sentence 'you must be rubbing off on me.' My whiskey addled brain finds that disproportionally amusing and it takes me a good few minutes to calm down enough to make sense of the rest of the letter.
Rubbing off on Potter is admittedly not too bad a prospect. I can easily imagine his weight on top of me, pinning me to a bed, his mouth on mine and his hips thrusting up against-
Hang on - I banish my severely inappropriate thoughts and try to focus again. He wants me to go and hang out with his friends? He wants me to go and play Quidditch with them?
Things are getting confusing. This isn't just friendly chatter, this is something more. The boundaries in my mind between enemy, friend and lover have become dangerously blurred and I'm not sure where Harry should fit anymore. I think it's all three.
I think maybe I'm fucked.
