The Boy Who Likes Boys
HARRY POTTER - BOY WHO LIKES BOYS?
Harry Potter, most commonly known as the Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, may be harbouring yet another secret. But this one is a little different from Parseltongue and prophecies, as this is far more personal in nature. For adoring female fans, Mr Potter is further out of reach than previously thought, as exclusively in The Daily Prophet, we can reveal that Harry Potter - is gay.
Harry has been playing seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team since his first year - do the boy’s showers have anything to do with this? Has Harry been peeking glances at his teammates for years now? Has there been more going on in the seventh year dorms than anyone previously suspected? All these questions - and more - will be answered in the extra feature that we’re bringing out, with interviews from the famous Wizarding Psychologist, Matilda Haggis.
Until then, all we can do is warn the male population of Hogwarts - you better be on your guard!
Harry stared at the proffered newspaper blankly. Thankfully, it was a relatively small article, and only on the fifth page, but he could still hear the occasional snicker from the other tables, and felt the weight of a few gazes on him. He looked up at Hermione.
“I’m not gay,” he said perplexedly.
Hermione patted him on the arm sympathetically, taking back her Prophet and turning the page. “Of course you’re not. The Prophet is making things up, as usual. Just ignore it, Harry. It’ll all blow over in a day or two, just like last time. Right, Ron?” She glared pointedly at Ron, who had not said a word after reading the article, and was staring uncomfortably into his plate of bacon and eggs.
“Er, yeah. ‘Course it will.” He didn’t look Harry in the eye, choosing to instead dollop a large amount of ketchup onto his plate.
“Hey, Harry!” came a shout from the Ravenclaw table. “I wondered why you were never away from Weasley! Brings a new meaning to the phrase ‘close friends’, dunnit?” The speaker guffawed loudly, and Ron’s ears turned as red as his ketchup.
“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes in a superior manner and spreading marmalade onto her toast. “So immature. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.” She patted Harry’s arm again, in a rather reassuring fashion.
Harry glared at her.
---
Transfiguration went pretty much as usual, with Professor McGonagall barking instructions at them that left no room for negotiation (or throwing insults), and in Charms, everyone was busy practicing the temporary sticking charm, which conjured a litre of a grey, glue-like substance every time it was performed incorrectly.
However, after Charms it was Potions, and it was far too much to hope for to have a quiet, hassle-free lesson in Snape’s dungeon.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed to their customary table at the back of the classroom - Ron hastily sitting on the other side of Hermione so he wasn’t directly next to Harry - without incident. Snape swooped in after them, slamming the door ominously, symbolising the start of the lesson.
“Today,” he began in a low, sinister voice, “We will be brewing - or at least, attempting to brew - the Kerboffling Concoction. Instructions -” he waved his wand “- on the board. Ingredients -” he waved his wand again “- in the cupboard. Go.”
Harry gratefully made his way to the store cupboard, glad that this morning’s article hadn’t been mentioned. He stepped into the queue for the ingredients behind Theodore Nott, hoping desperately that he could keep a low profile for the duration of the lesson. The throng of students lessened, and Nott moved forwards and bent down at the cupboard. Harry mentally ran though the list of ingredients that he needed; Jobberknoll eyes, scurvy grass, pomegranate seeds, Belladonna, bicorn horn-
“Urgh, Potter! Stop staring at my arse!”
Harry snapped out of his reverie to find Nott’s angry face glaring at him.
“I wasn’t!” Harry protested hotly, flaming a glorious red. “I was just-”
Snape swooped up behind him. “Dear me, Potter, can you not stand male company without controlling yourself? Tut, tut… I think a re-arrangement of seating is in order, lest Potter completely lose himself...”
Harry spent the rest of the lesson sat in between Parvati and Lavender, both of whom thought it absolutely adorable that Harry was gay, and desperately wanted to take him with them to their next trip to Gladrags, and did he have a boyfriend yet? Because there was a sixth-year Ravenclaw boy who was available and apparently very cute.
---
Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down the lawn to Herbology, all three of them hoping that this lesson would be better than the last. The class took one glance at Harry and broke into whispers as they neared the greenhouses, and Ernie Macmillan strode confidently up to him.
