Chapter 46: From Afar
Muttering and cursing as he always did when stuck researching on his own, Harry climbed the rickety wooden ladder again to carry another armful of books down from the highest shelf. Four hours he had been here, reading and climbing, reading and climbing, and he still had not found a single mention of the Split-Apart curse. He was starting to wonder where Malfoy had even learned it if no one ever bothered to record the damn thing.
'Maybe in wizarding families, spells are passed down,' he thought, 'like furniture or jewellery or secret family recipes. Secret family hexes.' His mouth turned down as he wondered if there were any special spells his father never got to share with him.
He dropped his latest collection of books onto a table, sneezing as they let fly a thick cloud of dust. A low chuckle stopped him as he batted the offending dust away. He froze, listening. He could hear the rasping whisper of students discussing notes or gossip; the enticing song of the books, the dark magic held within calling out for someone to read it; the hard thump of Madam Pince's stamp as she set the date of return on borrowed books. He did not hear anyone laughing. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he sat down and picked one of his books, furrowing his brow as he worked to understand the complicated spells being described.
Noises came to him as he read, the usual sounds of the library heard through the locked gate of the Restricted Section. He had been at this so long, it all sounded like the buzzing of insects to him, but a name caught his attention.
"Alfie," someone said in a quiet voice.
Harry looked up. He could see through the bars, down a row of towering shelves to a table halfway across the library. It was piled high with books just as his own was, and the boy sitting at the table looked equally as put out, though he was looking rather annoyed at the person talking to him and not at his tomes. Alfie glared at the girl standing over him, saying something that sent her scurrying away then turning back to his studies, though not before offering the Restricted Section a brief glance.
'So that's how he knew I spent so much time here,' Harry realised with a troubled frown as he pretended not to see the seventh year looking his way.
The frown remained fixed on his face as he stared unseeing down at the pages before him, wondering what it meant that Alfie noticed him. He shook his head violently, dislodging the suspicions before they could take root and taint his opinion of the boy whose help he needed. It was obvious why the older student would notice him. He and Hermione were the only ones ever locked in among the sequestered books. The thick coating of dust on every book they touched was enough to show him how rare it was for a student to be allowed access. Any passing student would see them in here and take note. Alfie was no exception.
But even as he thought it, he could feel the boy's eyes on him. Now that Harry knew he was there, knew he was paying attention, he couldn't keep his skin from prickling with the certainty that Alfie was watching every move he made.
"How long do you think he's been sitting there watching us?" he asked Hermione at lunch.
She offered an odd smile. "I don't think he's been watching us."
"He has!" Harry insisted, eyes huge and hands flapping with his agitation. "He can practically see the entire Restricted Section from that table. There's no telling how much he's seen or heard."
James slapped him on the head. "Calm down, you git, she means he's been watching you."
He glared at his father before turning his sceptical eye toward Hermione. The girl nodded knowingly, the same maddening smile on her face as when she insisted Sirius fancied him. "No," he said doubtfully.
"Yes," they said together.
They had all but laughed in his face when he finally realised the truth of the Beater's attentions, each one saying they had known weeks or months longer than Harry had. It really wasn't so farfetched to think they could see more to Alfie's interest than he could. What was it about the 1970s that had so many boys falling for him? He slumped on the bench, his spine seeming to bend under the weight of his confusion. "Why does this keep happening? No blokes fancied me back in Johannesburg. Shut up, Hermione," he warned when the girl opened her mouth to speak, "I do not want to know if anyone fancied me back home."
"Why not? What's the problem?" Tildy grinned, hugging him tightly. "You are so very fanciable."
He didn't bother trying to push the girl away, knowing it was virtually impossible. Instead he looked around the table for support, for someone who thought this was all as strange as he did. Lily shifted away, odd touch of green still on her cheeks that only grew as Tildy continued to talk about how many people thought he was gorgeous and would go out with him. He understood why Lily still refused to speak to him or even look at him; she had been among those who liked him, who thought him attractive, who wanted to date him. Turning away before he lost his appetite, he looked instead to Sirius, but found the boy sitting halfway down the table among a crush of seventh year girls.
"Why is Sirius way down there?" he wondered aloud.
"He's avoiding you," Peter said bluntly.
"Why? What did I do?"
"I think you know, young man," James said sternly. "But don't worry, I set him right. He'll get over it. Eventually. I hope. We're buggered for the cup if he doesn't." Everyone stared at him in disbelief, not understanding how he could still be so obsessed with Quidditch when the health and happiness of his friend was at stake. "Anyway, I think you're lucky that Alfie bloke fancies you."
Harry blinked at him, "Huh?"
"He's got information you need," James said as if it were obvious.
"Huh?"
"You are so thick," the boy groaned before speaking slowly just for Harry's benefit. "Alfie is a master of hexes. He knows things you do not. He fancies you. You go flirt with him. He will tell you what you want to know."
Harry stared, certain he had misheard him. "You are seriously telling me, your friend," he paused to give the euphemism time to sink in, "to go take advantage of someone's interest in me?"
