Excentryke's Musings

Part the Fifth—
“The heart will break, but broken live on.”
—Lord Byron

“The mass break out of Death Eaters goes in your favor,” Octavian informed him, sitting down across from him in the courtyard.  A game of wizard chess was set up between them, and Harry had been lucky to snag the table.  He really hated wizard chess but he liked getting Octavian alone, away from the castle.

“Well, that’s one positive aspect of the entire tragedy,” Harry said sadly.  “Poor Neville’s in a bind.  The Lestranges tortured his parents to insanity and now they’re free.  There’s a theory going around that they’re with the Malfoys.  Lady Malfoy and Mrs. Lestrange are sisters.”

Octavian looked up sharply.  “I—didn’t know.”  He hummed.  “I don’t like Lady Malfoy.  I know I shouldn’t say such things, considering the fact that she’s my mentor’s mother, but she unsettles me.”  They shared a look and Harry wanted to lift up his hand and run it down Octavian’s cheek.  That lullaby, a spell, yes, it was a spell, he realized, played in the distance.

“Yes, she did behave rather oddly.”  Harry made the first move.

Quirking a smile at him, Octavian moved his knight.  “I was thinking.  What are you doing tonight?”

Harry looked up at him in surprise.  “Apart from an essay or two and trying to avoid Umbridge at all costs, nothing.  Why?”

“I want to show you something—if you’ll let me.”  Frankly, Harry would let Octavian do almost anything with him.  He tried not to think about it most of the time.  His mind conjured such images that they would make him blush.

Smiling at him, Harry breathed, “You could show me anything, Octavian.”

“I doubt that,” Octavian murmured.  “What if I grow up to be a serial killer?  I doubt you’ll want to see my murder victims.”

Harry grimaced.  “You might be right.”  He moved his castle.  “Is this a date?” he asked cautiously.

Octavian decidedly did not look at him.  “I—I don’t know.”  He shrugged.  “I don’t even know if I prefer wizards, Henri Jacques,” he said apologetically.  “I just want to show you something.”

“Have you shown Malfoy?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Octavian shook his head.  “No.  Just you.  I wouldn’t want to seem silly.”

“Then I am honored,” Harry decided.  He looked at Octavian and his stomach flipped and then tightened.  Octavian really was too handsome.  Harry had never considered his sexuality until he had found himself staring at his friend a little too much and then, well, he’d started paying attention to his wanking fantasies.  That had been a real eye opener.  It hurt, though, that Octavian didn’t fancy him.  He reminded himself that Octavian was still young.  Maybe by next year when his father had said he’d reconsider the offer he might feel differently.  Until then, Harry would have to content himself with friendship—and the music.

The snow was crisp under their feet as they made their way out into the grounds that night.  They were so close together that Harry could almost reach out and touch Octavian, but he reminded himself that this was not a date, that this was just two friends who seemed to be heading toward the Forbidden Forest.  Prospera had, of course, come, and she made tiny paw prints in the snow.

“Don’t worry, it’s quite safe,” Octavian breathed as they entered the line of trees.  They had been silent up until this point.  “I come here all the time.”

Somehow, that did not make Harry feel better.  Still, he trusted Octavian with his life.  It was strange, really, they were just two school boys, but he cared for Octavian so deeply that he couldn’t imagine his friend willfully hurting him.

They walked for about ten minutes before they came to a clearing that was alight with fireflies.  Octavian came to rest behind a tree and Harry crouched behind him, breathing in his natural scent of honey and milk.

“When I was little,” Octavian explained, “I used to think fireflies were magical.  My mother used to take me out onto the moors to catch them in jars for my room and they would serve as nightlights.  I can’t do that here in Slytherin House.  There’s so much emphasis placed on being an adult.  Childish things are left behind at home.”

“But still you come out here.”

“But still I come out here,” Octavian agreed.  “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?  I know they technically aren’t a magical species, but part of me still can’t believe…”

Harry covered Octavian’s hand with his own.