“I have to say, I admire you, Harry,” he said promptly. Harry cast a last desperate look at Ron and Hermione, who carried on walking towards the greenhouse, shrugging. “I mean, to have been outed like that, and still walk around with your head held high… you are honestly one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”
Harry looked at Ernie, slightly lost for words. “Er, thanks, Ernie. But I’m not-”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with homosexuality, of course. In fact…” he lowered his voice dramatically, and Harry had to lean in slightly to catch what he was saying, “I would come out right now, if we weren’t living in such a biased society.” He nodded importantly.
“I agree, but I’m-wait, you’re gay?”
Ernie looked a bit ashamed of himself and looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet. “Well - no. But I hear Justin is, and I offer him - and you - my full support.”
“Well, thanks, Ernie. But you’re not listening, I’m not g-”
Professor Sprout stuck her head out of the greenhouse door and looked at them pointedly. “Are you going to come in at all today, chaps?” she asked cheerfully. “I’ve let you off for the first five minutes, what with that article today, poor Mr Potter must be feeling the pressure… I knew a lad once who came out in public. Not easy, but needless to say he’s perfectly happy now… But these Bulbus Faskinouts aren’t going to pot themselves, you know. Chop chop, now.”
Ernie hurried past him, looking flustered at missing the start of the lesson. Harry followed numbly behind, pausing when he reached the door. “Professor Sprout, I’m-”
“Oh, no need to apologise, Potter!” she said, clapping him on the back and leaving a muddy handprint. “I understand what a blow this must be for you. Just hurry along to your group now, Weasley has saved you a few bulbs… watch out for the Ubbernaut sap!” With a frustrated groan, and not bothering to ask what Ubbernaut sap was, Harry stormed over to Ron and Hermione, who were waiting for him by an odd-smelling green-blue capsule.
“Why aren’t they listening?” he hissed, dragging on his dragonhide gloves and donning his goggles.
“They’re just trying to be understanding,” Hermione said wisely, while carefully manoeuvring the capsule into a small red tube, before planting it firmly into a pot of soil. “They think you’re going into denial because of the article. You should be thankful that they’re not being hateful… you might even want to play along, it would give them a higher opinion of you, as their hero figure.”
“I don’t want to be their hero figure!” Harry protested. “And I’m not-” One of the capsules exploded, covering his face and hair with grey goo. “Argh!”
---
After a shower, Harry made it to the Great Hall and a dinner of chicken-and-ham pie, in which many snide comments were made and all of Harry’s irritated protests fell upon deaf ears. After the eighth time of being insulted, interrupted, and ignored, Harry decided that he’d had enough. With a quick word to Ron and Hermione, he slipped out of the castle, glad of the cool evening air and almost oppressive silence of the Hogwarts grounds.
Deciding that a friendly ear was what he needed, he made his way down the sloping lawn to Hagrid’s hut, where a small trail of smoke was curling lazily out of the chimney. Once there, he knocked loudly on the door three times, and was greeted by Fang’s booming barks.
“Wait a minute! Fang! Fang, get down, yeh daft pillock!”
A few seconds later, the door swung open, and Hagrid’s beaming face came into view.
“Harry, it’s good teh see yeh! C’min, I’ve jus’ got a pot o’ tea brewin’.”
Harry stepped inside the cabin gratefully, absently patting Fang on the head and getting slobber over his fingers. “Thanks, Hagrid. You would not believe the day I’ve had.”
Hagrid shut the cabin door and stomped over to the dresser, where he pulled out two tankard-sized mugs. “Oh, I heard, Harry,” he said as he poured the boiling tea out. “Can’t be good to get exposed like tha’.”
“But that’s the point!” Harry said exasperatedly. “I’m not even-”
“Aye, I remember when yer dad were at Hogwarts,” Hagrid began reminiscently, handing Harry his tea. “Sirius an’ Lupin, they got brought out in t’open by tha’ Snape after he walked in on ‘em once. Di’n’t like it, but they held their heads high, tha’ they did, an’ it all turned out all righ’ in the end”
“Hagrid, you’re not- hang on, Sirius and Lupin were gay?”
