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“Who was that?” My voice comes out harsh, but at least not alarmed.
Resisting the temptation to follow the motorbike with my eyes through the Wimpy Bar window when the bloke speeds down Kingsway, I’ve leant back in as relaxed a position as the plastic seat allows. Remus must have spotted me as soon as getting off and removing the helmet, but it’s taken a while for him to enter. Now he’s walked straight over to me with a strange – or perhaps my Moony’s familiar – dreamy smile, twirling a large yellow leaf in his hand.
He’s standing in front of me with his head tilted. “Hey Pads, what’s new?”
His face is ruddy from the wind. My gaze wanders down where his jeans are a bit more torn again on one thigh and the other knee, and shifts back to his hair.
What’s that new style? When he’s finally agreed to have a haircut, he could have given the job to someone skillful. “Who…?”
“Nicholas, from my Dark Creature course.” He slumps down on the chair opposite to me.
That sounds familiar, and I can’t help frowning. “Gave you the haircut or the lift?”
“Oh. Both. What d’you think?” He lifts a hand to rub the shorn side of his head and to ruffle up the longer hair on his crown, making it look wilder than right after the mercifully taming effect of the helmet.
I prefer looking at his familiar hand, the thin wrist poking out of the frayed cuff of his corduroy jacket. “I’ll get the Wimpy Special Grill for both of us.”
“Thanks but… Had lunch with Nicholas.” His other hand, holding the wide, palm-shaped leaf, reaches out for me. “Look, the trees are turning…”
The tips of his fingers have brushed against mine, but I grab my cup and gulp down the rest of the coffee while getting to my feet. “I’m not hungry either. Let’s go for a beer.”
If he hadn’t said ‘with…’, I would’ve refused to believe him, not mentioned it, but ordered a big portion for myself and pretended not to be able to eat it all, persuaded him to share. Now I’m striding to the door.
“Or just for a walk?” he suggests, behind me. “The colours in the plane trees are… awesome.”
Who’s taught him such words… I don’t need to ask.
I stop on the pavement, kick at the orange-yellow layer of leaves, look at my scuffed motorbike boots, and think about that Nicholas bloke’s complete bike leathers, and Remus seeking support on his shoulder when lifting a leg over the seat. And the bloke taking off his fancy full-face helmet for a moment, revealing a wide grin on his freckly face. A redhead, yes… Now I remember a glimpse of that fiery mop in April when Remus made James and me wait outside Merlin College, and said he would’ve liked to introduce… And a few days before, he’d said that Nicholas from his Dark Creature course had been behind the crazy idea…
“He’s into art, too?” I’ve blurted it out, and it’s too late to avoid making him think I care.
“What?”
“He’s the one who told you to sell your drawings to Muggle tourists?” Starting to walk briskly, with my hands in the pockets of my Schott Perfecto One Star jacket, I don’t look at him, although he hurries to my side, but at the garish, windswept trees.
Perhaps the two of them have now discussed the autumn colours and landscape painting. Or cityscape painting? I don’t even know if there’s such a term. And maybe that leaf was shown and offered to the redhead first.
“You remember,” he says slowly, as if undecided whether he should be pleased or embarrassed. “Yes, in April. That’s the first time we talked. I told you then, I think. We got bored in a stupid Pogrepin lecture, and I drew a caricature of him. He’s Muggle-born, you see. His dad’s American, and he knows all about motorbikes, too, has learnt from an older brother of his…”
I remember I never found out where he was staying at the end of April. When outside Merlin College I suggested we go to his place, he said he’d moved out and that he was between flats, and promised I could visit him in May. I did, even went with him when he signed the contract, and I protested against his choosing such a crappy room. No fireplace. It’s so much more awful even than the previous one that I doubt he can possibly want to spend his nights in it now that the weather…
“He says the electric starter in the 1975 Commando is a bunch of crap,” Remus says.
“I know it is,” I snap. “Only I can make it work.”
“He prefers… ”
I’m not listening. Without stopping, I light up and offer the pack to him. “Fag?”
“No, he’s not…” He laughs. “No, thanks. I prefer...”
I need a drink, but I’ve ended up walking towards Lincoln’s Inn Fields, not my regular pub, and almost reached my building. James must be out with Lily, and we’ve got both some Firewhisky and Muggle whisky left. Do I dare ask…? Yes, I’m a bold Gryffindor. If he refuses, or even if he comes, I must dare ask him if he fancies, even fucks another. I’ve always known that loving men has never been a problem for him, and he can fall for someone easily… What is it he’s saying?
“He prefers his girlfriend. And I prefer second-hand cigarettes. They suit my style. But I take them only from you.” He adds in a whisper, “To taste you.”
Turning to stick the fag between my Moony’s opening lips, I reach for his hand, too.
Until he’s taken as many slow pulls as he wants, we’ll stay standing here outside my door, almost holding hands in public, holding the bright leaf together. The cold wind’s playing with his ridiculous hair, and I’m looking forward to my turn.