"Sirius does it all the time," he replied with a shrug, as if that made it a perfectly acceptable and everyday practice. "Did it with you until he realised he fancied you for real."
"What? When?"
"Since you arrived," James said again in that tone that implied his son was somehow mentally deficient. "Do you see him slinging his arm around anyone else? Laying down on anyone else? Nope. Just you. He wanted to know about you, and that's how he planned to find you out. Honestly, how did I have a friend as thick as you? I'm blaming you for this, Lily."
The girl snapped her head around, mouth hanging in indignation. "That is so not my fault. None of my friends would ever be as thick as that."
"Then how would you explain him? He's our friend, yours and mine," the boy gestured to Harry. "Thick as a troll. Sirius flirting with him for months and he didn't get it until his sister tells him."
Lily considered him, looking her future son over for the first time without the slightest hint of illness colouring her cheeks. It made Harry's heart glad even as she eyed him critically. "I think he's open-minded and kind," the girl decided. "He accepted without reciprocating so that his new friend wouldn't feel put out. I'd happily have a friend like that."
James buried a snort of laughter in his elbow but said nothing.
"So if you like the sort of friend I am, you wouldn't want me flirting with Alfie, would you?" Harry asked hopefully, knowing his mum would never condone him using sexual advances against someone who was genuinely interested.
Her eyes narrowed and lips fluttered as if she were muttering a quick and silent argument with herself. After a painfully long pause, she decided, "I think the ends might justify the means."
"What?"
"He might be the only one who can help you sort out your problem and get you back to Johannesburg," she insisted. "I don't know Alfie very well – okay, I don't know him at all, stupid snob of a Slytherin – but I do know his reputation. He is the best student of charms and hexes at this school. If anyone would know a spell to help you, it would be him."
Harry glowered at his plate. He missed the way things used to be back in Johannesburg, where boys fancied girls and no one particularly fancied him. It was so much easier not having to worry about who was watching him and what their intentions were. At least back home he knew that when someone was focused on him they meant to kill him. So simple. So easy.
"Fine," he grumbled.
"That's my boy!" James grinned and ruffled his hair to make it even wilder, ignoring Harry's glare and Lily's horrified gasp. "So, how are you going to approach him?"
"I don't know. I don't generally do this sort of thing."
"Pity James threatened Sirius's bollocks or he could give you some lessons," Peter offered.
"You threatened his bollocks? Really?" Harry shook his head.
"He was hitting on my friend."
"You never threatened his bollocks when he hit on me," Remus reminded him. "You like Harry better than you like me. Admit it." He kept his face pulled into a despondent pout but his eyes were bright with mischief. Harry sniggered, knowing his game; the prefect knew the Grangers' secret as well as James did, knew that no one was permitted to talk about it openly with Peter around, leaving James on the spot for his draconian reaction.
James patted his head condescendingly. "I'll threaten them next time."
"My hero," the boy cooed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Harry, just be yourself. That's who Alfie has noticed. If you go in trying to play at being someone else, he will know you're up to something. Especially if he's been watching you for as long as you think he has."
It was good advice, and he knew it. Still Harry couldn't keep from snorting. Be himself. He had been lying since they landed themselves in 1976. Who precisely was he supposed to approach Alfie as? Even now among the people who knew his secret they were still lying, referring to his being a 'friend' and talking of him going to 'Johannesburg'. He glanced down the table at Sirius and his pride of seventh years, all chatting away without a care. He could guarantee none of them had to pause to edit their words, craft a past around a glaringly obvious untruth.
Seeing his easy smile, Harry realised how much he missed Sirius.
Just as his dreams had predicted, telling the truth had lost him his friend for a second time. Somehow he thought it might have hurt less if Sirius had punched him in the gut as he did in his nightmares.
"Better go now before I lose my nerve," he said in a hard voice that sounded little like the uncertain boy who had just asked Lily for help. He pushed himself off the bench and moved purposefully around the Ravenclaw table toward the far wall. It took him no time at all to spot Alfie; he was unmistakable.
His stomach twisted as he neared. He thought for a moment it might be because he was about to ask a bloke out on a date, but after another step closer he knew that was untrue. He didn't particularly care who he was asking out; it was the rejection he feared. Thinking back to fourth year, he remembered how hard it was to ask Cho to the Yule Ball when she had been among a tiny group of her friends. That had been torture. This was worse. This wasn't just something a few girls would giggle about. This was the boy's entire house. The image of every Slytherin of every year sneering and making jibes about him in the corridors flashed through his mind as he finally reached Alfie.
'Dear sweet Merlin, please agree to this,' he begged.
"Alfie," he said with far more confidence than he felt.
"Harry," the young man greeted. "What's up?"
"You want to go out with me?" The words just came out, not in the speedy slur with which he had asked Cho outside the Owlery, but with calm sureness. It was so much easier to ask when he didn't actually care about the person. Maybe he could do this after all.
He dared to add with a smile, "Next Hogsmeade weekend maybe?"