Octavian stilled and then grasped the hand.  “Come,” he commanded, and then he was leading Harry out into the clearing and they were surrounded by fireflies.  Octavian’s face glowed in wonder, and Harry after a moment’s hesitation lifted a hand and ran it down Octavian’s cheek.  He knew he shouldn’t get this close—but the magic was taught in the air, the lullaby in his mind urging him forward.

“Harry,” Octavian began tentatively.  “Would you kiss me?  I don’t want my first real kiss to be once I’ve completed a courtship ritual that’s lasted for years.  I know you care and you’d never hurt me…”

“But you don’t fancy me.”

Blushing, Octavian looked down at his feet.  “Does that matter?”

“Of course it matters!”

Octavian took in a deep breath.  “Please.  I am asking you this as my friend.  You care for me.  I know you do.  What if the only person I ever kiss is someone who only cares for my position?”  His black eyes shone with unshed tears and Harry wiped one away.

“I don’t want you to regret this.”

“I asked for it.  How could I regret it?”  His lips were upturned to Harry and, taking Octavian gently into his arms, Harry kissed him.  First it was just the corner of the mouth, then it moved to the center, a gentle pressure, then moving away, then another kiss.

Octavian looked up at him and pulled his head down, meeting each kiss with his own, a hunger growing between them that Harry couldn’t quite describe and didn’t quite want to.  The lullaby, the spell, got louder and louder and Harry could barely breathe.  Octavian was moaning in his arms, squirming closer, and eventually they pulled apart, panting for breath, Harry looking down at Octavian with wide uncomprehending eyes.

“That was a little more than a first kiss,” Harry admitted.

“Why?  Have you had many first kisses before?” Octavian asked a little petulantly.

“No, but I’ve heard about them.”  Harry sat down on a rock, firefly light playing off his face.  Prospera was circling around his feet now.  He tried to catch his breath.  “You do feel something for me.”

“How can you–?”

“You don’t fake kissing like that your first time,” Harry explained, he stood up and his arms circled Octavian’s waist again.  He kissed Octavian’s temple, then his nose, then his upturned lips, humming at the pressure that was meeting him.  “Does this mean we’re dating?” he asked in all seriousness.

Octavian considered.  “Yes.  But I don’t want Draco to find out.”

Harry sighed.  It was always Draco.  He was an ever-present thorn in his side.

“Or my parents,” Octavian continued.  “I could not bear it if they were disappointed in me.”

“That’s understandable,” Harry said after a long pause.  “May I tell Sirius though?  He’s the closest thing I have to a father.”  The excitement was too much to bear.  He had Octavian in his arms, kissing him, agreeing to be his boyfriend—although, Harry understood, this was the most casual of pureblood relationships.  He just had to have someone know. 

He also had to have Hermione research the lullaby-spell.  He wasn’t sure he was ready to admit exactly what it meant, though.  She did hate Octavian, after all.

Octavian nodded.  “I don’t think he’ll spread it about,” he decided before standing on his toes and kissing Harry again.  “Chess again, tomorrow?”

“I can’t.  The next day?”

“I’ll get my Divination work done early,” Octavian agreed.

They left when it grew too cold, hand in hand, Harry feeling giddy inside.  Hermione was waiting for him when he came in through the portrait hole and demanded to know where he was.

“Secret,” he told her cheekily, and she threw her book at him.

“No, really, Harry, where were you?”

“Walking under the moonlight?” he suggested.

“In this weather?”

“It really is quite romantic.”

“Oh, Harry!”  She threw herself at him, arms coming around his neck, and grasped tightly onto her in sheer defense.  “Was it Cho?”

He shook his head.  “No, it wasn’t.  And it’s never going to be.  But please, we’re keeping mum at the moment.  Something having to do with disapproving parents.  I am a social pariah after all.”

“Oh, Harry.  I wish you wouldn’t see yourself in such a way.  The work you’ve done with the D.A. is truly amazing.”

“Tell the parents that,” he griped.  “No, I really should be thankful.  I mean, I didn’t expect to get the time of day, and now this.”  He gave Hermione a lopsided grin.

“Well, you rogue.  It’s past eleven, and I for one am off to bed.”

Harry couldn’t agree with her more.