“Oh aye,” Hagrid said, nodding encouragingly and taking a deep slurp from his mug, “All over each other, they were. I even suspected yer father at one poin’, bu’ then he got all starry-eyed over yer mum. Still, there’s nothing wrong wi’ it, Harry. Yer jus’ gotta be proud. Biscui’?”
Harry distractedly took a hob-nob from the proffered plate. “You serious?” he asked through a mouthful of hob-nob, causing him to spray Hagrid’s table with crumbs. “Oops, sorry…” He swallowed. “Are you serious? Lupin and Sirius were going out and stuff?”
“Much more than tha’,” Hagrid said. “Full-blown in love, I reckon. Righ’ ‘til after they’d left school, an’ all. Dunno if they ever even broke i’ off.”
---
Harry left Hagrid’s hut some time later, rather more (involuntarily) informed of his godfather’s school-day escapades. He had nearly reached the great oak front doors that led back into the castle, when a cold voice made him stop in his tracks.
“So. The Boy Who Likes Boys, eh, Potter?”
Harry didn’t need to turn to recognise the drawling tone. “Malfoy,” he greeted flatly. He was surprised it had taken this long for the Slytherin to come and find him, when usually Draco was the first in line to ridicule him. “What do you want?”
There was a pause as Malfoy seemed to consider the question. “What do I want? Well, that all depends, Potter.”
Harry finally turned to face the other boy, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the castle, his arms folded, looking - as usual - arrogant and untroubled. “Depends on what?” he asked carefully.
Malfoy ignored his question. “Harry Potter… a queer. Who knew?”
Harry sighed. “Yes, Malfoy. But I’m not-”
“A shift-lifter, an arse-bandit, a pouf.” Malfoy’s grey eyes were glittering dangerously in the half-light, and he straightened up from the wall, casually brushing down his clothes. It was now Harry noticed that he wasn’t wearing his uniform, but a black turtleneck sweatshirt underneath a light black cloak.
“Going somewhere, Malfoy?” Harry asked, attempting a sneer.
“Mm.” Malfoy said vaguely, taking a step towards Harry, a strange half-smirk on his lips. Harry nervously felt for his wand in his pocket, ready to draw it out and cast a defensive spell at any minute.
“Er - if you’re going to hex me, you should know that I-”
“I’m not going to hex you, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, his eyes locked with Harry’s. He took a step closer. And another.
“Well, whatever you’re planning to do… I’m not-” He was cut off as Malfoy closed the gap between them, placed his hands on either side of Harry’s face, and kissed him.
Harry told himself that it was the shock that kept him from pushing Malfoy off him, and it was the fact that Draco’s hands were holding his head in place that prevented him from turning away. But he couldn’t come up with a reason for the fact that when Malfoy finally pulled away, Harry was breathless and slightly dazed. And he couldn’t blame the sun for making his eyes flutter closed, as he and Draco were standing in the shadow of the castle, and it was already late evening.
But Harry ignored all of this.
He stared up at Malfoy in disbelief, envying the Slytherin’s cool demeanour and easy smirk while he was flustered and - by the feeling of it - blushing madly. “Wha- what was that?!” he gasped.
Malfoy raised an amused eyebrow as he stepped back slightly from Harry, taking his hands from the other boy’s face. “You were saying?” he asked casually.
Harry stared at him, clearly wrong-footed. “I-what?”
“You started to say something,” Draco explained patiently, smirking somewhat at Harry’s bewildered expression. “What was it?”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, frowning slightly. What had he been going to say?
Draco grinned at him. “Nothing? Well that’s all right then.” And he closed the small space between them again.
Draco’s lips met his, and Harry’s hands crept up to weakly clutch the front of Draco’s cloak. Malfoy’s manner was gentle, and Harry couldn’t help but relax into the kiss as Draco’s hands slipped smoothly into his hair and stroke the back of his neck, and Draco’s tongue moved slowly over his own tentative one.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, you know,” Draco murmured into his mouth. Harry whimpered faintly. At this point, only one intelligible thought could make its way into Harry’s mind:
He may have to reconsider the “not liking boys” thing.