He dreamt of Octavian, in the firefly light, which lit up his features in sparks of gold and purple—the lullaby playing in the background.  Blond hair fell to Octavian’s shoulders, wonderfully wavy, or almost with a wave, Harry wasn’t really sure.  He wasn’t an expert on hair.  It tangled, though, Harry noticed, when he ran his fingers through it and drew Octavian closer for a kiss.   A possessive side of him hoped that Malfoy noticed.

And the kisses.  They were soft, exploratory, sometimes too rushed as if Octavian couldn’t quite get enough of the sensation—couldn’t quite get enough of him.  Harry dreamt of pulling him closer, of their cold breath mingling in the snow as their noses rubbed up against one another in a butterfly kiss, and his arm snaked around Octavian’s waist protectively.

When Harry’s eyes opened that morning he knew one simple truth: Octavian was his and he wasn’t letting go, not for anything.  Not for Malfoy and not for Lord Prince.  No, he realized with the haunting sound of a lullaby in his mind, this was forever.  He didn’t know how he knew, he just felt it in his bones.  He just had to make certain that Lord Prince saw that.

That day, although he was busy with the D.A., he wrote to both Sirius and Florence for advice.  He was desperate.  He left nothing out.  The late night walk, the snogging session, nothing was left to the imagination.  He also stated that in no uncertain terms that he must marry Octavian.

The answer from Florence was instantaneous: send flowers to Lady Prince with compliments of the House of Potter.  Harry thought it a bit odd, but he was certain Flo knew her stuff.  Fortunately, she included the card of her favored florist.

He turned to Hermione when it came to flowers.  “You’re a girl,” he begged.  “I need to send someone’s mother flowers.”

“Why?” she asked, a little perplexed.

“Does it matter why?”

She closed her book.  “I suppose not, it’s just an odd request.  What are you trying to get out of the whole—flower sending?”

“Er—“  Harry wasn’t quite certain how to answer.

“Harry,” Hermione said, leaning forward.  “I’m one of your best friends.  If you can’t tell me, you can’t tell anyone.”

He moved seats so that he was sitting right beside her.  “I put in a courting request for someone earlier this year and was told to wait.  Now that person wants to snog me which is like a dream come true, and I’m not giving it up.  So I asked Flo what to do and she said to send flowers to the mother.”

“Oh,” Hermione looked perplexed.  “Right.  Library.”

“Library?”

“We have just enough time before the D.A.,” she responded.  “Do you have parchment and ink so you can send off your flower order?”

He nodded.

“Good.”

It turned out there was a large volume on the meaning of flowers in the library.  It was worn but strangely not dusty showing it had been used quite a bit over the past few decades.

“The bluebell, white chrysanthemum, and the forsythia.  I don’t know much about flowers, but are you sure that will look good?”

“It doesn’t matter how it will look.  It will matter what it will mean,” Hermione emphasized.  “Now go.  Hedwig’s at the window, then we better be off.”

Harry sighed.  He hoped this worked.

The next morning at breakfast he received a small card with elegant script.  “Your suit became that more gallant, Mr. Potter,” it read, and he couldn’t help but smile.  He showed it immediately to Hermione who grinned at him cheekily.

“See, told you so.  When do you see her next?”

Harry hesitated.  He hated Octavian being referred to a girl all the time.  “Tonight,” he finally answered.  “We both had tonight free.”

“Well, at least you didn’t have detention with Umbridge again.”  She shivered.  “I truly despise that woman.”

“I think the whole school despises her, apart from Filch and Malfoy.  Educational Decree after Educational Decree.  It’s enough to make one go mad.”

“What was her latest one?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered truthfully, “I stopped paying attention awhile ago.”

They parted ways that evening when Harry put on his warmest winter’s cloak over one of his black pureblood outfits and made for the door.

“Git,” Ron muttered under his breath, but Harry didn’t listen to him.  He was used to his churlishness about the clothing Florence and Octavian had picked out for him, and he wasn’t the least bit ashamed.  He wondered if James Potter had dressed at all like this, if he would have been proud of him, if his mother would have called him ‘my little wizard.’

He at least hoped so.

Octavian was waiting for him in the still courtyard, a smile on his face.  He was wearing that ridiculous werewolf cloak again and Harry just shook his head at it.  He hoped the fur belong to Fenrir Greyback, though he highly doubted it.

Holding out his hand, Octavian pulled Harry forward so that they were nose to nose.  Harry was tall for his age, having hit a growth spurt, and Octavian only came up to just above his nose, but when Octavian looked up their noses would brush up against one another.

“Mother wrote me this long letter about the flowers you sent her.  How thoughtful of you, Henri Jacques.”

“Are you teasing me?  Sometimes I can never tell.”

“I’m told my eyes give me away.”

“They’re as black as midnight and the torchlight makes them ethereal in this darkness.”  The words tumbled out of him, like a lover’s song, and they were strange to him.  He normally didn’t speak like poets.

Octavian sighed.  “Tis a pity then that we meet at night.  Still there are less students.  There is more of a risk of being caught, but I think we both like it that way.”

“You,” Harry said, tapping Octavian on the nose, “are devious.”

“I am a Slytherin.  What do you expect?”  His eyes shone in the moonlight, but Harry could read no emotion in them.  Such was the darkness.  Still, he reached up with his free hand and pushed some loose hair away from Octavian’s forehead to better read Octavian’s face.

Octavian moved into the brush of fingers.  He seemed to be humming to the lullaby, so quietly that Harry could barely hear him, and Harry wondered at it.  He thought he was the only one who could hear the spell.

“You have to know that I can’t bear to give you up now,” Harry whispered into the empty courtyard.

“There are windows,” Octavian murmured.  “Come.  We can continue this conversation elsewhere.”  He pulled Harry along by their joined hands and they made their way toward the Forbidden Forest, toward their clearing, and Harry breathed in the cold night air.  His breath came out in puffs that he could see, and his fingers froze within their protective gloves, but he didn’t care.  He was with Octavian.  Octavian, he was beginning to realize, was everything.

A speck of light between the trees alerted Harry to the presence of fireflies.  First yellow, then green, then blue.  Octavian looked back at him with joy clearly written upon his face, the first emotion that Harry could read, and Harry smiled down at him.  They broke out into a jog, and came to be standing among the lightning bugs.

“May I tell you a secret?”  Octavian whispered, looking up at Harry with awe in his face.  “I’ve never told anyone this.”

“Of course,” Harry smiled.  “You can tell me anything in confidence.”

A look crossed over Octavian’s face, as if he wanted to believe Harry fully but really couldn’t, before the look of wonder was back within his eyes.  “When I was younger and it was Midsummer’s Eve, I used to believe that fireflies were fairies trapped in a different form.  I used to think that if I could just say the right incantation with my practice wand that they would be free.”  He looked up above them at the fireflies and smiled.  “I would research and research and find nothing, so I would write my own spells.  Oh, they were childish things really, but I would still try them and nothing would happen.  Now it’s become somewhat of a tradition: I come outside on Midsummer’s Eve to be with the fireflies.  There’s always a party in Slytherin House, but I manage to slip away unnoticed, though now that I have a mentor it may prove more difficult.”

Harry sighed.  “I would help you if I could, but I’m afraid I’m of no use when it comes to Draco Malfoy.”

“No.  He is a force unto himself,” Octavian agreed, a glint of humor in his eyes.

And with that Octavian reached up and kissed Harry, throwing his arms around him and pulling him down to his level.  Harry laughed into the kiss, sucking Octavian’s lower lip between his own, which seemed to make Octavian writhe, and Harry delighted in the taste of honey milk.  Octavian, Harry thought, must have a house elf who specifically made it for him.

One kiss turned into a next, and they turned sloppier and sloppier, but Harry didn’t care.  Octavian kept on pushing them forward and Harry delighted in the sensations.  At one point, he pulled back, a mischievous look in his eyes, and he pushed Harry backward, until he was sputtering in the snow.

“Octavian!” he admonished, but then Octavian was on top of him, in between his bent legs, kissing him gently and sweetly this time, and Harry could only bring up a cold hand to his face to bring him closer.

When Octavian finally drew away, his eyes were closed.  “There’s a shop in Diagon Alley,” he murmured, “The Hunted Scotsman.  They sell my father’s favorite whiskey, Oban 14.  You should buy him a bottle.”

Harry looked at him in confusion.

“You said you couldn’t bear to let me go,” Octavian whispered.  “I’m trying to tell you how to win over my parents.  We can take it one step at a time.  I won’t lose you now—now that I’ve discovered this.  Placating kisses that are no more than pecks on the cheek are not what I have envisioned for my future.”

Harry pulled him down again and looked him in the eye.  “Are you sure you want this?  I’m everything you stand against, Octavian.  You’re one of the four families.  You are better served with Malfoy’s little sister or Susan Bones, even though she’s a half-blood.”

Octavian laughed.  “I could never marry Lacerta Malfoy.  I just—don’t press me, Henri Jacques, but I couldn’t marry a Malfoy.  As to Susan Bones, I do not know her and I do not wish to know her.  She’s from an offshoot of the family and a half-blood.”

“But wouldn’t it be better—“

“No, I do not think so,” Octavian answered stubbornly.  “There is something about you, Henri Jacques.  Something that I can’t explain.  When I was little I used to hear a lullaby.  It’s my earliest memory.  It’s haunting and beautiful, and when I saw you that day in the ice cream shop, I heard it again.  I knew it had been leading me to you all those years.  It’s why I wouldn’t let you go, even when my parents arrived.  It was some strange, ancient form of magic that I’ve never been able to explain.  Does that make sense, Henri Jacques?”  He looked at Harry imploringly, begging Harry to believe him.

Harry just stared at him for several long moments before, in an untrained voice, he sang three opening notes and Octavian cried out and tackled him to the ground.

“You’ve heard it, too!  By the old gods, you heard it, too!”

“Ever since I was small,” Harry admitted.  “I always assumed Mum used to sing it to me.”

“I don’t think she did,” Octavian answered, pulling back.  “There is magic at work, some strange magic pulling us together.  Tell me, when do you hear it?”

“When I’m near you.”  He paused, lifting his gloved hand up and running it through Octavian’s wet hair.  “When I’m touching you.  What do you think it means?”

“I have one theory, but I am not entirely certain,” Octavian began hesitantly.  “I cannot tell you everything, Henri Jacques.  It involves things that are best left dead and buried.  Will you promise not to pry?”

Harry’s curiosity was obviously peaked, but he nodded in agreement.

Octavian let out a breath that Harry hadn’t realized he was holding.  “After we had our ice cream that day, we went to Ollivander’s.  That wizard is horrible, Henri Jacques.  He said things that were—not his secrets to tell.  None of us knew what he was saying.  They were the most despicable slurs and Father instantly had Mother take me out of the shop.

“I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a little store in Dublin that makes wands.  My wand is quite rare.  Japanese Maple with the hair from a weeping unicorn.  A weeping unicorn cries for the lover of a witch or wizard who is dead.  The wandmaker said it probably meant my soul calls for another—a soulmate perhaps.  I wonder, with this music that we hear, if it’s you.”  He blushed.  “I know, it’s rather an incredible theory, but ever since we kissed—I couldn’t help but think—“

“No, Octavian,” Harry whispered, putting a finger to his lips to silence him.  “I don’t disagree with you.  It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Of course.”  Octavian moved the finger away and kissed Harry.  “Think about it.  If you don’t agree with me, we can discuss our options; if you do, I’ll do everything to ensure that Father agrees to a match between us.  He doesn’t like to see me unhappy.”  He sighed.  “Do you mind if I talk Umbridge for a moment?  She’s started to really get on my nerves?”

“Hagrid’s on probation,” Harry said darkly.  “It’s despicable.”

“As you say.  I don’t take Care of Magical Creatures.  However, she has invaded Divination.  I don’t much care for Professor Trelawney, but she teaches my favorite subject.  I like it more than Charms, and I’m already doing fifth year schoolwork in it.  Anyway, I don’t like any interference.”

“I’m sorry, Octavian,” Harry soothed quietly.  “It seems we have to live with that toad in our lives for a little while longer.  Hopefully Dumbledore will get her out somehow.”

Octavian bit his lip.  “She wants me to read her tea leaves.  She calls me to her office and demands it.  I read cards, Henri Jacques.”

Harry tensed.  “Tell your father, and do what she says for now.  Tell her what she wants to hear.  She’s stupid enough to believe it.”  He reached up and kissed Octavian again.  “I wish I could keep you safe from her.”

With the use of the Marauder’s map, Harry met Octavian every night the D.A. was not meeting.  Fortunately, Draco hadn’t figured out the schedule.  Octavian was getting quite frisky, pulling at scarves and hats, pushing hands up sweaters and then just lying on top of Harry and breathing in his scent among the darkness.

Harry sent the bottle of Oban 14.  Florence had thought it was a splendid idea and wished that she had thought of it.  “To be honest,” she wrote, “I don’t really see the male side of courtship.”

The Inquisitorial Squad was getting more and more persistent in trying to find Harry and his little gang of followers.  They eventually managed it, which got Dumbledore sacked, which had Harry at his wits end.

“How could you do it?” Octavian yelled at him in the clearing.  “Draco’s told me all about it!  Dumbledore’s Army?”

“It was a joke,” Harry insisted.  “A stupid joke that got out of hand!”

“You know, he was the only reason that Flitwick could teach me above my level?” Octavian demanded angrily.  “Educational Decree #26 forbids it!  He argued for me, used the fact that I was a lord’s son, but now she seems to take great delight in putting me in my place.  It’s like because she was not born to greatness, no one has that right.  And still she calls me in to read her fortune!  It’s despicable!—At least Father along with Lord Malfoy are trying to get her sacked.  Fudge is like putty in their hands.”  He was pacing across the clearing with his hands on his hips, angrily batting away whatever firefly came across his path, which was so unlike him.  This was the angriest that Harry had ever seen him.  He deflated a bit.  “Did you send the cigars to Father?”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately.  “That is, as long as the mail wasn’t checked.”

Octavian huffed angrily and took a seat on a rock.  “That woman!  She doesn’t even deserve the title of witch!”

“On that we can agree,” Harry murmured, taking a seat next to Octavian, just watching the fireflies.  “What are your siblings like?” Harry asked suddenly, and Octavian looked over at him, startled.  “I’ve just never really had any and I was curious.”

“Well,” Octavian began tentatively.  “Octavian Romulus was brilliant at Quidditch.  I don’t know if he courted anyone or anything like that.  He fell from his broom during a game held during a storm, and died.  I was named for him.”  He puffed out a breath of cold air.  He clearly didn’t like talking about his brother.

“And your sister?”

“Much older than me,” Octavian revealed.  “Seventeen years, I think.  She was in Slytherin like my father and betrothed to Evan Rosier and, well, you know what happened to him.  After my brother and Evan died, she seemed to crack, apparently.  She helped Mother with my birth but then went off to the continent.  She’s married to some wizard Italian duke now.  Has children, I think.  They must be a few years younger than I am.”  He sighed now.  “I’m really an only child for all intents and purposes.  I’m treated like one, anyhow.”

They sat in silence. 

“Sirius and Florence are engaged,” Harry announced.  “I got the owl yesterday.  I’m to be best man.”

“That’s wonderful,” Octavian said with a smile, his sullen mood turning.  “When’s the wedding?”

“Over hols,” Harry admitted.  “I wanted to ask you, I know we’re not courting, but will you come?  As my date?  I can’t imagine anything I’d like more.  It’s a small family affair.  I’m going to be there, her brother, that’s about it.”

Octavian nodded, hesitating.  “What day is it?”

“The twenty-fourth.  Eleven o’clock in the morning.”  Harry looked at him hopefully.  “Do you need to check with your parents first?”

“Yes,” Octavian admitted.  “They might not allow me to be seen socially with you, even at such a small occasion.”  He shrugged.  “I’ll write to Mother and ask once we get inside.”

Harry smiled sadly.  He hated how they had to creep around like this and they didn’t even have permission to see each other socially.  Something had to change.  Something had to.